Chapter Fourteen
FINN
The game against Seattle starts off in a way that hockey dreams are made of.
Berg wins the opening faceoff, snapping the puck to Ranken, who wastes no time threading a pass up the boards.
Makela is already streaking down the wing, stick low, eyes locked on the net.
Seattle’s defense scrambles, but they’re no match for Makela’s speed as he sneaks behind them and roofs it over the goalie’s blocker.
Less than a minute in and it’s first blood.
Our bench erupts in celebration, and I glance at the jumbotron to make sure I didn’t imagine the whole thing. Nope, that goal was real. Real, fast, and fucking awesome.
The Renegades hit back in the second period, and almost tie it up, but we don’t let it rattle us. Our forecheck stays aggressive, our gaps tight. We’re playing smart, disciplined hockey.
Early in the third, Berg and Ranken are at it again, in a give-and-go through the neutral zone, drawing defenders before slipping the puck to Makela.
He fakes a shot, and when Seattle’s goalie is out of position, feeds the puck across the crease to Berg.
Our captain taps it into the net, restoring our lead.
We hold on to that advantage for the rest of the period. We earn it, working hard, never giving up. The Renegades can’t get past our defense. Sel’s playing his best hockey, I’m sure as fuck giving it everything I’ve got, and Kuz and Tullmore are on fire too. Even Brady and St. Clare up their game.
The Rush closes out Seattle 2–0.
I barely register the sound of the final buzzer before Sel barrels into me, arms banding my waist, both of us smiling, sweaty, and reckless with relief.
The scoreboard flashes and the Seattle crowd is stunned into near silence.
It’s all white noise anyway. I stare at Sel’s smile, the real one, and I’m hit with emotions that I can’t even put into words.
Until we’re mobbed by our linemates. Then the rest of the team piles over the boards to join us, sticks clattering, gloves tossed. Sorensen yells my name, Berg grabs Sel in a headlock, and for a second, the weight of the last week lifts.
We did it. The sting of our loss to Anaheim is starting to fade.
When we cool down and hit the locker room, the air is loud with laughter and shouts. I get pulled into another hug by Ranken, then Kuz, both guys clapping me on the back, smiling for the first time in days. Even St. Clare, who’s barely spoken to us, nods at Sel and then me.
“Great game,” he mutters. “Both of you.”
Well, holy fucking shit, I wasn’t expecting that. And I don’t trust it.
Sel and I both stand there with our mouths open as Brady stalks off.
“What just happened?” Sel whispers.
“I don’t fucking know. I could’ve sworn he was acting like an actual teammate.”
Sel chuckles and I offer him a wink.
Shit, don’t do that.
He doesn’t seem to notice or care, and I end up sitting side by side with him, jersey off, sweat cooling on my skin. Sel bumps my knee with his, and when I glance over, his eyes are bright.
“Fuck, that win feels awesome.”
“We couldn’t have done it without you,” I admit. “Seriously, in the third, no one got past you, Sel. I’ve never seen you play better.”
“Me? It was all you. You never gave the opposition an inch and you had my back at every turn. Seattle’s forwards were so frustrated, I thought they were gonna start a fist fight.”
For a moment, we’re just two players who love this game. The room is chaos, but in the middle of the noise, something powerful settles in my chest. Tonight, we’re not a headline; we’re a team.
Me and Sel.
“We did good, partner.”
My voice is hoarse, and I know damn well why. I reach for my water bottle as a distraction.
Stop eye-fucking him.
I remind myself about where we are and who we are, turning my attention to my other teammates. It works for a while, but not forever.
After everyone cleans up, it’s off to dinner. Every time Sel makes eye contact, I have a hard time breathing, never mind making conversation. I manage to get in some words as we toast our teammates and get toasted, and roasted, in return.
Afterward, we head back to the hotel and the packed rooftop bar. Sel sticks close, and conversely, so do I. We orbit other people from time to time, but inevitably, throughout the night, we find our way back to each other.
The high of our win lingers, but I notice as the night wears on, Sel appears distracted.
Our group attracts a lot of attention, so I figure he’s still wary of being at the center of it.
The more people who gather, the more I’m feeling the same.
Sel and I end up at one end of the bar with Makela, while the rest of the team holds court with a group of fans at the other.
Sorensen and Tullmore leave first, Berg and Kuznetsov are busy talking to a beautiful brunette, and the rest of the guys are paying their tabs and preparing to head back to their room.
“I’m gonna go up,” Sel announces.
“One more drink?” Makela encourages, glancing at Sel then me.
