36. Dylan #3
“Going pro is the goal,” Ethan tacks on. “That’s where our focus needs to be.”
Griffin and Finn nod, none of them looking particularly worried.
Food arrives, baskets of hot wings and curly fries filling the table. We dig in, conversation shifting again until Ethan turns his gaze on me. I can see the questions brewing there. Ones I bet he’s been dying to ask since I first showed up at BSU. “What about you? What’s your plan after college?”
I swallow a bite of fries and shrug. “Same as you. Go pro.”
The words come out steady, but they don’t carry the same easy certainty as theirs did. Because for them, it’s expected. For me? It’s a gamble. A near impossibility. The NHL isn’t exactly welcoming to women, and there’s no real alternative that offers the same level of competition, the same dream.
“For real?” Finn questions, leaning forward to look down the table at me. Intrigue and something else, something more…heady, gleams in his eyes. “You’re aiming for the NHL?” He looks around the table. “Can that even be done?”
“Women have played in the NHL before,” I snark back with a glare.
“Yeah, but not routinely. They’re pulled out for a PR stunt in exhibition games.” He arches a brow. “You don’t strike me as the type to accept that. You’re not a show pony.”
Is that a compliment or an insult? I can’t tell.
“No,” I agree. “I want a permanent position. I don’t care if it’s on the third line, so long as I get some real, actual time on the ice.”
The table falls quiet for a beat, the weight of the difference between us settling in.
Ethan studies me intensely, I can practically read the thoughts on his face—the realization that I’m fighting harder than anyone else on this team because, unlike for many of them, a position on a pro team is not a guarantee.
It’s the slimmest of hopes, a sliver of a chance. But I’m fighting for it anyway.
“Why?” Finn asks, sounding curious rather than insulting. “The chances are so slim. Why put all this effort into it when you could dominate on a women’s team?”
I don’t know how to explain it to him—to any of them.
They’ve always known what they wanted, and to them, while obviously they have had to work their asses off to achieve it, it has been firmly within the realm of possibility for them.
For me, I’m fighting to achieve the near impossible.
But it’s the only thing I’ve ever wanted.
I grew up surrounded by the team. My dad was a lifelong Timberwolf, and his teammates were like extended family.
They were in and out of our home, like I was in and out of many of theirs.
There were family days, dinners, and celebrations after big wins.
I grew up in that community. It’s all I’ve ever known, and it’s all I ever wanted for myself.
Before I can figure out how to formulate that in a way these guys can understand, the door to Murphy’s opens, the cool night air rushing in.
Jax’s jaw drops, and Ethan murmurs, “Holy shit,” under his breath. The guys beside me turn, but I don’t have to look to know the Timberwolves just walked in.
I stifle a groan, mentally kicking myself. Of course they are here. The only reason I know about this place is because my dad brought me here once. Why the hell didn’t I realize it was one of the team’s go-to spots?
The guys are abuzz around me, sneaking glances toward the bar as the team makes themselves comfortable, ordering a round of drinks. I, on the other hand, shrink slightly in my seat. I need to figure out a way to slip out of here before anyone recognizes me.
Doing a sweep of the room for a back exit, I curse when I catch Vince’s gaze.
“Dylan?”
The familiar voice carries across the bar, drawing more eyes than I’d like. I shut my own for half a second before forcing a smile.
“Holy shit. Guys, it’s Dylan!”
Vince, a veteran player, slaps some of the guys surrounding him on the shoulder before making his way over. Several others trail behind him, all wearing bright smiles.
I can feel Ethan and the others looking between us, most likely wondering how the hell I know the Timberwolves personally. That is not a question I am ready to answer .
“Shit, Dylan. It’s been a minute,” Isaac, a defenseman and long-time player for the Timberwolves says.
“Yeah,” I manage. “I guess it has.”
His eyes search mine, questioningly. “How ya been?”
I lift a shoulder in a shrug. “You know. Getting by.”
His lips are flat, a sorrow in his expression as he nods, understanding.
“You gonna introduce us to your friends here?” Vince prompts, eyeing up each of the guys like he’s debating between holding out a hand and dragging them out of the booth. His protective nature brings a smile to my lips, even as a tightness cinches my chest.
I clear my throat. “Uh, yeah. This is Ethan, Jax, Finn, and Griffin,” I introduce, going around the table and pointing out each of the guys. “They’re teammates of mine.” That seems about the safest explanation for how we know one another.
They exchange nods and handshakes. “We came up for the game tonight,” Ethan says. “Hell of a third period.”
Isaac grins. “Yeah, we had to dig deep for that one.”
“Well, it paid off,” Jax adds.
Vince and Isaac go back and forth with the guys for a bit, discussing the game, before Vince circles the conversation back to me.
“You still at NSU?”
I shake my head. “Switched to BSU this year.”
“No shit.” Vince grins. “A Steelhawk, huh? Taking after your old man.”
Isaac tilts his head my way, but his question is directed at the guys. “She running circles around you yet?”
“She’s trying,” Griffin teases.
“Showed us all up her first week,” Jax adds.
Isaac winks at me. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from our D-Girl.” Isaac elbows Vince in the side. “Man, do you remember how she used to wipe the ice with us, even as a scrawny teenager?”
