38. Dylan
DYLAN
The locker room hums with quiet energy, the kind that settles deep into your bones before a big game.
I pull my jersey over my head, the familiar weight of it grounding me as I shift on the bench.
The guys move around me, finishing their own pre-game rituals, but my gaze keeps drifting to the other side of the room.
Kyle sits on the far bench, lacing up his skates with slow, methodical movements. He hasn’t said a word, hasn’t so much as looked in my direction. And that’s what unnerves me the most.
Since the moment Coach announced I was playing, we all expected him to retaliate.
I almost wanted him to. To try, at least. I don’t believe Ethan, Griffin, or Jax would let him get anywhere near me, but a failed attempt to target me would open Finn’s eyes to who Kyle truly is at his core.
Something I find myself wishing for more and more frequently.
However, instead of the attack I’d anticipated, there’s been…nothing. Not a single spitted word or harsh glare. No discreet shoves or veiled trips. Certainly no cornering on dark nights or trying to get me alone. He—or his minions—haven’t even gone after me during practice .
There has been nothing but silence.
And that’s what worries me.
I look away before he catches me staring, rolling out my shoulders to shake the tension building there.
It doesn’t help that Griffin kept me up most of the night.
Not that I’m complaining. I would do it all again in a heartbeat.
What is a little tiredness when I had multiple moments of pleasure last night?
By our last time, I was so out of it that he had to hold his hand over my mouth while I came because I was incapable of keeping quiet any longer.
I shiver, just remembering the delicious stretch of him inside me, the feel of his slick skin sliding over mine, our breaths and heartbeats in sync.
That’s now two Steelhawks I’ve slept with, and perhaps I should feel guilty about that, but remembering both last night and my time with Jax, I can’t bring myself to regret a single thing.
The only thing I want is to do it again.
“Attention, everyone.” Ethan’s voice snaps me out of my wandering thoughts.
He’s standing in front of the room now, his gaze sweeping over us.
He waits until everyone quiets down, all heads turned toward him.
“This is it. Our first game of the season against our biggest rival. You all know how much this game means, not just for points but for pride. They think they can push us around. They think they own this conference.” He smirks, the reminder of how they dominated us and rubbed it in during the exhibition game boiling in our blood.
“We’re about to remind them whose ice this is. ”
A few of the guys let out quiet cheers, fists knocking against pads. The energy shifts, turning sharp, focused.
Bear steps up next, giving his usual pre-game words about discipline and execution. Ethan moves to stand beside me, his voice pitched low when he says, “They’re going to come after you.”
I keep my gaze straight ahead, jaw hard as I stare at where Bear stands. “I know.”
I feel the other guys move to crowd around us, the five of us forming a group at the back of the room. Even Finn is here—although why, I don’t fully understand.
“You’re not alone.”
I’m not sure if Ethan understands how significant those words are. How deeply they bury themselves in my heart. Wrapping around the organ like vines and permanently latching on.
In agreement, Jax’s pinkie curls around mine, and Griffin’s hand squeezes my shoulder. Even Finn seems to shuffle closer. I glance his way, our gazes meeting, and he gives a subtle nod. We might not be on the same page when it comes to Kyle, but in this—against NSU—we are aligned.
“Steelhawks hunt—” Ethan calls, stepping forward and moving through the locker room when Coach has finished his speech.
“And never fall!” we all recite.
“Steelhawks strike—” Ethan bellows, reaching the front of the room and turning to face us all with a look of severe consternation. The charming boy next door is gone, and in his place is a competitor who hates to lose. A champion who knows nothing else.
“And take it all!” we shout in return. Our voices bounce off the walls, every single player getting to their feet.
“Steelhawks on three,” Ethan calls. The buzz of anticipation has my pulse kicking up, my body already humming with adrenaline. “One, two, three!”
“Steelhawks! ”
We are united in our determination, in our desire to win as we pile out of the locker room and stomp down the tunnel.
It’s time.
We step out of the tunnel, onto the ice, and the arena erupts. The home crowd roars, the sound vibrating in my chest as we take our warm-up laps. The moment my skates touch the ice, the rest of the world fades away. This is what I’ve been waiting for. What I fought to get back to.
Across the rink, Lucas watches me, a smirk playing on his lips. He tries to get in my head right away. A few choice words as soon as we’re all lined up for the start of the game. A sneer when I ignore him altogether. But it’s different this time.
This time, I’m not alone.
“Keep running your mouth, Tremble,” Ethan interjects, jaw ticking even though his voice comes out even, calm. “See how long you last on your feet.”
Lucas laughs. “Protecting your girl, Maddox? Cute.”
Instead of getting annoyed, Ethan chuckles, a smugness entering his gaze as he faces off against Lucas.
“If you knew anything about Dylan, you’d know she doesn’t need protecting.
” He skates an inch closer, the humor draining from his expression as his gaze turns hard, deadly.
“But if you touch her, I’ll make you regret it. ”
Lucas looks like he wants to push it, but before he can, the ref’s whistle cuts through the air, and we drop into position for the face-off.
The game is brutal. NSU is aggressive, taking every chance to check me hard, slash at my stick, and make their presence known. But every time they try to take me out, one of my guys is there. Never undermining my position but backing me up when needed.
Even Finn is a force on the ice. He clears space for me, knocking Lucas against the boards so hard the glass rattles .
