4. Ethan
4
ETHAN
The locker room buzzes with post-game energy, the air thick with the mingling scents of sweat, adrenaline, and victory. We narrowly clinched the game 2-1, and the mood is triumphant, but I can’t shake the lingering tension in my shoulders. I strip off my gear, dropping it to the floor with a heavy thud, and sit down on the bench between Ryan and Liam.
“That was one hell of a game,” Ryan claps me on the back. “You really pulled through in the clutch, Ethan.”
I nod, wiping my face with a towel. “Thanks. You guys were solid out there, too.”
Liam, on my other side, grins. “Man, that last goal was insane. I thought they had you cornered, but you just slipped right through.”
I chuckle, despite myself. “They did have me cornered. Just had to find the tiniest gap and exploit it.”
Ryan leans back, stretching his arms. “You make it sound so easy. Wish I could say the same for my defense tonight. Almost let one slip past me in the second period.”
“But you didn’t,” I point out. “You were a wall out there.”
Liam shifts, looking a bit sheepish. “Actually, I wanted to ask you something, Ethan. During the second period, I made that pass that got intercepted. What should I have done differently?”
I take a moment to think, replaying it in my mind. “You telegraphed the pass, and their defense saw it coming. Next time, try to fake them out. Look one way but pass the other. The key’s to keep them guessing.”
Liam nods, soaking in the advice. “Got it. Thanks, man. I really appreciate it.”
Ryan chimes in, “Yeah, don’t be so hard on yourself, Liam. You’re doing great for a newbie. Just keep learning and improving. We’ve all been there.”
I can see the admiration in Liam’s eyes, and it reminds me of when I was starting out, looking up to the older players. It’s a good feeling, knowing I can pass on some of what I’ve learned.
We’re still discussing the finer points of the game when Coach Andrew steps forward, his presence commanding immediate attention. “Ethan, Ryan, a word.”
I already know what’s coming and groan inwardly. “Coach, if this is about the reporters?—”
“It is,” Coach Andrew cuts me off. “They’ve been trying to get an interview with you for weeks now. It’s part of your job, Ethan. You can’t keep avoiding it.”
I scowl, my irritation bubbling to the surface. “I just play hockey. I don’t see why I need to do the showbiz part.”
Coach Andrew crosses his arms, his expression stern. “Because it’s not just about playing. It’s about representing the team, connecting with the fans. You’re the player of the game, and it’s not normal for someone in your position to keep missing interviews. It’s been years, Ethan.”
I want to argue, to refuse outright, but Ryan pats my arm, a reassuring look in his eyes. “I’ll be there with you, man. We’ll get through it together.”
I let out a heavy sigh, knowing I’m cornered. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.”
The locker room falls quiet as we make our way out, the buzz of conversation tapering off as the team watches us leave. The hallway is lined with reporters, their eyes lighting up as they see us approach. Cameras flash, and the cacophony of questions begins.
Ryan takes the lead, his natural charm and ease with the media apparent. “Great game tonight, huh?” he says, smiling at the crowd. “Ethan’s got a lot to say about it.”
I grit my teeth and step forward, forcing myself to engage. “Yeah, it was a tough match. The team worked hard, and it paid off.”
The questions come fast, each one more intrusive than the last. “Ethan, how does it feel to score the winning goal?” “What’s your secret to staying so consistent?” “Can you talk about your relationship with the team?”
I answer them as best as I can, keeping my responses short and to the point. It’s exhausting, but Ryan’s presence beside me is a steadying influence.
One reporter pushes through, a sharp-eyed woman with a microphone thrust forward. “Ethan, there are rumors that you avoid the media because of personal issues. Care to comment?”
My jaw tightens, and I can feel the weight of everyone’s eyes on me. Ryan steps in smoothly. “Ethan’s focus has always been on the game and the team. He’s here now, isn’t he?”
The reporter isn’t satisfied, but she backs off, and the questions shift back to safer topics. Eventually, Coach Andrew signals that the session is over, and I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
“See?” Ryan says as we walk back to the locker room. “That wasn’t so bad.”
I grunt in response, still irritated but relieved it’s done. “Thanks for having my back.”
He nods. “There’s a second string over at that corner and then we’re done.”
Ryan and I head to the conference corner where the second string of reporters are waiting. The air is thick with anticipation and the smell of sweat and cologne. I’ve just managed to get through the first wave of media without losing my cool, but I’m not out of the woods yet.
As we approach, I see him—Raymond Blue. The silver-blonde vindictive reporter who wrote an article about David’s death, blaming it on me.
My chest tightens, and for a moment, I freeze.
I’ll lose my shit right in front of the whole world if I have to face that bastard. I can’t hold back where he’s concerned. He’ll know it as well, and I’m sure as hell that he’ll poke and try to get a reaction out of me.
Why Raymond Blue seems to have it in for me, I don’t know. But there’s no doubt that he has hates me—in loads.
“What’s wrong?” Ryan asks, noticing my sudden halt.
“It’s Raymond Blue,” I mutter, my voice barely above a whisper.
