37. Dylan
DYLAN
“I’m playing in this game.”
No other player could get away with talking to Coach like that. Hell, the only reason I’m getting away with it is because we’re alone in his office, and even then, Bear arches a brow, letting me know I’m walking a fine line.
“I have to,” I press. “Don’t make me sit on the sidelines for this one, Coach. Please. ”
Breathing heavily, he eyes me warily from behind his desk. “Is this because it’s NSU?”
I hesitate, before nodding. It’s been over two weeks since my attack.
I’ve sat on the bench for two— two— games now.
I can’t sit on the sidelines for a third.
The fact that this is our first official game of the season against my old team just makes it all the more important that I’m out there.
I have to be on that ice. Have to be a part of the team when we kick their asses.
I have to be the one to wipe that fucking smirk off my ex-boyfriend’s face when he realizes the Steelhawks aren’t like his misogynistic team—well, not every Steelhawks player is.
“Do you think I’ve forgotten the way they went after you during the exhibition game?” Violence threads his words, and instead of cowing me, a smile teases along my lips.
“Have you forgotten how I was able to hold my own?”
A grumble of discontent rumbles in his chest, and I allow myself an affectionate smile.
“Bear,” I say softly, pleadingly. “I’m more than ready to be back on the ice.
Even the trainers say so and you’ve seen me in practice.
I’m fine. Fully healed, not a pinch of pain.
” It’s true, I’m back to my full strength and more than ready to dominate in Friday’s game.
Inhaling deeply, Bear pins me with an unreadable stare. The seconds tick by. One. Two.
“Fine,” he grits. “You’re right. The trainers have cleared you to play. I can’t bench you simply because I worry about you.”
Grin splitting my face, I race around the desk and throw my arms around his broad shoulders. Pressing a kiss to his cheek, I squeeze him tight as I say, “Thank you.”
Throwing open the door to the locker room, I’m still grinning like a loon as I throw my arms in the air.
“It’s official!” I announce. Most of the team has already left, hightailing it as soon as practice ended, leaving just my guys—huh, my guys…
that doesn’t sound so bad, you know—behind, waiting for me.
Coach will deliver the proper announcement at tomorrow’s team meeting, anyway. “I’m back, baby!”
An embarrassingly girly shriek escapes as I’m hauled into strong, masculine arms. Jax’s cedarwood scent envelops me, my arms coming up to squeeze his neck as he spins me around. “That’s my girl,” he says, low enough that only I hear.
My girl.
That sounds even better than my guys .
My blood heats at the affection behind those words. He’s been doing little things like that since the night of the Timberwolves game, saying sweet things that make me swoon, little touches when we’re out in public and more claiming, possessive ones when we’re at home.
“Knew you had it in you,” Ethan says, his smile broad and genuine. He pulls me in for a hug as soon as Jax sets me back on my feet, but I can still feel his warmth at my back as I bury my face in Ethan’s chest for a brief moment, inhaling his sure strength and confidence.
I’m yanked from his hold as Griffin’s possessive hands slide across my hips and cup the back of my neck. His steely eyes bore into mine, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “I can’t wait to take the ice with you on Friday.”
There’s a hunger behind those words, a flare of heat, like chasing a puck and getting rammed into the boards is a turn-on for him. Hell, knowing I’ll be on the ice right alongside him—alongside all of them—is turning me on.
Movement out of the corner of my eye catches my attention, and my head whips up.
Finn is standing in front of his locker, hands shoved in the front pockets of his jeans.
He nods when our gazes collide. “I’m glad you’re back,” is all he says, but I catch a hint of the relief in his eyes.
He might not believe that it was Kyle who attacked me, but he’s not like Kyle.
He never wanted me hurt, never wanted me off the ice.
Ethan’s hand squeezes my shoulder, garnering my attention. “We’re going to need all of our best players if we’re going to beat NSU.”
“Oh, we are beating NSU.”
I won’t have it any other way.
One side effect from Coach announcing that I was starting on the front line on Friday’s game that I hadn’t foreseen was the guys ramping up their protection detail .
The second Coach made the announcement and Kyle stormed out of the room, cursing up a storm, they’ve barely left my side. It’s a miracle I can use the bathroom without one of them standing in the stall with me.
Ethan was able to wield his power as captain and get Kyle to stay elsewhere, meaning it’s just been me and the guys at the house all week.
