18. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
THEO
The puck whistles past me, cracking against the boards, the glass shuddering, but by the time I react, Lucas is already on it, catching the rebound clean on his stick and cutting around me without hesitation.
“Fuck.”
I slam a gloved hand against the side of my helmet, rattling my skull hard enough that it should knock some fucking sense back into me. I shove off again, blades cutting into the ice as I force myself back into the drill, my head having other ideas.
I’m still in that freezing lake with Connor’s hand curled around my hip and his mouth crashing into mine before I’d even realised what he was doing.
One second he was staring at me, furious and defensive, and the next he was hauling me back and kissing me hard enough to leave me standing there completely fucking useless.
Worse, I can still taste him.
I run my tongue along the inside of my lip, finding the spot his mouth caught against mine, and instead of getting rid of it, all I manage to do is bring the whole thing rushing back.
Marcus clips my shoulder, jolting me sideways, forcing me back into myself. I shoot him a glare, already bristling, only to find him looking back at me with one brow raised.
“Get your fucking head on straight, Knox,” he snaps, knocking into me again, trying to body-check the focus back into me.
I roll my eyes, shoving him off, irritation flaring hot beneath my skin. Better than whatever the fuck else has been crawling under it since yesterday.
“Yeah, I fucking get it, asshole.”
I push off, digging my skates into the ice as I take off after the play.
I lock onto the puck, tracking it as it moves from stick to stick, letting the familiar scrape of blades and shouted calls fill my head. This is easy. This makes sense. I’ve done this so many times my body knows what to do before I have to think about it.
I cut across the ice, closing the gap on Lucas fast and slamming into his side, sending him crashing into the boards. The puck breaks loose, and I rip it away cleanly, barely losing speed.
“Christ, Knox,” Lucas grunts behind me, shoving himself off the boards. “You trying to take me out of the season or what?”
I barely hear him.
My knuckles blanch around my stick as I tear towards the goal, pushing my legs until my thighs burn, using the ice to drown out everything I don’t want to think about.
Connor is still there the second I leave even an inch.
“You take harder hits than that in the bedroom,” I throw over my shoulder.
The taunt comes easily, the same cocky bullshit I’ve been throwing at these assholes for years, and the ice erupts around me.
Lucas tells me to go fuck myself. Marcus is already shouting for the puck, the familiar noise settles over me, everything slotting back where it belongs.
This I know what to do with.
Hockey. Taking the piss.
Anything but thinking about the way Connor kissed me.
I lean into it, winding up for the shot, and send it wide.
The puck cracks into the glass nowhere near the net, the sound ringing across the rink as I carve my blades into the ice, spraying across the boards with the force.
A fist closes around the back of my jersey.
Marcus hauls me backwards, knocking me off balance, and I stumble into him with a growl already building low in my throat.
He’s one of the only fuckers on this team who can actually pull that shit off.
His furious blue eyes lock onto mine. “Get it together, or get off the fucking ice,” he barks.
For one hot, stupid moment, I want to hit him.
The urge flashes through me so quickly my hands ball into fists, fingers flexing inside my gloves.
I shrug out of his grip, my skin crawling where he grabbed me.
A clatter from the stands cuts through the tension before either of us can make this worse.
My head snaps towards it.
Connor is frozen halfway down the stairs, one hand still curled around the railing, his wide eyes moving between Marcus and me before stopping on my face.
His eyes settle on mine, and all the anger I had aimed at Marcus twists.
He’s standing there with those wide blue eyes fixed on me, all fucking innocent when less than twenty-four hours ago he had his tongue in my mouth.
My teeth grind together.
No.
Fuck that.
I tear my attention away from Connor and force it back onto Marcus, but the ice already feels secondary, my concentration split between the game in front of me and the pair of blue eyes I can still feel from the stands.
Fuck it. I’m done.
I lift my hands in mock surrender and skate backwards towards the bench.
“You got it, Captain,” I call dryly. “I’m out.”
Marcus watches me go, his scowl loosening as his eyes move over my face, searching now instead of challenging.
I turn before he can say anything and swing myself over the barrier in one smooth movement, landing on the rubber flooring. The shift from ice to solid ground jars up through my legs as I grab my water bottle.