Ryan follows my gaze and curses under his breath. “Shit. Get out of here before he spots you. I’ll handle the media.”
He knows Raymond as well and he was one of the few right by my side as I went through my bouts of painful shit. Ryan hands me a hooded fan sweatshirt I know he was planning to give away. I nod my thanks, quickly pulling it on and drawing the hood over my head. Blending into the crowd, I slip out through the back without being recognized.
The cool night air hits my face as I walk past the turnstiles, my heart still pounding from the near encounter. Just as I’m about to exit, something catches my eye.
I stop. It’s Holly. She’s speaking with a man.
None of your business, Carter. Keep walking.
But something makes me stop and look closer.
It’s the guy from the club, the one who claimed her that night. Her ex-boyfriend? What the hell is he doing here? She looks terrified. Every fiber of my being tells me to mind my own business, but I can’t. I walk closer, my pulse quickening.
I watch as she tries to walk past him, but he blocks her way.
"Where do you think you're going, Holly?" he asks in a loud voice.
"Out of your way."
I hear the shakiness in her voice that she’s trying to hide. Holly’s probably doing her best to keep her cool right now.
I take a step closer, but stop again. I’ve been on her case for not minding her business. Walking in there will be breaking my own rules.
The smug boyfriend barks a harsh, grating sound that barely sounds like laughter. "You look like a mess."
I suddenly want to punch him. Hard. Smack a swift uppercut that’ll shut up that bastard. The hell she looks like a mess. She looks hot. She’s in shorts that reveal long, dreamy legs that stretch sexily into Nikes, and she has a big fan hoodie like mine on. Lauren must have given her those. She’s sexy-fine, and the bastard knows it. He’s just trying to rattle her.
"And you look like a desperate wannabe."
Good on you, Holly. Nice retort.
He smirks. "Still got that fire, huh?"
"Whatever."
Her eye roll makes me break into a smile. There’s a fiery side to Holly Bennett, and I love it.
He steps closer to her. I take a step and hold back again. She can handle herself, Carter. Trust that she can.
"You know, I could make you a star again."
Her sarcastic laughter rings in the empty space. "Is that so?"
The bastard nods. "I have connections, Holly. I can get you back on top."
I scoff and Holly follows suit. We’re in sync here, aren’t we?
"I don't need your pity. I'm good," she says, trying to sound indifferent.
He takes a step closer, his eyes boring into hers. "Don't be stupid, Holly. You know you want this."
As soon as I see him grab her arm, I push away from the wall, determined to stop things before he could hurt her.
"Let go of me," Holly hisses.
He smirks. "Or what? You'll tell your boyfriend?"
I freeze. Now he’s teasing her about having a boyfriend? I should slam that bastard face-down into the concrete floor, but I know what’ll happen after. Headlines of me finally losing it will put smiles on the faces of quite a number of people and I’m not about to give them the satisfaction of ruining me.
“Holly!” I jog up to them and yank her arm free.
“Who the hell are you?” he demands, glaring at me.
“I should ask the man who’s touching my girlfriend.”
“Girlfriend?” They both gasp.
Before Holly can ruin my hard work, I pull her close and shut her up with my lips. The shock in her eyes disappears as she closes her eyes at contact. I close mine, too. If I’m going to do this, I’d better do it convincingly.
My arm wraps around her waist, pulling her flush against my chest. I’m very much aware of her breasts pressing into my chest. She sighs into the kiss, her mouth open, letting my tongue slip in accidentally.
Holy jeez.
Her hands slide up my chest, jaw, and into my hair. I can feel her thighs brushing mine, her lower belly grazing my crotch. The initial reason for this kiss is quickly fading, replaced by a raw, blind need and hunger for her.
Then I feel a stirring in my crotch. I pull away quickly, forcing myself to break the kiss, turning to our audience, who watches with a steely disbelief in his eyes.
“Stay away from my girlfriend,” I mumble in a low and dangerous tone I’ve seen action actors use. Then I turn to Holly, my tone softening. “It’s time to go home.”
Holly looks stunned but nods. As soon as we’re some distance away from the spot, she whispers. “I was going to ride with Lauren.”
“Your ex is following us,” I whisper back urgently. “Do you want him to find out the truth?”
She shakes her head quickly. “No, I’ll go with you.”
We head to the car, and I toss her the keys. “You drive. I’m exhausted.”
She gives me a curious look but doesn’t argue. As we pull out of the parking lot, I catch her stealing glances at me. I know she’s wondering why I stepped in, and I need to set the record straight.
“I needed to slip away from the media,” I say, my voice flat. “That’s why I helped.”
She nods, but I can see the doubt in her eyes. The ride home is filled with tension. I can’t shake the feeling of her lips on mine, the unexpected warmth that spread through me. I tell myself it was just a necessary act, nothing more. Deep down, I know that kiss may have started with a sensible reason, but at the end … it was raw, unadulterated need.
And it felt perfect.
Damn it, Carter. Get it together.
I glance at her. She looks lost in thought, her fingers gripping the steering wheel tightly. I’m about to say something, anything to break the silence, but the words die on my lips.
What could I possibly say that wouldn’t make this more complicated?