Chapter 42
Chapter Forty-Two
Jason
How to Survive Her Brother (and Live to Score Another Day) Part Two
Today’s the day.
It’s the first game back after the injury. How am I doing? I’m fine—totally fine.
Except . . . I’m not. Not completely.
The fear’s still there, gnawing at the back of my skull no matter how many deep breaths I pretend help.
It’s too damn early for normal people to be upright, but I needed this—I needed to feel the ice again before the world woke up and the arena filled with noise and nerves and way too many eyes.
The rink’s mostly empty when I glide out, stick in hand, skates carving lazy lines across the surface.
The overhead lights are still too bright, humming with that weird, not-quite-awake energy the place gets before a game day really starts.
Heart pounding for a whole different reason than it used to.
And, of course, Leif’s already here.
Because that’s what he does.
Crouched near the boards, tapping his stick like he’s got all the time in the world.
Part of his pregame ritual: feel the ice, stare at some random fucking corner like it’s about to give him the secrets of the universe, then disappear to the locker room and pretend he doesn’t have emotions.
I should’ve known better.
Fuck, I do know better.
Maybe he’ll bark at me for screwing with his routine.
Maybe he’ll just glare.
Or maybe—worst case—he’ll bring up the one thing we’ve both been pretending isn’t hanging over our heads. Scottie.
We haven’t talked much since the day he caught us.
He’s too busy. I need to recover so he can break my legs—both.
It’s been trash talk, but nothing concrete.
I’m too fucking tired to be chasing after him, but today isn’t exactly the day to do it.
I fuck with the goalie’s mojo, and I might fuck the entire season.
He’s a diva that way.
“Hey, asshole,” Leif calls out, flicking a puck toward me like he’s throwing a punch wrapped in a smile.
“’sup, sunshine,” I chirp back, snagging it with my blade. Trying way too hard to sound normal.
He laughs—rougher than usual—and taps his stick against the ice with a short, impatient thud. “You ready to get your ass handed to you?”
I skate toward him, grinning. “Don’t jinx it, idiot. We’re on the same team. Someone hands me my ass, and we’re all fucked.”
He growls something, but I don’t pay attention.
We fall into a rhythm—passing, chirping, trying to make each other look stupid.
It’s easy. Familiar.
Too familiar.
Which is probably why I don’t see it coming.
He skates closer, real slow until there’s barely a blade’s length between us. His eyes, usually full of dry humor, are darker.
“You think we’re okay, don’t you?” he says low enough it doesn’t carry across the ice.
I blink. “Uh . . .”
He leans in, stick jabbing my shin guard just enough to make me shift back.
“I’m not fucking around, Tate,” Leif says, voice steady as a hammer about to fall. “You and Scottie, that wasn’t cool.”
There’s a beat where all I hear is my heartbeat slamming into my ears.
“I’m not screwing her over if that’s what you’re asking,” I say. Not defensive. Just . . . firm.
He scoffs—short and bitter. “Obviously you’re done with her—more like she’s done with you, and now we’ll try to go back to normal.”
I close my eyes briefly and take a deep, cleansing breath. I'm not sure what she told him, but I better tell him what’s happening now.
“We’re not done, Leif,” I clarify.
He rolls his eyes. “Please, she hasn’t been in town for months. You already moved on, and so did she.”
“Eight weeks, five days,” I correct him without thinking. “But who’s counting.”
His nostrils flair, but I don’t care. Instead of letting him talk, I continue.
“Sure, she’s been gone, but we text all day long and . . . we talk.”
Leif frowns as if he wasn’t expecting my response. Nope, he was ready to fuck my face with his stick for playing with his sister—even though he swears it’s over.
“The fuck,” he growls.
“It’s fucking serious, Leif. I love your sister.”
He glares at me. Big killer on the loose glare. “You better not be playing with her. Because here’s the thing, Jason: you’re my teammate, you’re my best friend, but she’s my sister. And I swear I’ll kill you.”
Another poke of his stick, harder this time. “She comes first. Always. You fuck this up? You don’t just lose her. You lose everything.”
Any other time, I’d be concerned, but right now, I know where I stand when it comes to Scottie. So, I take a breath and release the air. I say, “I’m all in. I love Ella.”
I draw back my shoulders and repeat the three most important words. “I love her. I’m not here to play games.”
Leif stares at me long enough that I feel sweat bead at the back of my neck despite the chill in the air.
Finally, finally, he gives a short nod—like he’s decided not to murder me. Yet.
“Good.” He slaps the puck back toward me with a little extra force. “Because if she cries because of you, I’m breaking your face. And no one’s gonna call it a penalty.”
I huff a laugh, catching the puck. “Noted. Thanks for the warm welcome back to the ice.”
Leif smirks, but there’s still a thread of warning there. “Just remember, lover boy—you hurt her, you’re dead to me.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less from you,” I state. “Though let’s be clear—I’m not hurting her. She’s precious to me. I know it’s hard for you to understand it, but . . . I couldn’t help but fall in love with her. She’s an incredible person.”
The way his eyes shift, as if I finally said something worth listening to. I’m not sure, but suddenly he adds, “Fine, let’s warm up and just don’t fuck up. We need a win.”
“Yeah, I’ll try not to die today and even score a goal.” I wink before I begin to skate.