Chapter 73
PARKER
“What the fuck,” I scream, making Jarad, who’s standing beside me, jump as we all watch Rett slam Linc into the boards.
Multiple times today, I’ve opened my conversation with my brother and typed out a message. I haven’t sent a single one, though.
In the hours before a game, hockey is Rett’s only focus.
He’s probably already pissed that Linc and I fucked up his morning.
But maybe I was wrong. Maybe I should have sent one of those messages. Hell, maybe I should have gone and sought him out so we could talk.
It’s been like this since the very first puck drop. Rett has already been in the penalty box twice, but still, he isn’t letting up. And it’s not just Linc he has his sights on, either.
The Vipers are currently winning three to zero, and the Bandits are losing control, although no one seems to have lost their grip quite like Rett.
Linc’s words earlier about my brother figuring shit out seem so far from the truth right now that they’re laughable.
The Vipers’ fans go wild when a penalty isn’t called, and play resumes once Linc has righted himself.
At the other end of the bench, Coach Watson—Casey’s dad—glances back at me with concern etched on his face.
I wince, unable to do anything to rein my brother in but wishing I could.
As the seconds count down to the end of the second period, we all watch with bated breath as Monroe steals the puck from Westly and quickly shoots it to Linc, who takes off down the left side of the ice with his eyes set on the goal.
We might be up by three, and he may have had two assists, but he’s yet to find the back of the net, and I know he’s desperate for it.
Behind him, Rett is like a machine as he closes in. His face is set with a determination that makes my stomach twist up tight.
Rett, no. Please. Please don’t do this, I silently beg.
I stop breathing as Linc pulls his stick back and prepares to shoot, but he never gets to make contact because Rett collides with him, sending him flying backward.
I swear to God, the entire arena gasps as Linc hits the ice.
“Oh my god,” I whimper, my eyes locked on Linc’s unmoving body.
Play stops as the referee speeds toward Rett. I’m vaguely aware of him finally being ejected from the game, but I don’t pay him any mind as he sulks off. My focus is on Linc.
Dr. Phillips, our lead physician, races toward him, but with the crowd of players surrounding Linc, it’s hard to see what’s actually happening.
There’s movement beside me before a heavy arm wraps around my shoulders. I know from the stench that it’s a player, and when I glance over, I find Killer with his eyes also locked on the ice.
“He’ll be okay. He won’t let Donnelly take him down. He’s got too much to fight for.”
A sob erupts, and I just about manage to catch it.
I swear, time seems to stop, but in reality, it’s probably only a minute or two before Linc sits up, and the second he does, his eyes find mine.
“I’m okay,” he mouths.
“He’s okay,” I breathe, tears burning red hot.
You’re at work. Do not cry.
Do. Not. Cry.
You are a professional, and right now, Linc is just an athlete.
“See,” Killer says, giving me a squeeze as Fletch and Kodie help him to his feet.
My breathing is labored as they slowly make their way over.
“Excuse me,” I blurt before ducking under Killer’s arm and racing ahead of them. I need to be there when he gets him on a bed to be checked over.
There is a small team of people in the room watching the game on a TV screen, and the second I race inside, they all jump into action.
“Oh,” Nathan Cromwell, our head PT, says when his eyes land on me, not a broken hockey player.
“Sorry, they’re just coming.”
He frowns as he takes me in. I can only imagine what I look like right now.
Thankfully, there’s a commotion behind me and when I spin around, there he is.
“You can let go of me now,” he complains, attempting to shake off his minders.
“You can barely hold your own weight. Now isn’t the time for showing off for your girl, Storm,” Fletch chastises.
Eyes burn into me, but I don’t look away from Linc. I can’t.
Only a few seconds later, they have him sitting on the edge of the table.
Dr. Phillips follows, and both the guys step back to allow him to look over Linc.
“I’m fine,” he spits.
“Let me be the judge of that,” Dr. Phillips mutters, more than used to treating hard-headed players who’d rather play until they die than admit defeat.
“The hit just winded me a bit. Nothing’s broken or dislocated. I’m good to go next period.”
“Linc,” I cry. “You can’t go back out there.”
“Why not? Rett’s just been ejected.”
Concern for my brother ripples through me as Linc begins to strip his uniform off so Dr. Phillips can check him over, much to his displeasure.
My breath catches at the bruises that are already darkening his skin from the repeated hits tonight.
Battle wounds are common. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen Linc’s body without some kind of cut or bruise somewhere, but this is beyond anything I’ve seen before, and it’s only just happened. Tomorrow he’s going to be black and blue.
“I’m going back out there. The game isn’t over. We haven’t won yet.”
“Storm,” Fletch starts, but all it takes is a scathing look from his winger to stop him from saying anything else.
“Come on, man. Let’s leave them to it,” Kodie says before turning and leading Fletch away.
I stand there, silently watching, achingly aware that I should be in the trainers’ room doing my job as well. The guys need me. But Linc—
“You’re right. Nothing seems to be broken,” Dr. Phillips confirms as he steps back.