I give as good as I get, landing hits of my own, digging deep to keep the advantage. By the time the second period ends, we’re up by two points.
We head back to the locker room, the guys bumping shoulders and hyping each other up. I towel the sweat off my face, my hands still shaking with adrenaline. We’re doing it. We’re winning.
Coach goes over strategies for the second half, his voice steady, but the energy in the room is electric. We know NSU won’t go down easily, but we’ve got them on their heels.
When we return to the ice, the roar of the crowd is deafening.
I glance up, taking in the smiling faces, the blue-and-silver flags and scarves being waved.
My own smile makes an appearance. Typically, I’m so focused on the game that I pay little to no attention to those here to cheer us on, but for a moment, I allow myself to bask in their support. But then?—
The deafening thump of the music cuts off.
An eerie quiet settles over the arena, spectators turning to one another as cheers turn into whispers and looks of confusion. Someone points toward the jumbotron hanging above the ice, and I glance up.
My stomach drops.
I blink at the screen, unsure if what I’m seeing is actually real.
I’m looking at myself, standing on this very rink, except the lights are dim, the seats in the audience vacant.
And taking up the brunt of the screen is me…
and Griffin. My helmet dangles from one hand, Griffin’s mask discarded on the ground, but what has my insides shriveling is the fact his hand is in my hair, mine fisting the front of his practice jersey, while our lips are interlocked.
Our kiss is hot and passionate, the way it always is between us .
Before I can wrap my mind around the scene unfolding before me, it changes. Instead of Griffin I’m kissing, it’s Finn. The background is dark, but it looks like the back hallway of The Stanley.
The clip changes again. I recognize the team’s physio room. Finn’s body becomes Ethan’s, and for a moment, I’m back in that room, Ethan’s lips on mine, my hands tangled in his shirt.
A final transition, and I already know what’s coming before it materializes.
Me and Jax in the hot tub, his fingers tangled in my hair, his mouth moving over mine.
I can feel the heat in my cheeks, the stares directed my way, and fingers being pointed.
I don’t dare look away from the jumbotron even though it makes me sick to my stomach to continue watching.
Expecting that to be the end of it, I wrench my gaze away. It clashes with Kyle’s across the ice, and the sourness in my gut boils into fury. Even without the dark smirk curling his lips, I know this is his doing.
A flicker from the jumbotron has me glancing back, and I suck in a breath. This time, I’m entwined with someone wearing a white-and-glacial-blue jersey—NSU colors. Lucas.
More clips play out. I recognize the moments, remember them with unease, but the face in each of them has been altered. Each of these moments are private ones I shared with Lucas, but the clips have been doctored to make it seem as though I was intimate with most of the NSU team.
A montage of faked moments spliced in with real ones, painting a picture that isn’t real but looks damningly convincing.
Image after image blends together in a sickening display until acid burns in my mouth and my muscles scream at me to run.
The crowd gasps, murmurs turning into a deafening roar. NSU fans jeer and laughter echoes from their bench .
I can’t move. Can’t breathe. My entire body feels numb as I stare up at the screen, watching my humiliation play out in front of thousands of people.
Slowly, I turn to the guys, both dreading and hoping…
Ethan’s face is unreadable.
Jax grips his stick so tight his knuckles go white, but still, I can’t get a read on his thoughts.
Finn’s face is a blank slate.
And Griffin—Griffin looks as though he’s contemplating murder, but whether it’s whoever did this or mine, I can’t be sure.
When the vile, incriminating video is finished, the screen returns to the typical Steelhawks promo.
I’m not sure if the arena goes quiet or if the rushing of my pulse in my ears drowns out all other noise.
Only the high-pitched blow of the ref’s whistle jolts me back into the present.
The reality that I am now left to rise or crumble in.
Despite the interruption, a game is in progress, and we are expected to continue on as if nothing happened.
I swallow hard, my hands shaking as I grip my stick.
A hand comes to rest on my shoulder, and I flinch.
“Dyl—” Bear’s worried tone has me sucking in a grounding breath.
Before he can say anything else, I shake my head. “I’m fine.”
I’m anything but, but I refuse to let Kyle and Lucas see any hint of weakness. I will play. I will fight. And I will win. Even if they’ve won the war, I will win this battle.
The third period starts. I try to catch the guys’ gazes, but they avoid looking my way. Any spare moment, I search for some kind of reassurance, but their faces remain unreadable.
Anxiety knots in my stomach, clawing up my throat. What if they believe what they saw? What if they think I’m a slut? That I played them all? That whatever we were starting to build is already over?
With every question unanswered, I push myself harder. Faster. I channel the sick churn of emotions inside me into every shift, every play. I crash into my opponents with unrelenting force, steal pucks with ruthless efficiency, and fire shots at the net like my life depends on it.
I check Lucas so hard he stumbles, my shoulder slamming into his ribs. When he snarls, I just skate away. I don’t even feel triumphant over besting him. I’m numb to it all.
I deke through the Glaciers’ defense, driving the puck forward, weaving past bodies like they’re nothing. When I finally get my chance, I take the shot—and score. The horn blares. The crowd erupts.
I don’t celebrate. I don’t stop. I demand the puck on every shift, pushing my body beyond its limits, refusing to let them take this from me.
They can try to ruin my name, but they will never take my game.