Chapter 27 Henrik
HENRIK
Playing with Ren always fires me up, whether we’re on the ice or in the band—or in this case, both. He’s fearless, exhilarating, the biggest risk taker I’ve ever known in my entire life.
I can only imagine how well we’ll fuck together.
Maybe it’s my imagination but the night feels electric.
Our music hits harder, better than ever.
Like always, he pushes himself to the very edge and then beyond, raging into the microphone with everything he’s got.
He doesn’t hold anything back. He never has.
He throws himself headlong into everything without a safety net.
No. That’s not true. I’m his safety net. I always have been.
I used to resent it sometimes. Okay, a lot, especially when we were younger.
I got into trouble because of him. Nearly got thrown in jail because of his fights.
If we hadn’t been well-known professional hockey players, we’d have had to call someone to come bail us out.
Not Coach—he would’ve benched us. Probably Lee.
Doyle would’ve cussed us out and left us to rot, at least a day or two to teach us a lesson.
Not that a lesson would’ve ever helped settle Ren down.
Though it’s different now with Darby hanging between us.
He took a risk pulling her onto the ice.
Into our act. We usually toss a puck around in that song, not my heart.
When she started to fall, I nearly ruined the show by leaping into action too quickly.
Ren always does the dying swan bit, and I swoop in to save him before the final fall.
I should’ve known he wouldn’t let her fall.
He might risk his own fool neck—but he would’ve taken the fall himself before he’d let her get hurt.
She might not have picked up on his deliberate message, but I sure did.
Our regular viewers probably did too, though I’m not sure how much the cameras caught.
We don’t have live cameramen, but with Ren’s innate sense of showmanship, he knows exactly where the best angles are for his act.
Those few minutes of instant terror and rage at the thought of her getting hurt have shifted my entire world off its axis.
Where I can trust Ren to catch Darby—because he knows I’ve got his back too.
Where I can trust him to bring her out into our act and make it a part of his—our—music. Making it better than ever.
Because she makes everything more alive. More special.
I’m itching to sit down with him later and figure out more ways we can incorporate her into the act. Teach her how to skate. Hell, get her to sing or play too. She said she was the geeky A+ choir girl in school. She probably knows more about music than me.
The thought of her joining us in this crazy wonderful gig we do makes my dick so hard it’s probably showing up on camera. Hopefully we don’t get our channel suspended for indecent exposure.
I’m not sure what else he’s got planned for her.
We’re nearly through the set list before he signals me with a subtle jerk of his head.
Of course it’s our most successful song we end the show with most of the time.
The one I quoted lyrics from so he’d know I wasn’t bullshitting him about the idea of sharing Darby.
“In perfect quiet on the ice, I know truth in the silence. It’s too late to change. Snow turns into rain. Ice melts into pain. Blood dissolves the blame. But I’ll always remember the ice, because the ice belongs to you.”
The song he wrote about our childhood. The four of us growing up on the ice, playing hockey, forming a bond that went deeper than blood.
Even when we lost the game and quit the team and put the skates away, our core remained, frozen together.
That depth of friendship, brotherhood, whatever you wanted to call it.
That’s what brought them one by one back to the ice.
Back to me.
Now it means even more because Darby’s here. I want her here with us. More than ever. I want this all to belong to her. Our friendship, hers. Our lives blended and frozen together for all eternity.
He skates his normal routine without going to fetch her. Which means he wants me to be the one to bring her out for the final stanza. I don’t normally join him on the ice at the end. This is his show, his creation. His Ice.
But we can make it hers. Together.
I take off the guards and shoot straight across the ice to her, pulling her up into my arms the same way he did before.
Slow dancing on skates, carrying her across the ice.
She clings to me, her face pressed against my neck, her cheeks and the tip of her nose cold despite the fire.
I love the way she nuzzles into me but with her nose buried up beneath my chin, she can’t see Ren.
And she needs to see this. So she understands. So she knows what he’s saying. What we’re offering.
Slowly, I let her slide down my body until she’s on her feet. Then I twirl her around, hands on her waist to make sure she’s steady.
Lee’s guitar solo fills the night air. A little sad. A lot angry. Mourning the loss of innocence. The hurts and shadows that darkened our lives as we moved into adulthood. Broken hearts. Shattered dreams. Careers down the toilet. Regrets and shame and guilt.