Linc smirks at him, and I roll my eyes just in time for him to look my way and catch the reaction.
“Babe, you need to go. The guys need you.”
My mouth opens and closes to argue.
“I’m okay. I promise.”
With Esme’s words from this morning ringing in my ears, I give him a quick smile before running from the room and into the one I should be in.
“About time,” Mitchell snarks as I step up to where Monroe is waiting for me. I ignore him and get to work.
“Is he okay?” Hayden asks quietly.
“Yeah. I’m pretty sure his ego is hurt worse than anything.”
Hayden laughs as I set to work on his shoulder.
“Rett’s pissed, huh?” he muses.
“Yeah,” I agree.
“He’ll get used to it. I remember the first time my sister went out on a date. I wanted to flatten the guy just for looking at her.”
I can’t help but laugh. Hayden Monroe might be a D man, but he’s not like the others.
He’s certainly not like Rett. He’s not as violent or hot-headed.
He’s gentler, more thoughtful. A real golden retriever, and he only gets sweeter when he talks about his sister.
He may have only told me a little about her, but every time he even mentions her name, he lights up.
“What?” he asks with a frown.
“You’re cute.”
“You’d better not let Linc hear you say that.”
“Too late, asshole,” a deep voice growls from behind me.
Shaking my head, I look back over my shoulder.
“Shouldn’t you be resting?”
“I told you, I’m fine. Just needed to catch my breath. My groin is tight as fuck, though. Could do with a bit of work before the third period.”
Hayden snorts a laugh.
I glance around the room. “It looks like Jarad is just finishing up,” I point out.
“Fuck that. I want you or nothing. Now, are you going to let me go back out there like this or what?’
“I don’t think you should be going out there, full stop, but what do I know?”
Linc stands there while I finish up with Monroe, and the second my table is free, he’s on it.
“You’re a pain in my ass, Lincoln Storm,” I mutter as I get to work.
“Maybe so, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.”
No, apparently, I wouldn’t.
Thankfully, the final period is less dramatic than the first two, but there is still plenty of action. Much to the Vipers’ dismay, both Westly and Petrov score, but it’s not enough, and we take the W three to two.
Linc plays his shifts, but he’s nowhere near as fast as he was at the beginning of the game. He might like to pretend that he’s okay after taking those hits, but I can see the truth. He’s struggling.
As our players lap up the praise from the fans filling the stadium, Linc breaks away from the group with one destination in mind.
Me.
My heart jumps into my throat as he closes the distance between us. His eye is swollen and purple, but he’s still hot as hell.
“What are you doing?” I ask, panicked as he stops just before stepping off the ice and gestures for me to come closer.
“What I should have done a long time ago. Made sure the world knows that you’re mine.”
“Linc, no—you can’t.” But despite my protests, he grabs me the second I’m in reaching distance and crashes his lips to mine in front of the entire arena.
Instantly, the tension drains from my body. The only thing I can think about is him.
Us.
It’s not until he pulls back that the cheers and hollers around us finally filter through my ears.
“What about keeping it quiet for a bit?” I ask, staring up at him in surprise.
“I’m fed up with hiding how I feel about you, pretty girl. It’s been too fucking long.”
My heart clenches at his words.
“Storm,” Coach barks from behind me. “For that little stunt, you’re on post-game press. Hell knows the world has questions about tonight.”
“I’m pretty sure I just answered them all, Coach.”
“You kids are gonna give me gray hair.”
“It’s already gray,” I point out with a laugh.
He mutters something under his breath before demanding that Linc get changed and fast before stalking off.
“Love making Coach proud.” Linc laughs.
“He loves it really. You’re all like his adopted kids.”
“You too,” Linc says with a smile. “He’s been on our side this whole time, you know that, right? Apparently, you’re a good influence on me.”
“Maybe that’s what Rett needs. A good influence.”
“Not sure he’d know one if it hit him in the face,” Linc jokes. “Have you spoken to him?”
“No, not yet. I’ll go and find him after I’m finished up with the guys.”
“He’ll be okay.”
“You keep saying that, but things seem to be getting worse. He’s going to be savage about being ejected.”
“That’s on him. Not us. He didn’t need to come out all guns blazing tonight. He took his shot this morning; it should have all been done by the time he left our apartment.”
“Our apartment?” I question, choosing to ignore the rest. He’s right, but it doesn’t make any of it any better.
“Yeah, if you want it to be. I know you only moved in temporarily, but I don’t want you to leave.”
The thought of packing up my stuff and starting over somewhere else really doesn’t sit right with me. I’d do it if he wanted me to. But I can’t say it’s what I want.
“I know it appears like we’re moving fast, but really, we’re going slow as fuck. I’ve been waiting for this since I was a teenager. I can’t wait any longer.”
My heart pounds and three little words dance on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow them down.
Not yet.
Not here.
But soon.
Really freaking soon.