Chapter 48
FORTY-EIGHT
DYLAN
ASKING MY GIRLFRIEND if I can hang out with my friends is not something I ever imagined myself doing. I’m not even sure if I have to, but I think it’s the right thing to do. The reason I’m so hesitant, though, is that I’d much rather stay in with her.
After Thanksgiving, my mom insisted I not miss any classes.
She has enough to rent a place in Hartford in our old neighborhood, and Ada and I visited earlier this week.
Yesterday, Sierra was already there when I stopped by after class, and the sight of her made my heart do that near-fatal squeeze thing.
Now, Sierra is on her stomach, working on her laptop while I lean against my headboard, massaging her feet in my lap, enjoying the small sighs of pleasure she lets out.
Her final exam for her forensics class is tomorrow morning, just hours before our performance.
She’s stressed, and I can tell, because she hasn’t turned on The Weather Channel today.
After our afternoon skate session, we came back to the house and fell asleep. Now, the guys have texted that they want to play hockey on the frozen pond just outside Hartford.
I text the group chat again.
BUNNY PATROL
Dylan Donovan: What if I bail?
Kian Ishida: I won’t talk to you if you do that.
Dylan Donovan: Silent treatment? Bet. I’m staying in. Have fun.
Aiden Crawford: I already left Summer’s dorm. You’re fucking going.
Sebastian Hayes: Cole and I have an exam tomorrow morning. I feel like this is one of those times where you look back at the decisions you should’ve made.
Cole Carter: We’re great at making those. Anyway, see you guys in a bit.
With one squeeze to Sierra’s foot, I drop it and hover over her.
She’s immediately suspicious, and when I kiss the back of her neck, she flips me over so fast, I barely have time to react.
She straddles me, holding my arms above my head with that fiery look in her green eyes.
The one she gets when she’s trying to read my mind.
My gaze falls to her spandex shorts that rise up high on her thick thighs. I have dreams of being in this position at all hours of the day. Including right now, when I should be leaving.
I lift my hips on instinct, and she rolls her eyes.
“What do you want?” she asks.
Her smooth voice doesn’t help draw away the fog in my mind. There’s only one thing I want right now, and it’s not to go hang out with my friends.
“I can’t remember. But feel free to try anything to jog my memory.”
“Anything?”
This time, when I meet her eyes, there’s no mistaking what I see. Hot desire, dripping like morning dew. She leans in until her breath brushes my lips, her hands on my wrists. I’m about to close the distance, when she flicks me on the forehead.
I jerk back. She does it again. She fucking flicked me.
Sierra blinks innocently. “Did that help?”
“Sierra,” I say, my voice low, making her squeeze her legs tighter around me.
“What? You said to try anything.”
“Yeah, to kiss me, not to flick my head.”
“As pretty as you are, you’re not Sleeping Beauty.” She pats my chest and moves off me to go back to her laptop.
I slide my hands along her body, dipping below her loose sweater. She pretends not to notice, but I can feel the way her abdomen tightens, and goose bumps rise on her skin the higher I go. I drop a kiss to the middle of her back. “You know how you wanted to stay in and watch a movie tonight?”
“Actually, you wanted to stay in and watch a movie,” she quips.
Right, I did suggest it. The girl’s got me wanting to watch chick flicks. I move higher and bury my face in her neck. “Well, the guys texted,” I say, dragging my lips over her ear. “They wanna play hockey for a few hours.”
Her eyes still don’t leave her screen. “Okay?”
“And they want me to come,” I clarify.
She finally looks at me, her brow quirked. “That’s nice, babe. I’m glad they invited you?”
I furrow my brows. “Why did you say that like a question?”
“Because I’m not sure what you want me to say.”
“Sierra, the guys want to play hockey right now, so I can’t stay to watch a movie.”
“Oh,” she squeaks, moving up to lean back against the bed frame. “You’re asking me if you can play outside with your friends?” She tries holding back a smile but then bursts into laughter. Sierra clutches her stomach and wipes nonexistent tears from her eyes.
