EMBER
Opening night of the season and the arena is electric.
The lights are brighter, the music louder, the crowd already on its feet even though warm-ups have barely started.
The family box is packed with moms, girlfriends, and friends.
Everyone who matters is here. Harper is still home with Bastien, but she’s on FaceTime with Issy to get updates.
Jo is down with the medical staff near the players, and Collette is running around with the social media girls.
Cassidy and I walk in wearing our jerseys supporting our brothers, nobody blinks twice.
Except Sully.
I feel his eyes on me the second he skates out for warm-ups.
Even from up here in the box, I can see the way his jaw tightens.
What is that all about? He does a full circle of the ice, stick tapping against the boards, and every time he passes our section, his gaze finds me again.
Like he can’t help it. I force myself to look away and focus on the ice, on the rest of the team, on anything that isn’t the way Sully’s shoulders stay rigid every time he glances at the box.
The game starts, and the crowd explodes.
We are up on our feet cheering before the first shift is even over.
Emmett wins the opening face-off, and the puck goes straight back to Sully.
He carries it over the blue line, fakes left, then threads a perfect pass to Fish who one-times it.
The goalie gets a pad on it, but the rebound kicks out, and Pierre is there, burying it top shelf.
The horn blares and the arena loses its mind.
1–0 Mavericks thirty-seven seconds in.
The rest of the period is pure chaos in the best way.
Bouch throws a massive hit that has the entire box screaming.
Nelly blocks a shot with his ankle and somehow stays on his feet.
Sully is everywhere, killing penalties, quarterbacking the power play, throwing his body in front of everything.
Every time he’s on the ice, I feel him glance up at the box, just for a second, like he’s looking for someone. Is it me?
Second period, the other team pushes back hard.
They score twice in under three minutes, and suddenly we’re down 2–1.
The mood in the box tightens. Then Emmett takes a pass from Evan at the point, walks in, and rips a laser past the goalie’s glove.
Tie game. The crowd is so loud I can feel it in my chest.
Third period is war.
Sully scores the go-ahead goal on a breakaway, decking the goalie so hard the poor guy ends up on his ass. Fish adds an empty-netter with forty seconds left.
Final score 4–2 Mavericks.
The horn sounds and the boys pour onto the ice. The screams filling the arena are deafening.
We win.
What a great start to the season.
After the game, the boys all head to Murphy’s to celebrate the win.
The place is packed, fans, staff, and half the team is already there by the time we arrive.
And of course, the puck bunnies are out in force.
A group of them is already circling Bouch and Nelly near the bar.
Two more have claimed the seats on either side of Fish until Collette shows up and they scatter like smoke.
One particularly determined blonde makes a beeline for Sully the second he walks in.
I watch her put a hand on his arm and laugh at something he didn’t say.
He gives her the polite, distant smile he uses on a woman he isn’t interested in.
He’s single, he can do what he likes, I tell myself.
When I look over to my bestie, I notice something has caught her attention. When I follow her line of sight, she is looking at a puck bunny and Nelly flirting.
I elbow her. “You’re staring.”
“No, I’m not,” she bites back.
“Yeah, you are. Are you okay?” I ask her.
“Of course, I am. Just didn’t think that was his type,” she says, staring at the blonde chatting with Nelly.
“He likes brunettes.” I smirk.
She rolls her eyes. “I’ve been good, staying away from him. It’s been hard and I’ve been keeping it very professional.”
“I noticed that when we were at his apartment,” I tell her.
“Thanks for being the buffer, otherwise …” She takes a sip of her drink.
Otherwise, she would have fallen into bed with him and that doesn’t help anything, I know the feeling.
My eyes land on Sully and his harem of women.
I force myself to look at my drink instead, because I don’t like that pit of jealousy that seems to have threaded through me.
My eyes look somewhere else, and I see Emmett is holding court at the bar with Jo tucked under his arm.
Pierre is telling some story that has Evan howling.
The energy is pure opening-night high, but every time I glance over, that blonde is still talking to Sully, and his eyes keep finding mine over her shoulder.
Eventually, the crowd thins. Cassidy leaves with Marlowe, and this time I think she is actually hanging out with her, it’s not code for Nelly. Emmett and Jo head home, and one by one the others peel off until it’s just the two of us walking back to the apartment in the cool night air.
The apartment is quiet when we walk in. Sully drops his keys on the counter and turns to me. Without a word, he reaches into his bag and pulls out a folded jersey.
His.
“I hated seeing you in someone else’s name,” he says, voice low and rough.
I stare at the jersey in his hands. “Sully … I can’t wear this.”
“I know, just … I don’t know, I thought …” he says.
I take it from him and an idea pops into my head. “Doesn’t mean I can’t wear it when no one else is around.” I smirk as I pull off the shirt I’m wearing and slip his jersey over my head. It hangs soft and huge on me. His eyes go dark the second it settles on my body.
That’s all it takes.
Sully closes the distance in two strides. His mouth is on mine before I can say another word. He walks me backward until my shoulders hit the fridge, hands already under the jersey, sliding over my skin.
“Fuck, Em.” He groans against my lips. “You have no idea how hard it was watching you wear his name all night.”
I don’t answer. I just kiss him harder, fingers in his hair, pulling him closer. He lifts me, my legs wrapping around his waist as he carries me to the bedroom. We don’t make it all the way. He sets me on the edge of the bed, yanks my underwear off, and drops to his knees.
He eats me like he’s been starving for it, tongue deep, fingers curling, sucking my clit until I’m shaking and coming with his name in my mouth.
Then he’s up, condom on, pushing into me in one long, deep stroke that makes us both groan.
He fucks me hard and deep, one hand braced beside my head, the other gripping the hem of his jersey like he can’t stand the thought of taking it off me.
Every thrust is rough, deliberate, the sound of skin meeting skin filling the quiet apartment.
“You look so fucking good in my name,” he rasps against my ear. “Take it. Take all of it.”
I come again, clenching around him, and he follows a few strokes later with a low, guttural sound against my neck.
We stay like that for a long moment, breathing hard, his forehead pressed to mine.
Neither of us says the word ‘mine.’
But he does demand that the jersey stays on for tonight.