Ryan
Tape tears between my fingers. Third time I’ve screwed up wrapping my stick blade. I rip it off and start over, pressing harder this time.
This is only a preseason game. But it’s against the Serpents.
Coach Nieminen’s out of his mind. Neither team knows how to take it easy.
So, today’s gonna be a brawl, not a game. I just hope no one gets injured before the season starts.
Across the room, Connor’s getting ready beside Knight and Novotny. His brows are furrowed, shoulders squared, not a hint of a smile.
He’s completely different from three hours ago when we both made ourselves come together. He’d walked out of the bathroom after showering, eyes dark, towel slung low and pitching at the front.
I was hard in seconds.
We’ve messed around a few times this week. Just jerking off because any time his hands move toward me, I lock up, like my body remembers things my brain tries to forget.
No panic attacks, though. So, that’s something.
He’s also been doing his homework on my bed. At first, I shoved myself against the wall, trying to carve out space. There was barely an inch between us. Two hockey players over six feet are not meant to share a twin bed.
But the past two days I’ve relaxed a bit. Even fell asleep with him still in my bed.
Until he hit me with a pillow.
Scared the shit out of me. Almost had a panic attack. But his bitching about my snoring had me laughing instead.
Still can’t believe I fell asleep. Another person in the same room usually makes me spiral. But with Connor . . . it’s different now.
Not as scary.
After tossing my tape into the bag, I grab my skates and put them on. One of the newer guys—some freshman—sits next to me.
“Move!” Knight’s voice booms through the locker room.
The kid scrambles away, both Knight and Connor glaring at him.
Wait.
No one’s sitting near me. The closest person is two feet away. I look back at my husband and his friend, but they’ve already gone back to putting on their gear.
Have they been making sure no one gets close?
My face heats, but the corner of my mouth lifts.
Coach Nieminen walks into the center of the room, followed by Harper and Rinne.
“Preseason doesn’t mean soft.” His voice cuts through the conversations, and everyone shuts up. “The Serpents are going to come at us. So, you fuckers better hit back harder. Play smart. Play physically. Don’t be idiots. Nobody better get suspended before the season even starts.”
Harper turns to me. “You've been working hard during practice. Time to show it counts.”
I nod. That's all I can do. My throat’s tight, chest tighter. Not because of the pressure, but because . . . Coach believes in me.
“Get your asses on the ice and remind those South Shore assholes who owns them. We’re the champs for a reason,” Nieminen says.
I stand and roll my shoulders. I slept well last night and feel ready.
Harper lingers looking at Novotny, then turns toward Connor before turning back and smirking.