“Hey,” I protest, but there’s no real heat behind it. In fact, I’m smiling at the memory.
Vince shakes his head, grinning as he addresses the guys.
“She was getting shots past our forwards back when she was fourteen, half our height, and weighed about as much as a box of cereal.” Ethan glances at me, eyebrows raised, but I don’t acknowledge it.
“This girl was born to be a hockey player.” The affection behind Vince’s words warms my heart, and he turns his attention my way.
“The entire team is going to be right fucking there, rink side, your first NHL game, while you make history.”
I can feel my cheeks heating. “Gotta make it on to a team first,” I remind him.
He scoffs, and Isaac shakes his head, the two of them sharing a knowing look.
“Sweetheart,” Isaac begins, “the only reason why we wouldn’t be on the sidelines cheering you on is because we’re standing on that ice right alongside you. One way or another, you will be calling yourself an NHL player, and you know you’ll always have a home with the Timberwolves.”
“You are one of us,” Vince adds. “Whether you wear our jersey or not.”
My throat is dry, tears burning behind my eyes. It takes immense effort to keep my shit together, to not break down or lunge myself at Vince and accept one of his giant hugs.
“Vince,” someone calls out from the bar. “Food’s here.”
Vince gestures that he’s coming. “You guys want to join us?”
I shake my head before the others can pipe up. “Thanks, but we should get going. Early class tomorrow.”
He nods, looking at me knowingly. “All right. Well, it was great seeing you.” Glancing toward the guys, he adds, “Nice meeting you all.” He lingers while we all pile out of the booth, and before I can say goodbye, he’s sweeping me into a hug.
“It’s good to see you,” he murmurs, before pulling back, meeting my eyes.
“You’re family, Dylan. Don’t be a stranger.
” His words are soft, meant only for me.
“I won’t,” I promise, giving him another quick hug before letting go.
With a final smile and nod at the guys, he heads back toward the rest of the team. Quite a few of them are watching us, and I wave their way. They call out or lift their drinks in greeting before I head toward the exit.
“Thorn,” Ethan murmurs in my ear as we step out into the cool Vermont night. “You’ve got some explaining to do.”
Fuck. How the hell do I talk my way out of this one without telling them who my dad is? What my legacy is?
“You gonna tell us how you know the Timberwolves ?” Jax asks as soon as we’re in the car and on our way back to BSU.
“She doesn’t just know them,” Finn adds, turning around in the front passenger seat. His eyes dance with intrigue as they take me in. “She’s been to their practices. Played with them.” He’s practically gaping at me. “You realize that’s, like, every hockey player’s fantasy?”
I can feel Ethan’s gaze on me through the rearview mirror.
All of them have been brimming with excitement, burning with questions, since we left Murphy’s.
For the hundredth time, I curse myself for suggesting we go there.
As great as it was to see Vince and the guys, I do not need this— these questions I’m not ready to answer.
Facts about my life I’m not ready to share.
I’m not ready to see the pity in their eyes when they realize the Timberwolves player who went down hard after a brutal hit and an accidental slip of a skate—who lay motionless on the ice as he bled out, the crowd falling into stunned silence as his teammates rushed to him, as the medics skated out too late—was my dad.
“So?” Jax prods when I remain astutely quiet. “You going to tell us?”
“I wasn’t planning on it.”
Griffin chuffs a laugh beside me in the back seat.
“Seriously?” Finn grouses.
Internally sighing, I can’t meet any of their gazes when I say with more force than necessary, “My dad worked with the team, okay? He’d bring me along and let me watch their practices sometimes.
” There’s a burn in my throat, one I know they all notice as I snap my gaze up, staring each of them down. “Happy?”
Murmured responses are echoed as Finn turns back in his seat, and Ethan turns up the radio. No one says a word the rest of the journey home.
Later that night, I’m sitting on my bed, a marketing textbook open in front of me. Griffin left as soon as we got back to campus, but I know he’ll be knocking at my window soon enough. Kyle is out, still, so my bedroom door is open, and I glance up when a large body fills it.
Ethan leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, as his eyes peruse my bedroom. His gaze pauses on the shelf of mugs.
“I told you how Patrick Callahan came to one of my summer camps once,” he says thoughtfully, focus intent on the shelf before slowly pulling his gaze to me.
“He was all excited that day ’cause he was heading home to his daughter after being on the road for the past week.
” My mouth goes drier than the Sahara. “He said he needed to make a stop on the way because he always brought her a gift when he was away—a mug from wherever he was traveling.”
I couldn’t formulate words even if I tried .
Ethan’s gaze holds mine, and I stare right back. I have no idea if my walls are in place or if I’m giving everything away. If he can read every line of torment in my face, or if it’s a blank slate.
“I think about her sometimes, after I’ve watched a Timberwolves game. Wonder where she is, what she’s doing, how she’s coping.”
My throat bobs, my swallow audible. There’s a fine tremor to my hands as I move to hide them between my legs.
“I’m sure, whatever it is she’s doing, he’s looking down on her with love. That he’s proud of everything she’s accomplished.”
His gaze holds my blurry one for a moment longer, before he turns. “Good night, Dylan,” he murmurs before leaving my bedroom, the door snicking shut behind him as silent tears course down my cheeks.