13. Ethan
Ethan
The arena is packed with fans, media, and sponsors who paid good money to watch us show off.
I'm sitting in the stands with the other injured players and the coaching staff, my cane propped against the seat beside me. My knee is throbbing with a dull ache that never fully goes away, and my mood is dark.
On the ice, my teammates are warming up for the skills competition. Theo is taking shots on Logan while Cole works on his stick handling. Liam is racing one of the rookies from end to end, and they are laughing and chirping each other and having the time of their lives.
I should be down there with them.
Instead, I'm up here in my suit and tie, playing the role of the supportive teammate while my replacement skates circles around the rink wearing my practice jersey number.
Curtis is twenty-three years old, and he was called up from the AHL two days after my surgery.
He's fast, talented, and hungry in the way all young players are before the league beats it out of them.
Management loves him, and so does the media.
The fans have already started calling him “Mini Wall” because he plays defense like me.
Like I used to.
I clench my jaw and force myself to keep my expression neutral. There are cameras everywhere, and the last thing I need is footage of me scowling at the kid who took my spot. That's not his fault. He's just doing his job, same as I would be if our positions were reversed.
But it still fucking hurts.
The skills competition begins, and I sit through event after event, applauding and smiling when the cameras swing my way. Fastest skater. Hardest shot. Accuracy shooting. Puck control relay. All the things I used to dominate, reduced to observing from a distance.
Curtis wins the hardest shot competition with a blast that clocks in at 103 miles per hour. The crowd goes wild, and our teammates mob him on the ice, slapping his helmet and shouting congratulations. I clap along with everyone else and try not to think about my personal best of 107.
During a break between events, I excuse myself and make my way down to the tunnel. I need a minute away from the noise.
The tunnel is quieter, though I can still hear the muffled roar of the crowd. I lean against the wall and close my eyes, letting the cool air wash over me.
“Hey.”
I open my eyes to find Natalie walking towards me. She's in a Renegades polo and black pants, but she's never looked more beautiful to me.
“Hey yourself,” I say.
She glances around to make sure we're alone, then steps closer. Her hand finds mine and squeezes briefly before letting go.
“How are you holding up, baby?” she asks in a soft voice.
The endearment sends warmth through my chest. We've been together for a week now, and no one knows except us, and that's how we want to keep it for now.
“I'm fine,” I lie.
“Liar.” She tilts her head and studies my face. “You don't have to pretend with me.”
“I know.” I run a hand through my hair. “It's just hard watching them do what I should be doing.”
“I know it is. But this is temporary, Ethan. You're getting stronger every day. A few more months and you'll be back out there.”
I want to believe her. God, I want to believe her. But hope is a dangerous thing when you've spent months preparing yourself for the worst.
“I should get back,” she says, stepping away. “But I'll see you later?”
“Count on it.”
She smiles and disappears around the corner, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
I return to my seat and clap and pretend I'm not dying inside. When it's finally over, I make my escape before anyone can corner me for an interview or a photo op.
My driver is waiting in the parking garage with the car running. He opens the back door for me and I slide in, grateful for the tinted windows that hide me from the world.
“Where to, Mr. Ward?”
“Wait a minute. We're picking someone up.”
He nods and returns to the driver's seat without asking questions. That's one of the things I like about Vincent. He minds his own business.
A few minutes later, Natalie appears at the garage entrance. She spots the car and hurries over, sliding into the back seat beside me.
“Thanks for waiting,” she says, slightly breathless.
“I told you I'd give you a ride home.”
Vincent pulls out of the garage and merges into traffic. The partition between the front and back is raised, giving us privacy.
Natalie turns to me, her eyes searching my face. “How are you really doing?”
“I don't know.” I stare out the window at the passing buildings. “Seeing Curtis out there, wearing my number, and playing my position, fucked with my head. Hearing the crowd cheer for him like they used to cheer for me.”
I shake my head and look at Natalie again, hating the pity in her eyes. “He’s a good kid, and he's worked hard. But all I can think about is what if that's it? What if I never get back to where I was?”
She takes my hand. “I've been doing this job for years, Ethan.
I've worked with dozens of people recovering from serious injuries.
I know who has what it takes to come back and who doesn't.” She squeezes my fingers.
“You have it. The determination, the discipline, and the sheer stubbornness to push through when everything hurts and you want to give up. I see it in every session.”
“What if it's not enough?”
“It will be enough.” She lifts my hand and presses a kiss to my knuckles. “And even if the worst happens, even if hockey is over, you're still you. Hockey doesn't define you.”
I swallow hard against the lump in my throat. No one has ever said that to me before. In my world, hockey has always been everything. It’s the source of my income, my identity, and my worth as a person.
To hear someone say I matter beyond the game is overwhelming.
“Come here,” I say, pulling her closer.
She tucks herself against my side and rests her head on my shoulder. When we pull up to the apartment building, Vincent comes around to open the door. I thank him and tell him to take the rest of the evening off. He'll pick me up later for the party.