Ren does his herky-jerky dance across the ice, making his arms and legs look twice as long as they really are.
The light placement helps, stretching his shadow out across the ice.
He’s the dying black swan, the opposite of grace with his sharp, exaggerated movements, though he somehow makes dying beautiful.
He bends and twists his upper body, swinging himself heedlessly in a tight vertical spin down toward the ice, his head dangerously close to slamming too hard or catching his skate.
Then he’s away, looping the ice once last time. Building up a crazy amount of speed for such a tight skating area. But he needs the speed for his trademark flip.
Only this time, he decides to do a backflip over the motherfucking fire.
I’m pretty sure his face drags through the flames. I hope the red paint doesn’t catch on fire. He sticks the landing—not that I’m holding my breath—and then sends himself into a spinning slide on his knees.
Toward Darby.
He falls short—as he always does. Hunched a few feet away, defeated, on his hands and knees, his head hanging low. His back heaves with each breath. Hell, I’ve seen him cry real tears sometimes. It’s that emotional for him.
He throws his head back and screams one last time, one hand on the ice, the other reaching up to the sky.
Steam rises off him. Or maybe his hoodie’s a little singed.
Doyle pounds out a thunderous crescendo on the drums. Lee’s playing his heart out, filling in for my missing bass.
I bend down close to her ear and whisper, “Ready?”
“For what?” Her voice trembles.
“All you have to do is plant your feet and glide.”
Nodding, she inhales deeply, and I feel her shift slightly beneath my hands. Then I give her hips a firm, steady shove toward Ren.
She wobbles a little at first but quickly rights herself.
One leg’s a little stronger than the other, so she starts to turn slightly.
But it looks intentional, like an artistic choice as she glides across the ice toward him.
She catches his upraised hand, and he whirls her around him in an arc, using centrifugal force to sling her around like a pair’s skater in a death spiral.
Her feet start to slide out from beneath her.
I throw myself on my knees toward them, catching her legs as he whips her back around. It’s her head I’m worried about—but he pulls her in closer, cushioning her neck with his other arm.
Chill, Zon, I tell myself. Though I’m pretty sure steam’s rising off my head now.
He leans back on his knees, pulling her up closer, which also pulls me across the ice. She ends up on his lap, facing him, as I slide close against her back. On a timer, the lights start to dim on stage, leaving only one blue light pointed in our direction.
She stares up at him as the final notes die down. Her chest heaves, her eyes glistening and wide, a little rattled, I think, but also caught in the magnetism he radiates. “That was crazy.”
Then her hand curls around his nape, and she rises higher like she’s going to kiss him.
Finally.
Though the hockey mask makes her pause. She laughs, a little embarrassed, and I think the moment has passed.
But S?ren Gustafson never missed a crucial play or a shot in his life. He pulls off his mask, holding it to the side to block his face from the general direction of the main camera, and locks his mouth over hers hard enough she makes a small oomph of surprise.
After only a few seconds, he lifts his head, his eyes glittering like black diamonds. “Now kiss him too.”
My eyes flare with surprise. Shock that he cut his first kiss short. Even more that he’s willing to share the spotlight with me, especially now. This is his big moment.
She turns her head toward me, her eyes searching mine, though I doubt she can see my reaction in the darkness. Her lips tremble, like she’s afraid. Or shy. As if she only just realized she kissed another man inches away from me. But Ren’s not just any man.
Neither am I.
I clamp my fingers on her chin and pull her up toward me.
Ren moves with her, using his mask to keep our faces obscured as much as possible as I shove mine up out of the way.
Desperate to taste her. To remind us both of what we’ve already shared.
I don’t doubt her choice of me versus him.
Not anymore. But I need to make my mark on her, now more than ever.
Her soft lips tremble against mine but she opens immediately. Her hungry little sounds drive me insane. I suck her tongue, her bottom lip, my teeth nipping at her. I want to press biting little kisses down her throat until she squeals and moans, but her coat’s in the way.
Breathing hard, I lift my head so I can see her eyes and watch her facial expression. “I’d like to see you kiss him again.”
Her eyelids flutter, her breath catching in her throat. But then she turns back to Ren.
Surprising me again, he doesn’t kiss her mouth again, but he pulls her close in a hug, tucking his lanky body around her, his arms around us both. “This Ice belongs to you.”