Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Landon
The locker room buzzes with pre-game energy. I pull on my jersey, the Cyclones logo settling against my chest, and the adrenaline already coursing through my veins. This is what I live for: the roar of the crowd, the crack of the puck against the boards, the perfect pass that leads to a goal.
“Hey, Kane,” Tate calls out from across the room. “Stay focused out there.”
I nod and meet his eyes for a second longer than necessary before turning back to my locker. Since that night at the bar, there’s been a sexual tension between us I’m trying my best to ignore. He’s made it clear he wants me to back off, and I will. But fuck, it’s harder than I expected.
Levi crowds in next to me, already fully geared up except for his helmet and practically bouncing on the spot. “Are you ready for this?” he asks, a grin on his face. “This is it, bro. Our first game as Cyclones.”
“Don’t get yourself thrown in the box first period,” I warn him. Levi and Jagger’s rivalry is legendary, built on years of playing against each other in college and now in the NHL. “We need you for the rest of the game.”
“Please, I can take him down and still have time for a nap,” Levi boasts, which is probably the most Levi thing he could say.
I stand up and grab my helmet, rolling my shoulders. This is our debut with the Stormhaven Cyclones, and everything we’ve been working toward since the trade is about to happen.
“Are you good?” Levi asks.
“Fine,” I lie.
The team files toward the ice, then one by one, skates out to the roar of the crowd. The energy lifts with each player who takes the ice. Levi and I hang back, as we’re the last ones.
The announcer’s voice booms through the arena, building momentum. Each name gets a roar from the crowd, then there’s a pause.
“And now . . . the moment you’ve all been waiting for . . . number 19, LANDON KANE!”
The crowd absolutely loses its mind. The noise is deafening. A wall of sound hits me as I skate out onto the ice. The arena is packed.
Right as the sound dies down, the announcer’s voice comes again.
“And his twin brother . . . number 91, LEVI KANE! THE KANE TRAIN, ladies and gentlemen. Let ’em hear you, Stormhaven!”
The arena drums beat, lights sweep across the ice in patterns, and Levi skates out behind me, his stick held high, showing off to the crowd.
“It’s preseason action and we’re turning up the heat early. First test of the year for the Ridgeland Ridgebacks, a brand-new franchise making their debut in the NHL.”
In the stands directly behind the Ridgebacks’ bench, I spot Leila in a Ridgebacks jersey with all three of her husbands’ numbers down her upper arm and no doubt across the back.
Next to her sits Abby. My stomach tightens at the sight of her.
Leila mentioned Abby would be here. It means—fuck—Abby is going to be watching me play in a Cyclones jersey for the first time, and based on how completely she cut us off, I bet she hasn’t watched me play at all over our five years apart.
And I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her since we decided to be friends.
I smirk at the shirt she is wearing. Printed across the front is: “I’m going fishing.” Our eyes meet across the ice, and I’m hit with the same jolt I felt the first time I saw her. Neither of us looks away.
“The Ridgebacks will start things off with . . . number 9, KNOX MERCER. Number 1, RIVEN KRUGER. And number 27, JAGGER HOLT.”
The crowd erupts in boos and cheers in unison, drowning out the following player announcements.
There’s something different about this game.
The Ridgebacks are brand new to the league, so we’re supposed to dominate them tonight.
And with me being a new trade, the pressure to perform well sits on my shoulders.
“Keep your eyes up when number 91 and number 27 share the ice. They are old college rivals, and there is never a dull moment between those two.”
The announcer’s not wrong. Levi and Jagger make eye contact across the ice, and I can practically see them twitching to throw their gloves off.
Leila made them both promise that the only place their rivalry is to exist is on the ice. She will tolerate zero off-ice bullshit. It’s the only way she could handle being married to one and having the other as a brother.
Levi understands; he respects Leila too much not to follow her rule. Jagger does too. Besides, if he didn’t, Leila would have his head on a platter.
So when they are on the ice together, all the pent-up aggression, the rivalry, comes out. It’s on the ice and only on the ice. But it means the game is going to get physical between them, and the crowd knows it.
“Stormhaven . . . ARE YOU READY?!”
The crowd roars so loudly that the rafters feel as though they shake.
“The puck drops in seconds, so get loud and stay loud. LET’S GO CYCLONES!”
After the national anthem, we line up for the face-off, and I force myself to focus on the game, as that is what matters. It’s our first real test as Cyclones.