And the second I turn away from Marcus, I look straight back at Connor.
Our eyes catch across the rink, his expression giving me absolutely nothing while mine feels far too exposed. One look at him and I can feel the kiss all over again, the memory sitting hot against my mouth.
He’d grabbed me with a certainty that had left me too fucking stunned to do anything except take it.
My heart pounds against my ribs.
I tip the bottle back and drink until I have to breathe, cold water filling my mouth, chasing away a taste that isn’t even there anymore.
I slam the bottle onto the bench, the plastic buckling beneath my hand before I rip off my gloves and throw them down with the rest of my shit.
I drop onto the bench and lean over my skates, fumbling with the knot until the lace slips straight out of my grip.
“Fuck’s sake.”
I grab it again, jamming a finger beneath the knot and wrenching it loose.
The skates come off rough, and I kick them both aside, shoving them into my bag. My hands keep moving even when there’s nothing for them to do, fingers drumming against my thigh.
I lean back against the bench, shoulders hitting the wood, breathing harder than I should be considering I’ve barely done anything out there.
My water bottle ends up back in my hands, tossed from one to the other in a restless rhythm that gives my fingers something to do besides curl into fists.
Or turn around.
I haven’t looked towards the stands since sitting down, but Connor’s presence sits between my shoulder blades anyway, prickling across my skin until I’m half convinced those blue eyes are still fixed on me.
I throw the bottle harder and catch it against my palm with a sharp slap.
The bench groans beside me, Marcus dropping onto it, the impact travelling through the wood beneath my ass.
I know exactly what he’s doing beside me, sitting there with that patient fucking stare while he waits for me to crack first. Marcus has known me too long to bother asking what’s wrong. He’ll sit there until the silence gets unbearable and let me do the work for him.
“Fuck off,” I growl, already reaching for my bag.
Marcus blows out a long-suffering breath, his hand closing around my bicep.
“What the-”
He yanks me backwards, dumping my ass straight back onto the bench.
I whip around. “You hard of hearing now, Reid?”
Marcus raises a brow, completely fucking unmoved, then settles back with one arm stretched along the bench as if he didn’t just physically force me to sit down.
“What’s got your panties in a twist?”
“You mean besides you?”
He snorts and takes a long drink from his bottle, watching me over the rim. “We both know me putting you in your place isn’t what’s got you acting out.”
“I’m not acting out.”
Marcus doesn’t even bother answering. He lowers the bottle and tips his head slightly, giving me that patient, assessing look that makes the back of my neck prickle.
I hate that look.
Worse, I hate the urge to check the stands again.
I push a hand through my damp hair, blowing a sharp breath out through my nose. “It’s nothing.”
Marcus’s brow climbs.
“Seriously.” I shake my head, already feeling my patience fray beneath the weight of his stare. “Drop it.”
I hold his stare and keep my mouth firmly shut, because there is absolutely no fucking universe where I tell Marcus that his little brother kissed me yesterday.
That I kissed him back. That every time my concentration slips, I’m right back in that lake with Connor’s hand on me and his mouth taking mine.
Marcus would fucking kill me.
I should probably be more worried about that.
Instead, all I can think about is Connor standing across the rink and whether he’s still looking.
Marcus sighs, finally looking away with a shake of his head.
“Whatever it is,” he says, pushing himself off the bench, his voice losing some of its bite, “drop it. It’s fucking with your game.”
I scoff. “Thanks for the concern.”
Marcus glances back over his shoulder, the corner of his mouth already twitching. “Want a cuddle?” He tips his head, opening his arms slightly. “Need some love, baby?”
I grab my water bottle, launching it at his head.
He catches the thing one-handed without even flinching, his laugh breaking out across the rink as he hops back over the barrier and pushes off onto the ice.
I watch him skate away, some of the pressure in my chest easing, before turning back towards the stands.
Connor’s seat is empty.
He’s gone.
Disappointment catches me so cleanly I don’t have time to pretend it’s anything else, irritation hot on its heels.
What the fuck did I expect?
Apparently, for him to still be there.