Chapter 33
Chapter Thirty-Three
Thorne
My hand is healed. My splint is off. And god, I am ready to play. Last week, I had to suit up and ride the bench while scowling at everything and everyone. It nearly killed me.
But that’s all done with tonight.
The locker room is loud and charged with restless energy. Rookies are bouncing off the walls. Moose is taping his stick slowly. Hunter is in the corner with his headphones on, eyes closed, already somewhere else in his head.
I flick my gaze to Beck. He’s across the room, pulling on his jersey. We haven't spoken since the family dinner. That’s a kind of progress, seeing as how we’ve had to be in the same press briefings. He catches my eye and I hold his gaze. Neither of us says anything.
That's going to have to be enough for now. We have a game to play, and whatever's broken between us can't follow us onto the ice.
I think we have an unspoken agreement on that.
Coach Cross runs through the final lineup at the whiteboard. My name and Konstantin's are on the same line, same as the last few games of preseason, center and left wing.
I refuse to get all up in my head over it. We’ll either figure it out or fail on the ice.
The tunnel is dark and loud with the bass of the arena music vibrating through the concrete. The crowd noise builds as we line up, helmets on, sticks in hand. My right hand flexes around the shaft. There's a dull ache in the ring finger that might never fully go away.
But hey, as long as that finger still grips and shoots, I’m not worried.
Beck falls in beside me at the mouth of the tunnel. We've done this together for years, walking out side by side, co-captains leading the charge. The muscle memory of how to lead the team hasn’t gone anywhere.
He extends his gloved fist. I tap it with mine.
The announcer calls our names and the crowd erupts. The sound hits me like a wave as I step onto the ice, the arena lights blazing, seventeen thousand people on their feet. My skates bite into the fresh surface. The cold air fills my lungs.
For a second, I'm not thinking about Savard or Beck or my dad or any of it.
I'm just a hockey player. This is my rink. This is my game.
My eyes find the glass near the tunnel exit, scanning the lower section where I told Mollie to sit.
She's there, third row, with Rosie on her lap and the Coven spread out around her.
Juliet and Scout are on her left. Jessa and Ivy are on her right.
Indie is beside Jessa, her blue hair unmistakable even from across the ice.
Mollie is wearing my jersey for the first time. Number 19, THORNE across the back. She catches my eye and her whole face lights up. I skate to the glass and tap it with my glove. She blows me a kiss. Rosie copies her. Adorable.
The puck drops and the first period is rough. My ring finger protests every pass and every shot. But by my second shift, the muscle memory takes over, and I stop noticing.
Konstantin and I spend the first ten minutes figuring each other out. He drifts into my lane once and I compensate. I call for a pass out loud, catch myself, and tap my stick twice instead. He looks at me. I point left. He nods and breaks hard.
We don't score on that play… but we don't collide either. I’ll take it.
Second period, we have better luck. Konstantin feeds me a pass on a breakaway that I don't expect. His timing is so perfect that the puck lands on my blade like he placed it there by hand. I snap it to the net. Before I realize what’s happening, the red light goes off.
Yes! I point at him as I skate past. He taps my chest with his glove. His expression barely changes, but I catch the smallest lift at the corner of his mouth.
This guy shouldn’t have a bad reputation. He’s all right in my book. Fuck whatever the guy he put in the hospital in LA thinks.
The game winds up with us winning 2-1. The horn sounds. I throw my arms up, and seventeen thousand people lose their minds. Konstantin looks pleased.
My mind is already over the game. I’m searching for my girl.
I find the tunnel exit and wait, exhilarated, at the gap in the boards. When she comes around the corner with Rosie in her arms, I grab her and kiss her in front of everyone.
She tastes like beer and strawberry lip balm. She laughs against my mouth. Rosie is squished between us, making indignant noises. She’ll get over it.
"Get a room, Thorne," Jett calls as he skates past.
Mollie pulls back, cheeks on fire. "You're insane."
"You're wearing my jersey." She looks amazing in it, even though it’s way too big.
She jogs Rosie on her hip and rolls her eyes. "Everybody wears your jersey."
"Yeah, but not everybody is gonna wear only that jersey in bed tonight. Not everybody is gonna be rewarded for being my good girl.”