Natalie and I walk through the lobby together, maintaining an appropriate distance in case anyone is paying attention. We take the elevator to our floor and pause in the hallway between our apartments.
“I should go change,” she says. “The party starts in two hours.”
“Come to my place first.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Ethan, I need time to do my hair and makeup. You know how long that takes.”
“Just for a minute.” I unlock my door and hold it open for her. “Please.”
She follows me inside.
I toss my suit jacket onto a chair and loosen my tie. “You know what would cheer me up?” I say in a teasing tone.
“What?”
“Holding you.”
Her expression softens. “Just holding?”
“For now.”
She crosses the room and wraps her arms around my waist, pressing her cheek to my chest. I hold her tight and breathe in the scent of her hair and let the tension slowly drain from my body. Having her in my arms makes everything else feel manageable.
“Better?” she murmurs against my shirt.
“Much better.”
We stand there for a long moment, just holding each other. Then she tilts her head up, and our eyes meet, and the air between us shifts from comfort to something hotter.
“Ethan,” she whispers.
I kiss her.
It starts soft and slow, a gentle exploration. But it doesn't stay that way. Within seconds, I'm devouring her mouth, my tongue sliding against hers, my hands gripping her hips and pulling her flush against me.
“We don't have time,” she gasps between kisses.
“We'll make time.”
I walk her backward toward the couch, careful not to put too much weight on my bad knee. When we reach it, I lower myself onto the cushions and pull her down with me.
“Straddle me,” I tell her. “My knee can't handle anything else right now.”
She pulls down her pants and climbs onto my lap. I trail my fingers higher until I reach the lace of her underwear.
“You're already wet,” I groan, pressing my fingers against the damp fabric. “Fuck, baby. You're soaked.”
“I've been thinking about you all day.” She rocks her hips against my hand. “Every time I looked up and saw you in those stands, all I could think about was what we did this morning.”
“Tell me.”
“I kept thinking about how deep you were inside me.” Her breath hitches as I push her underwear aside and slide a finger through her slick folds. “I had to excuse myself twice just to compose myself.”
“Good.” I circle her clit, and she moans. “I want you thinking about me and wet for me all the time.”
I add a second finger, and her head falls back. She's so tight and hot and ready that my cock is straining painfully against my zipper. I need to be inside her. Now.
“Take me out,” I command.
Her hands fumble with my belt and zipper, pulling my cock free. She wraps her fingers around me and strokes, her thumb circling the head where I'm already leaking.
“You're so hard,” she breathes.
“That's what you do to me, baby.”
She positions herself over me and sinks down slowly, taking me inch by inch. The angle is perfect for my knee, all the work on her while I sit back and enjoy the view.
“Ride me,” I tell her. “Take what you need.”
Her hands grip my shoulders for balance, and her breasts bounce with each movement, still contained by her work polo.
“Take this off,” I say, tugging at the fabric. “I want to see you.”
She pulls the polo over her head and reaches back to unhook her bra. Her breasts spill free, and I immediately cup them in my hands, thumbing her nipples until they're hard peaks.
“So fucking beautiful.” I lean forward and take one nipple into my mouth, sucking hard while she rides me. “These tits are going to kill me.”
She moans and increases her pace, her hips snapping against mine. I can tell she's close by the way her walls are fluttering around my cock and the desperate sounds she's making.
“Touch yourself,” I order. “Rub your clit while you fuck yourself on my cock. I want to watch you come.”
Her hand slides between us, and her fingers find her clit. She circles it frantically, her movements becoming erratic as the pleasure builds.
I grip her hips and help her move, thrusting up to meet her despite the protest from my knee.
Her body convulses around me, and she screams my name. I'm right there with her, both of us lost to the wave of pleasure crashing over us. I groan her name into her neck as my release pulses through me.
She collapses against my chest, and we sit still, trying to catch our breath.
“We made a mess of your couch,” she mumbles against my neck.
“Worth it.”
She laughs and lifts her head to look at me. “I really do need to go change now.”
“Five more minutes.”
“Ethan.”
“Two more minutes.”
She rolls her eyes but settles back against my chest. I hold her close and let the contentment wash over me. Today was hard, but that’s all in the past. “What time is Avery picking you up?”
“In about an hour.” She traces circles on my chest. “She's bringing Harper too. The girls are arriving together.”
“So I'll see you there.”
“You'll see me there.” She lifts her head and smiles. “Try not to stare too much. People might notice.”
“No promises.” I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “What are you wearing?”
“The yellow dress..”
“The one from our first time?”
A flush creeps up her neck. “That’s the one.”
I groan. “You're trying to kill me.”
“Just keeping you on your toes.” She presses a quick kiss to my lips, then climbs off my lap, wincing slightly as I slip out of her. I hand her the polo, and she pulls it back on, then her pants.
“I'll see you at Logan's,” she says from the doorway.
“Save me a dance.”
She laughs. “With your knee? We'll see.”
After she's gone, I sit on the couch for a few more minutes, replaying the day in my head. The showcase and the hollow feeling of watching from the sidelines.
Despite Natalie’s assurances, I’m still worried. I need my job.