“To play hockey with the guys,” I correct.
“Yeah, that’s what I said.” She bites down a smile. “Be back before supper. And wear a sweater, or you’ll catch a cold, honey.”
I press my fingers into her sides, and she squeals in laughter. “Okay, okay,” she says, still laughing. “I’m sorry. I just think it’s cute. But I’ll stop.”
I stop tickling her, and she finally calms down. Then, before she laughs again, she pulls me by my shirt to kiss me. Her smile is wide against my lips, and I know she is only kissing me to hide it. “I can feel you laughing,” I say in between kisses.
“Not …” Kiss. Giggle. “Laughing.”
That’s when I slip my tongue between her lips and let my hands slide under her T-shirt. Sierra’s breath hitches, and she goes lax under my touch. “You’re going to be late.”
“I don’t care,” I murmur.
“Dylan.”
“You want me to go?” I ask again, just to be sure. I’d hate for her to be alone if she wants me here. I’d do this with her forever if she wanted me to.
She runs the pad of her thumbs under my eyes. “Didn’t know I had you on such a tight leash.”
“That’s how I like it.” Then I kiss her again, pulling her lip between my teeth until she pushes me away.
“Go! I have to study. And I’m serious, wear that sweater I knit you.”
When I arrive, I park and pop open my trunk to slip on my skates.
The guys pull into the lot just shortly after.
The floodlights are nearly blinding as they bounce off the untouched ice.
That’s when I see Kian, suited up and setting up nets, each one adorned with tiny fairy lights.
Aiden comes to stand by my open trunk, just as Sebastian and Cole arrive.
“What are you wearing?” Sebastian asks me.
The sweater Sierra knit me is a Christmas one with random patterns and our names stitched into the sleeve. I fucking love it. “A sweater,” I reply.
“Did your grandma knit it?” Sebastian chuckles to himself, but Cole smacks his head.
Aiden’s looking at me then, clearly knowing that Sierra made it and that I’d probably want to be buried with it. “His girlfriend made it,” he tells him.
Sebastian deflates. “Lucky.”
We’re all watching Kian set up the makeshift rink. He’s checking how solid it is as he goes, then he drops a puck at center ice and looks up, raising both arms.
“Welcome to Kian’s rink of wonders!”
We all grab our sticks and meet him in the middle.
“What’s up with the decorations?” I ask.
He grins and lifts a shoulder. “This might be the last time we all get to play hockey together. I wanted to make it special.”
Seb and Cole skate up to Kian and share an awkward hug. Slowly, they huddle closer, and Aiden and I are pulled into the weird five-way hug.
Finally, when Kian taps the ice with his stick, we’re off. We play rough. I steal the puck from Cole, and cut across the ice faster than I ever have, probably from the stamina I’ve built while figure skating.
It’s when I pull back and launch the puck right at the net where Sebastian stands in as goalie that I fuck up.
I don’t notice Kian in my peripheral, and he doesn’t stop fast enough before his shoulder slams into mine.
The contact is solid, nothing I haven’t felt before, but my skate catches on a rough edge, and my ankle twists.
I flatten awkwardly onto the ice. A flare of heat ignites in my ankle, shooting up my leg. I grit my teeth, biting back a curse.
“What’s wrong?” Aiden calls as he skates closer.
I bite down so hard, my response comes out weak. “Nothing.”
“Can’t handle the heat?” says Kian, circling me. “You’re losing your touch, Dill Pickle.” He’s still laughing when he offers me a hand.
The pain is so intense, I can’t think. Can’t come up with a snipe, can’t lift my hand to take his, and can’t fucking move. I glance back up at them, but whatever they see on my face makes theirs collapse into worry.
“You’re pale,” they say.
Ah fuck.
THE SMELL OF antiseptic clings to the air, and the harsh fluorescents illuminate the checkerboard of pale blue and white tiles. All I hear is the squeak, squeak, squeak of rubber soles against the vinyl floors.
