56. Dylan #2
“It’s the person you are that would bring him to his knees,” he clarifies, eyes steady on mine, “After everything you’ve been through…
the way you keep fighting, keep showing up, keep holding your ground—” He shrugs, like it should be obvious.
“He’d be proud of the strength in you, Dylan. Not just the skates on your feet.”
It hits me harder than I expect. Like a shot straight to the chest.
Everyone always talks about my dad in terms of hockey. About me making him proud because I’m chasing the dream he never got to finish. But no one ever talks about me as just…his daughter. Not the athlete. Not the legacy. Just a girl he would’ve been proud of—even if I never picked up a stick.
“Thank you,” I whisper, and I mean it more than I’ve meant anything all day.
Ethan bumps my knee gently with his. “I’m only stating the truth.”
A blur of motion draws my attention. Finn skates over, elbows resting on the boards as he leans forward. Behind him, Jax and Griffin are gathering up cones and gear, clearly done with their final drill of the night.
“You two done with your emotional heart-to-heart, or should I come back in a sec?” he teases, but his grin softens when his gaze lands on me.
“Har har,” Ethan retorts. “You guys done?”
Finn nods. “I was thinking we could grab some ice cream before heading home. You know, the place on Main Street.”
“We just ate dinner a couple of hours ago,” I remind him.
Finn’s grin deepens, slow and dangerous. His eyes rake over me like he’s starving, and I know damn well he’s no longer thinking about food. My pulse flares.
“I know, but trust me,” he murmurs. “I’m starving.”
My mouth goes dry. Every nerve in my body lights up like a live wire.
Because for all his heat, all the looks and tension and lingering stares…Finn hasn’t touched me. Not since the hotel. Not since he kissed me like I was something worth fighting for, then backed away like he was the one who might shatter.
And now?
Now it’s like some twisted version of foreplay. The kind that draws out every second until I’m going to combust from the pressure.
My body’s more than ready. My brain is screaming at him to just do something.
But he’s still standing there, cocky and calm and pretending like we’re not both toeing the edge of something sharp and hot and completely inevitable.
“Did someone mention ice cream?” Jax asks, skating over.
“Yeah, but it doesn’t look like Hellion is interested.” There’s a teasing glint in Finn’s eye.
“I didn’t say that,” I defend.
His green eyes dance with humor. “So you do want ice cream?”
I huff a laugh. “Like I’d ever say no to ice cream. ”
“Didn’t think so.” He grins, pleased with himself.
As we file out of the arena, the cool night air hits my overheated skin like a sigh of relief. My legs ache, my shoulder’s stiff, and I’m dead on my feet—but I don’t care. I haven’t felt this alive since before…
Refusing to go there, I shove the thought away and focus on Jax’s hand wrapped around mine. His thumb brushes slow, lazy strokes over my knuckles. On my other side, Griffin slings an arm over my shoulders, tugging me into his side with casual possessiveness like he’s done it a hundred times before.
Finn’s a step behind, carrying my backpack and shooting shit with the guys.
And Ethan’s walking in front of me, leading the way with that naturally commanding stride of his. Every so often, he glances over his shoulder like he’s checking I’m still here. Still with him.
It’s quiet for a beat, the kind of peace that settles in when everything feels…right.
It’s simple. Uncomplicated. A perfect end to a long day.
And right now, I don’t want anything else.
The cafeteria hums with the low roar of voices, the clatter of trays, and the squeak of sneakers against tile.
Finn’s thigh brushes mine under the table, his hand ghosting across the back of my chair like he owns the space.
Ethan sits across from me, sharp blue eyes softened by the way he keeps sneaking glances at my plate as though to make sure I’ve eaten enough.
Jax is to my left, quiet as always, but his presence at my side is steady, immovable.
Griffin leans back with that calculating smirk of his, saying little but watching everything.
The rest of the team is spread out around us, shoulders bumping, voices overlapping, the easy rhythm of inside jokes and trash talk. And for once, I’m in the middle of it—laughing, chirping back, adding my own digs when someone brags about their shot accuracy.
Ever since Kyle tried to drown me, something’s shifted.
The guys haven’t just closed ranks—they’ve pulled me into them.
I get texts now, random check-ins, a sophomore sending a meme at midnight just to make sure I’m okay.
On the ice, someone always seems to have my back—Matthews grabbing me an extra water before drills, Donaldson quietly retying a loose strap on my pads, Connors knocking into anyone who skates too close a second late.
After my first attack outside the stadium, their concern had been…
distant. Removed. How anyone would feel hearing about someone they don’t really know ending up in that situation.
Any offer of protection or help was offered to Ethan.
For him. But this? This is different. This isn’t protection out of obligation.
It’s rage that one of their own would turn on me.
It’s worry not for the incident, but for me .
“Carter,” Matthews calls across the table, smirking. “Tell me straight—whose shot’s harder? Mine or Finn’s?”