The weight that has lifted from my shoulders at knowing Kyle isn’t going to walk in the door at any second, that he isn’t sleeping just down the hall, or could creep up on me whenever, is indescribable.
I hadn’t realized until now how stressed that had me all the time.
Even though Kyle isn’t here, it hasn’t stopped Griffin from creeping in my window every night. It’s become such an ingrained habit that I don’t know what I’d do if he stopped. Am I even capable of falling asleep on my own anymore? I’m not so sure.
His chest rises and falls beneath me, the steady rhythm grounding me as we lie tangled together in the dim light of my bedroom.
His bare skin is warm under my cheek, the soft drag of his fingertips tracing idle circles over my spine and sending lazy shivers down my back.
Perhaps it should feel suffocating, the weight of his protection, the intensity of his presence, but it doesn’t.
It steadies me in a way I hadn’t expected. There’s a comfort to it, a reassurance.
It’s late, and we’ve been lying like this for a while, neither of us speaking, lost in the quiet before tomorrow’s storm.
The game. My return to the ice.
He shifts slightly, angling his head so his lips ghost over my hair.
The motion is so simple, so intimate, so casual, like he’s always done it, like he always will do it.
These quiet moments alone with him in my bed at night, it’s the only time Griffin is completely relaxed, entirely himself.
There’s no show for the team. No keeping up appearances on campus or posturing in front of the guys.
His expression is always that hard, granite mask, but I’ve come to realize that’s the real him.
Not the version of himself who smirks at jokes and plays the fool in front of the team.
Although, why he feels the need to put on the act is beyond me.
It feels wrong to ask. Hopefully, one day, he’ll feel comfortable telling me.
Breaking the silence, his deep voice rumbles through the night. “What happened with Tremble?”
My breath catches.
I don’t lift my head. Don’t look at him. Just focus on the feel of his skin under my fingertips, the slow, even rise and fall of his chest.
For a moment, I don’t answer. The memories press in, sharp and jagged, but I force my body to stay loose against his. If he senses how uncomfortable this topic makes me, he’s unlikely to wait until tomorrow to go after Lucas.
Finally, I exhale softly, swallowing around my suddenly dry throat as I struggle to find the words to answer his question.
I want to shrug it off and not answer at all, but perhaps there’s a catharsis in sharing it with someone, and I can only hope that if I open up to Griffin that he will feel as though he can open up to me in return.
“He hated me from the moment I joined the team,” I tell him, lips trembling even though my voice doesn’t shake.
Still, Griffin stills, sensing my unease. His fingers halt against my back. I press on before he can speak.
“He couldn’t stand the idea of a girl on the team. Of a girl being good enough to qualify for the team.” I let out a quiet, humorless laugh. “And he made sure I knew it, too.” I swallow roughly. “The whole team made it clear I didn’t belong. ”
Griffin’s hand tightens around my waist. His silence is dangerous, his stillness lethal.
I push on, my voice cracking over my next words. “Then my dad died.”
His exhale is sharp, like the words physically wound him. His hand starts moving again, this time over my ribs, like he’s trying to soothe away something he can’t touch.
“He did a complete one-eighty,” I tell him, staring pointedly at the rhythmic movements of his chest. I use that to center me, to focus me while I bare one of the worst hurts of my soul to him.
“He started being nice to me after that. He’d shut down the guys when they got too bad.
Defend me when they said I should quit. He listened.
He let me talk about my dad when I couldn’t talk to anyone else.
He was…kind.” I hate to use that word to describe him, but it’s true.
“I—” The words catch in my throat. “I thought he cared.” I shake my head, my cheek rubbing against Griffin’s warm skin. “I needed someone, and he was there.”
His chest rumbles beneath me. “He used you.”
I nod, my throat tight. He’s right. “It was all an act,” I admit, my voice hardening as anger curls beneath my ribs.
“He never gave a shit about me. He saw my grief, my weakness, and he played it against me. I was a joke.” I pause.
“Even worse, the whole team knew, and they let me believe it was real.”
Griffin’s breathing turns shallow, his entire body going rigid beneath me. He’s quiet for so long that I finally lift my head, meeting his gaze. His eyes are black. Not with rage. Not with fury. With something deeper. Something…lethal.
“I’ll kill him.” The words are quiet. Steady. A promise, one I have no doubt he will follow through on.