“Will you stop pacing?” I grit out.
Kian stops abruptly, his hands stuffed deep into his letterman jacket pockets, before exhaling and continuing to pace the cramped emergency room. As is if I’m the annoying one.
The guys are in the waiting room, but Kian insisted that he needed to come with me. He was the one who wheeled me to triage. After I have my vitals checked and get an X-ray, we’re in a small room, boxed in by faded blue curtains that hang limply from metal tracks overhead.
I’m perched on the edge of the exam bed, the paper beneath me crinkling with every shift as my ankle throbs.
Kian’s footsteps continue to tap out a nervous rhythm, the sound amplified in the too-quiet space. His eyes flick toward me and then away.
“It’s not your fault,” I remind him. I said the same thing in the car on our way to the DU hospital emergency room. He didn’t respond then, and he doesn’t respond now.
Kian glances at his watch. “What’s taking so long?”
That’s when the doctor comes in. “You know, for a hockey player, this isn’t a terrible X-ray,” she says. “I held my breath when I heard it was one of the Dalton boys.”
“It’s not?” Kian asks.
She nods. “You’ve got a grade two ankle sprain, nothing surgical. But the ligament being partially torn makes things tricky. It’s not a clean tear, but it’s enough that you’re going to need rest. A lot of it. That way we avoid any long-term damage.”
“How long?” Kian pipes up.
“No hockey,” she clarifies. “Or any type of activity. For at least six weeks.”
Her words sound muffled by a high-pitched ringing in my ears.
The Grand Prix final is tomorrow, and if we don’t perform, we won’t have a shot to qualify for Worlds in March.
It’ll all be over. I’d have fucked it all up.
Sierra would lose her last chance for a comeback.
She wants this badly, and I promised I would help her get it.
“Can I get something for the pain?” I ask the doctor.
“You’ll get painkillers, some acetaminophen will do the trick, but if it gets bad, we can prescribe Toradol.”
“It’s bad now,” I say. “I’ll need Toradol.”
I can feel Kian’s questioning gaze. We’ve had worse injuries, and none of us have ever required something strong for the pain. But right now, I’m not doing this for me.
She hesitates, glancing at the splint on my ankle. “It’s not necessary if you rest. Follow RICE. I’m sure you’ve done that before.”
I shake my head, adamant now. “This feels so much worse than any other injury. I’d rather not be in pain during my final exams.”
“You can’t skate.” The doctor turns to Kian. “He can’t skate.”
“I won’t,” I say.
“Yeah, he won’t,” Kian chimes in hesitantly. “Our coach won’t let him.”
Her gaze lands on my swollen ankle, then shifts to me. I give her my most innocent look, and she sighs before saying she’ll be back.
“What was that about?” Kian asks the moment she’s out of earshot. “I know your pain tolerance; you would be the last person to take strong pain meds for a sprain.”
I shrug. “I need it.”
Kian starts pacing again. “Sierra’s going to kill me,” he mutters, then slumps on a chair.
“Sierra’s not going to find out,” I say.
His head snaps to me. “What the hell are you talking about? She’s going to know the second she sees you.” He points at the splint on my foot.
“She’s not,” I say seriously. “I’m still competing tomorrow. With or without the meds.”
“Are you insane?” he hisses. “You can’t skate on a fucking grade two sprain.”
“I’ll be fine with painkillers,” I say. “Right now, you’re going to help me wrap my ankle as tight as possible, and then you’re going to keep your mouth shut.”
“But—”
“Promise me.”
“Dylan—”
“Promise that you won’t tell anyone, Kian. Not even Summer.”
His mouth opens and closes until resignation settles. “I promise.”
I relax a bit. The things I’d do just to see Sierra’s smile are pathetic. I didn’t expected to be the kind of boyfriend who would blindly follow his girl off a cliff, but damn does it feel good. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to make sure she’s winning, with me always by her side.