“Alex!” She laughs and puts her hand over Rosie’s ear. “She can hear, you know.”
One of my teammates yells my name and I sigh. “I have to go. Wait for me, Freckles.”
Her lips curve up sweetly. “Always, Hotshot.”
If Mollie knew how much I loved that nickname coming from her mouth, she’d never let me live it down. I kiss her and Rosie on the cheeks, then head off.
The locker room afterward is the best kind of loud. Music pumping, guys yelling, the specific relief of a close win after a hard game. I strip my pads and sit on the bench with my head tipped back, letting the adrenaline drain out of me.
Konstantin drops onto the bench beside me. He's got a towel around his neck, and a bruise forming on his jaw from a second-period check that he pretended didn't hurt.
"The signaling was better tonight," he says.
"It wasn't perfect."
"No." He rubs his jaw. "But it worked."
"It did."
He considers me for a second, then holds out his fist. I bump it with mine. Neither of us says anything else. We just sit there for a minute, two guys who are figuring out how to play together. Professionals, yes. But also, guys who are working around obstacles.
"Tomorrow," he says. "After practice? We can work on the signals more."
"I'll be there."
He nods, gets up, and heads for the showers. I sit for another minute, checking my phone. There's a text from my dad.
Dad
Good game, champ. You looked sharp out there.
Also, I need to ask you something.
Will you be my best man?
I stare at the screen. My dad wants me to stand next to him while he marries my ex-girlfriend. Six months ago, that would've sent me into a spiral. Right now, with the sweat still drying on my skin and my girl's lip gloss on my mouth, I can't find it in me to care.
Naomi makes him happy. He makes her happy. It's weird as fuck and I'll never fully get used to it. But I have Mollie. That’s really all that matters.
I send him a thumbs up and put my phone away.
After I shower and change, the whole team migrates to The Secret History. By the time I walk in, the Coven has claimed the back room, the bar is three deep with Havoc players, and Indie is already dancing on a table. Theo is looking up at her like she's personally responsible for the sun rising.
They are obviously going to hook up. Even I can tell, and I normally don’t read other people’s vibes that well.
“Alex!” Mollie spots me from across the room and weaves through the crowd. She's still wearing my jersey, tied at the waist now, paired with jeans and her white Converse. She throws her arms around my neck and kisses me.
Her lips still taste like strawberry. I pick her up and carry her to the corner booth saved for us.
She slides onto my lap like she belongs there, which she does, and hooks her arm around my neck. I rest my hand on her thigh and pull her closer.
“Mmm. Finally. I get to have my hands all over you in public.”
She laughs. “You do.”
I lean in and put my lips against her ear. "You know what I'm going to do when we get home?"
"Collapse from exhaustion?"
"I'm going to strip your pants off, leaving you in just my jersey, and bend you over the kitchen counter and make you scream my name."
Her breath hitches. She shifts on my lap. "Alex."
"Then I'm going to carry you upstairs. I’ll run a bath and wash your hair. You're going to sit in my lap and tell me that I'm the best hockey player you've ever seen."
I kiss her ear and she writhes against me. "You're crazy."
"And then I'm going to eat your pussy until you cry." I nip her earlobe. "You'll be polite about it, though. You'll say please and thank you, like the good girl I know you are."
Her thighs clench against mine. I can feel the heat of her through her jeans. My cock is already thinking about going into overtime.
"You can't say things like that in public," she whispers, her face scarlet.
"I just did."
Across the bar, Beck is nursing a beer and watching us with a scowl. His jaw works and he doesn’t look very happy for us. But hey, he’s not punching me. That’s growth.
I catch his eye and raise my glass. He flips me off behind his beer bottle, which Mollie doesn't see but I do.
Fair enough.
Mollie settles against my chest, her hand on my jaw, her thumb tracing the fading bruise from Beck's punch.
The bar is loud and warm, and full of the people I care about most. Gordie is back at the houseboat with Slothra, probably destroying one of his stuffies.
The season stretches ahead of us, long and uncertain and full of games I might win, and games I'll definitely lose.
But right now, my girl is on my lap in a booth at my favorite bar, wearing my name on her back, and she's whispering dirty things in my ear.
She's mine. My girl. And this is exactly how life should be.