The puck drops, and I’m immediately in motion, skating hard toward the Ridgebacks’ end of the ice—Levi on my left.
“Lane!” Tate shouts from behind the bench, calling a play.
I cut right, setting up for the pass. One of our defensemen feeds it to me, and I’m moving toward Riven’s net. Jagger checks me from the side, trying to separate me from the puck, but I was expecting his move. I lean into the check and manage to slide the puck to Levi, who’s in perfect position.
Levi takes the shot, but it sails wide.
“Again!” Tate yells, and we reset.
We get another chance a few minutes later. This time, I’m the one receiving the pass from Levi. I can feel the weight of the moment. The crowd is on its feet, and I can hear Leila screaming something unintelligible.
I feint left, then shift back right.
Riven’s quick, though, and he moves with me, his pads slamming together as he seals the gap between him and the post. My shot goes in hard, but the puck catches the edge of his pad and deflects wide, sailing past the net and into the boards.
“Fuck,” I mutter, but I’m already heading back to the bench for the next shift.
The period continues, back and forth, both teams showing why they belong in this league.
Jagger gets the puck into our zone and races down the ice. Levi’s on defense, and he angles for a check.
When they collide, they both hit the ice hard, their fists already flying.
“Come on!” Levi roars, landing a solid punch to Jagger’s jaw.
Jagger retaliates, catching Levi across the cheekbone.
The crowd erupts—it’s the moment they were waiting for. Whistles blow and the refs move in.
“That’s five minutes!” the ref yells, separating them.
Both Levi and Jagger grin as they skate toward the penalty box. They’ll spend the next five minutes apart, then continue with the game like nothing happened.
I jump back on the ice when a fresh shift is called, quickly getting a solid pass off to one of our forwards, who gets checked but manages to maintain possession. We cycle the puck around Riven’s zone, looking for an opening.
Finally a gap opens, and I’m in position. The puck comes to me, and I shoot.
Riven moves, but he’s a fraction of a second too slow.
The arena explodes when the puck slides into the goal. The Cyclones’ horn blasts and I’m mobbed by my teammates, everyone pounding my back.
This is my moment, my first goal as a Cyclone.
I look toward the stands to see Leila jumping up and down and Abby clapping, a smile on her face that reaches her eyes.
Fuck, I’ve missed seeing her in the crowd at my games.
This moment feels like one we were robbed of years ago.
Anger at what Anastasia did simmers low in my chest, but we’re up by one, so I block out all the distracting thoughts and focus on the momentum shifting in our favor.
By the end of the second period, we’re up four to one, but the Ridgebacks are pushing back hard, and Tate pulls me aside during the intermission.
“You’re playing well tonight,” he says, and there’s something in his eyes I need to ignore. “Keep it up out there. You’re making the right plays.”
“Thanks, Coach,” I say.
“Landon,” he says, then hesitates. “Never mind. Just keep playing like this.”
He walks away before I can ask what he held back.
The third period is intense. The Ridgebacks score twice, cutting our lead to one, and the fans are on the edge of their seats.
When the final siren rings, we hold on to our lead; the final score is Cyclones four, Ridgebacks three.
The celebration on the ice is overwhelming—we worked hard for the win, but I feel for my brothers-in-law.
Well, for Riven and Knox. Jagger—the annoying bastard—can eat a dick.
I said that to Leila once, and she laughed and told me Jagger does not, in fact, eat dick.
It’s Riven and Knox, and that was way too much information for me.
The locker room is in absolute chaos when we file in. Guys are shouting, high-fiving, and throwing their gloves and sticks into their lockers. Thomas, our head coach, stands in the center of the room and launches into his post-game speech, but I’m not really listening.
My eyes find Tate across the locker room, and he’s already looking at me. I wink at him, and his jaw tightens. He glances away, running a hand through his hair as if he’s trying to compose himself.
I can’t help the small smile that crosses my face as I peel off my gear and head toward the showers.
I’m still buzzing from the win, and the adrenaline has not quite worn off yet.
Levi is beside me in the shower, humming some ridiculous song and looking far too pleased with himself for someone who got punched in the face.
“You’re going to have a hell of a shiner tomorrow,” I tell him.
“Worth it,” he grins, touching his cheekbone. “Did you see Jagger’s face when I landed that first punch? Priceless.”