The table erupts in laughter, Finn arching a mischievous brow at me like the answer better be obvious. Heat creeps up my neck, but I grin, leaning into the easy ribbing.
“Depends. Do we count the ones that actually hit the net ?”
A chorus of “Oooooh” follows, and Matthews clutches his chest like I’ve wounded him. Finn just smirks wider, smug as hell, and Ethan shakes his head like he’s trying not to smile. For the first time, I don’t feel like I’m trespassing at this table. I feel like I belong at it.
A thick, sweet, suffocating scent has my nose twitching, and I turn instinctively, my laughter dying on my lips as Selena glides toward us, hips swaying, eyes locked on Finn. A feline smile curves her mouth, predatory and polished. She’s a viper ready to strike, every step a warning coil.
She doesn’t even pause before she’s pressing up against his side, fake nails grazing his chest. “Hey, babe.” Her voice is syrupy, a practiced purr, and I’m still staring at her in shock when she blows my mind by lowering herself right into his lap like she belongs there.
Only she doesn’t land.
Finn’s hands are on her hips, but instead of holding her steady, he shoves her firmly off.
“What the hell, Finn?” Selena’s voice is shrill, disbelief twisting her features.
“Not interested, Selena,” he states flatly, barely sparing her a glance as he drags his chair closer to mine. His arm drapes over my shoulders, pulling me tight into his side as his lips brush the crown of my head, casual but unmistakable.
Selena stumbles back, blinking like she’s been slapped. “Excuse me?”
Finn’s gaze meets mine, an apology in his green depths before he sighs and turns to face her.
“I’m. Not. Interested.”
Her face flames, shock crumbling into venom as her eyes cut to me, sharp enough to slice. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Her? The little Bench Bunny? What, you couldn’t find anyone with an actual chest?”
Hey! Rude! Not all of us want giant tits jiggling in our face. I can’t imagine anything worse than attempting to score a goal with those giant blobs of hers getting in the way.
Before I can say a word, Griffin’s voice cuts through, dark and unamused. “Watch it.” He leans forward, pale blue eyes glinting like a predator scenting blood. “You’re about three seconds from getting dragged out of here by your hair.”
Selena turns wide eyes on Griffin, backing up a step at the vicious look shadowing his features.
However, it’s not enough to stop the slight sneer that curls her lips.
“I bet she’s sleeping with you, too.” Scanning the broader table, her disgust deepens as she spits, “All of you.” She laughs caustically.
“That’s what a Bench Bunny does, after all. ”
My lungs lock, eyes sweeping the room and realizing we have the attention of everyone in here. Of course we do. I can practically hear the whispers, the speculation from our onlookers. Then, the scraping of chair legs snaps my attention back to the table.
Ethan is standing now, every inch of him radiating authority as he stares Selena down. “Get out.”
Another chair scrapes. Jax. His voice is quiet but thrums with warning as he mirrors Ethan. “Leave. Now.”
Selena falters, but her sneer snaps back in place. “Wow. She really does have you all wrapped around her?—”
“Shut. Up.” Finn’s tone is sharp enough to cut glass. His arm tightens around me, a vice-like squeeze before he also rises. He stares Selena down. “Funny thing, Selena,” he sneers at her. “You keep calling her a Bench Bunny, but you’re the only one I’ve ever seen hopping from lap to lap.”
Like a scene from a movie, team members rise one by one. “Yup, you’ve definitely spent time on mine,” Palmer says.
“And mine,” Chen tacks on.
And on and on it goes until basically every guy at the table confesses to having been with her.
And she had the nerve to call me a slut!
When silence reigns, heavy and vindicated, Ethan’s voice cuts through the air like steel. “I think I speak for the entire team when I say, we’re done with you.”
The rest of the guys immediately voice their agreement. No hesitation. No looks of regret. “You’re not welcome here anymore,” Ethan finishes, voice final. “Not at this table. Not at our games. Not with us.”
Selena’s mouth opens, but no words come. The silence presses in, thicker than any shout, until finally she spins on her heel and storms out, her heels clacking like gunshots.
When she’s gone, the room exhales. Laughter and chatter slowly resume around us, the tension dissipating like smoke.
But me? I can’t move.
I sit frozen, Finn’s arm returning to its place around my shoulders, Ethan’s sharp gaze steady across the table, Jax’s solid bulk beside me, Griffin’s smirk a promise.
The rest of the team scattered around, returning to their conversations like what happened was just another day.
Nothing out of the ordinary. Completely unaware of how much their support means to me.
My throat is dry, and I struggle to swallow around the lump lodged there. As if sensing how choked up I’m feeling, Jax reaches over to squeeze my hand, and when I glance up at him, there’s a knowing glint in his eye, a soft curl to his lips.
For the first time in my life, I don’t feel like I’m fighting alone.
For the first time, I belong.