“Travel day tomorrow,” I remind my teammate, and gulp down the last of my beer. I’ve only had two tonight, since we’ve got a busy day coming up. Alcohol tends to wind me up, and I sure as shit don’t need that. “I’m off too.”
“So wise for a newbie,” Makela teases and signals for the bartender. “I’ll take care of yours.”
“What? I can’t let you do that.”
“It’s done. Go.”
“Thanks, Mats.”
“Next time is on you, rook.”
I nod and offer my hand. He shakes it and pulls me in for a bro hug.
“You got it.”
Knowing Makela, it’ll be a fancy-ass Manhattan club with the most expensive champagne in the city.
“You want us to wait for you?” Sel asks.
Makela shakes his head.
“I’m going to stay awhile, but thanks.”
I pat Makela’s shoulder. “See you tomorrow.”
As I exit the bar, I’m hyperaware of Sel a step or two behind me.
I’m filled with a heady kind of relief and an unrelenting tension, all the nerves in my belly kicking up full force.
A random hotel guest wanders past us, but other than that, it’s a ghost town at this time of night.
My mouth is suddenly drier than the air in this hotel, and I reach up, undoing another button on my shirt.
“Beer warm you up?” Sel murmurs as he taps his key card and pushes the elevator button.
“Nah, it’s my reaction to the game,” I quip as we stand side by side, waiting for the doors to open. “Winning really gets me going.”
Amongst other things… namely you, Mr. Kirkland.
“It can be hard to come down from that high. I always have a ton of audiobooks downloaded on my phone, and I find listening to them helps me unwind.”
“Is that what you listen to while we’re traveling?”
Sel nods. The doors finally open and he motions for me to step in first.
“Yeah, music too, but mostly books,” he continues as we enter the elevator. “Depends on the book, though. Sometimes I find it way too… uh… stimulating.”
Speaking of which, I’m now alone with my crush in a confined space.
A space that’s dimly lit and not much bigger than a closet.
I’m feverishly aware of his body heat and his scent, deep and spicy.
Sel smells unreal and it’s making me feral.
My blood beats fast and the sudden tightness in my pants can’t be denied.
Trying to be stealthy, I slowly move my hands down to cover myself.
Sel doesn’t appear to notice, so I take long, deep breaths to calm down.
Staring up at the ceiling, I wait until my cock is under control. Mostly.
Talk, Finn, that always distracts you.
“What—” I croak, clearing my throat. “What do you like?”
It’s an innocent question—
“What do you mean?” Sel’s voice squeaks, hitting a new decibel.
—or maybe not.
“I’m referring to books,” I explain, praying I don’t catapult into panic mode. “What kind of books do you like?”
Good save, d-man. That could’ve been totally embarrassing.
Sel nudges my shoulder with his, and I finally turn to look at him, swallowing hard at the sight.
He’s disheveled, like he just rolled out of bed.
Sel’s been running his hands through his hair all night, a nervous habit I only picked up on recently.
The dark circles under his deep brown eyes are less prominent, which I hope means he’s getting better sleep.
I also notice that his scruff is turning into a close-cut beard, which highlights the curve of his full lips.
Damn, he’s so fucking hot, and I can’t believe how badly I want to touch him. I curse myself for going there.
Never. Gonna. Happen.
“I like them all,” he admits with a grin. “Mostly, I love mysteries, biographies, and thrillers. Some romance too.”
“R-romance?” I stutter.
“Sports romance.”
I chuckle. “Of course.”
Sel bites his lower lip and shakes his head.
“I’ve never told anyone that,” he confesses.
“No?”
He raises an eyebrow at me, and I nudge him back.
“I get it. It’s like my lucky charm, Biscuit. I really don’t mention him to anyone outside of the rink.” I smile. “You and me, Sel, we’re busting hockey stereotypes, one audiobook and one stuffed animal at a time.”
Sel throws his head back and laughs, the husky timbre echoing around me. It’s the best sound, so it’s no surprise I’m hit with full-on shivers. Forget audiobooks, I need a recording of this man’s voice. He’s magnetic all the time, but when he lets loose, I’m in danger of swallowing my tongue.
Ping. Eighth floor.
Already? That was way too fast.
When the doors open, I hesitate, but only for a second, until I realize I’m acting a fool.
Get going. Say good night.
Only, I’m tongue-tied.
Sel gets off the elevator, and as I join him, I wonder what’s up. Is he walking me to my door? My heart pounds louder with every step. It’s only when he stops and pulls out his key card that I remember his room’s directly across from mine.
Duh, Sherlock.
The distance separating us is way too fucking close, but also too far away.
“We’ll talk more about these books tomorrow, right?” I ask, leaning against my door.
“Happy to share an earbud with you on the plane. If you want.”