Chapter Twelve #2
The next morning, Range has us hitting Seattle’s rink for a skate.
It’s a lighter session than our usual practice, and Laflore and the other assistants spend a lot of time trying to get us into a better headspace.
We’re determined to prove that Anaheim was a fluke.
Still, it’s not easy trying to shake off such a vicious loss, and the media, who championed us one day, are now asking if our downfall is trending.
Who says bromance is dead? Anaheim, that’s who, destroying the Rush 5–2.
Funny headline. Not.
I try to ignore that shit, but it gets stuck in my head. What if I can’t do this? What if I screw up again, but worse?
Unfortunately, nerves are nerves, and even Berg shows signs of pressure, snapping unexpectedly at Sorensen.
But of all of us, Sel’s having the worst day.
His form’s locked up, he’s not skating with his normal ease, and with every drill, the communication gets worse.
Coach Lee takes him aside, and they have a private discussion.
I make up my mind that as soon as we’re done here, Sel and I are gonna talk it out too.
Hopefully, one of us on this team can get through to my partner.
Range blows his whistle, calling an end to our session. “Rest up. I want to see you at your best tonight.”
Brady skates by. “We could if we got rid of the overrated queer.”
“The fuck did you say?” I demand, getting up in his face.
Brady offers his usual scowl, and with his scraggly hair and wispy beard he looks like a dog with mange.
“I wasn’t talking to you, rookie. If you have any brains, you’ll back off.”
Suddenly, Sel wedges himself between us. He tries to calm things down, but Brady keeps at it, and I get louder.
“What the hell is going on here?” Range barks as he skates toward us.
“Nothing,” Brady huffs.
“Wrong answer,” Coach snaps. “Someone tell me. Now.”
“Brady was shooting his mouth off,” I reply. “Insulting Sel, professionally and personally.”
Brady sneers at me. “Your word against mine. Maybe you didn’t hear right?”
I’m about to let loose again when Range turns to Brady.
“In case you forgot, Brady, you’re paid to play hockey, not act as a commentator.”
Brady says nothing, but I can hear his teeth grinding.
Fuckhead.
“Go,” Range adds as he points to Brady. “I’ll talk to you later.”
Brady heads off, and I’m about to do the same when Range motions for me and Sel to stay.
“Tell me exactly what he said.”
I repeat what I heard, and Range’s expression goes from irritated to icy.
“Leave it with me.”
Coach skates off, but I need a moment to calm down.
When I glance around, I notice that Sel is back at it, practicing circle drills.
“Save your energy for the game,” I call out, trying to break through to him.
He comes to a sudden stop and glares at me. I ignore it, knowing his anger isn’t aimed at me, but at Brady.
“I know what I’m doing, Finn.”
“Then why wouldn’t you even look at me today? How are we supposed to get back in the groove if we don’t communicate?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Bullshit! It was one game, Sel. I fucked up, we all fucked up. But it’s done.”
“It was fucked up. I fucked up.”
“All of us could’ve done better. And we will.”
Sel shakes his head.
“Brady’s getting in my head. The comments, the looks. St. Clare isn’t as vocal as his buddy, but he still looks at me like I’m a lab specimen.”
I skate closer to him.
“Screw them.”
“It’s not that easy, Finn. Everything isn’t the same. Not like it was for me before. What if Brady’s right? What if I am distracting to the team?”
“That’s crap and you know it! Are you ready to retire?”
Sel’s face visibly pales.
“Of course not.”
“Then don’t let one or two assholes fuck with your determination. You’re the best in the league and I’m honored to play with you, and more than that, to know you as a person. As my friend.”
“Finn—”
“It’s not a line, it’s the truth.”
Selwin exhales and nods.
“I’m honoured to know you too, Finn.”
“You’re better than them. In every way.”
Sel skates forward, until we’re inches apart, face to face.
His brown eyes glow like amber and it’s both a relief and a temptation.
My pulse races so fast I’m lightheaded. He’s panting hard, hot puffs of air teasing my lips.
I want to lean in, hug him—fuck, I want to kiss him, reassure him, make everything better.
“Thanks,” he whispers. “I guess I needed to hear that.”
I offer him a cocky grin. “I know.”
He chuckles and shakes his head.
“Like Range said, don’t let it go to your head.”
Too late.
Sel
Finn’s heartfelt words leave me choked up, and it takes every ounce of restraint I possess to maintain a safe distance between us.
A hug during a game is one thing, but here, now?
If I reach out, there’s no way I can hide my reaction.
Sex is one thing. That’s always been easy for me.
Easy and uncomplicated. I go out, I flirt, I fuck around, and then I get back to hockey.
But the more I’m around Finn, the harder it is to deny that this attraction is different.
I keep telling myself it’s simple desire, it’ll fade, it always does, but the truth is, I don’t know what the hell is going on or how to make it stop.
The only thing I can do is get a handle on my emotions before I do something that will ruin everything.
He said he thinks of you as his friend, that’s all.
I remind myself of that very thing, and even though I know I should back away, as we head for the locker room, I ignore the warning in my head.
“How about lunch?” I offer, because selfishly I want to spend more time with him. “It’s on me.”
Finn offers a beaming smile, and it lights up every pleasure point in my body. It affects me more than any sexy line or look I’ve received in any club, from anyone else. I clench my hands tight and pray like hell he can’t read my filthy mind.
“Can we check out Pike Place Market?” he asks, his eyes imploring.
“Absolutely.”
My answer is simple, but my voice is suddenly hoarse.
I swallow past the lump in my throat. “You like chowder?”
“Fuck yeah.”
His enthusiasm sparks mine. “I know a great place. Let’s do it.”