We were a team, Ryder and I. Always had been. Since we could skate, we were inseparable—two halves of a whole. I cared what he thought more than anyone else. I craved his opinion on everything, from how to handle the next play on the ice to how to survive another round with my father.
Ryder had always been there. He came with me to my father’s house when I couldn’t bear to face it alone, the weight of my family’s history hanging heavy on my shoulders. But now… now everything felt different. Something between us had shifted, and I wasn’t sure if it was the kind of thing we could fix.
He’d signed a contract to play for the Guardians, not because he wanted to—hell, not because he even liked the idea—butbecause he thought I needed him here in the Bay Area. All he’d ever wanted was to retire from hockey, to settle into a quiet life in the Midwest, maybe run a bar, or hell, even just fish for the rest of his days. Yet here he was. For me.
I set my taco down, my stomach suddenly heavy. The words felt too big to keep inside. “I’m so fucked.”
Rowan’s eyes flicked between me and Ryder, his expression morphing from confusion to disbelief. “I have never seen you broken up about a woman before. How far gone are you?”
“Shut up.”
A long, heavy silence passed between the two of them. They exchanged a worried look, and Ryder, ever the one to break the tension, signaled to the server with a wave. “We’re gonna need another round of waters here.” Then, without missing a beat, he bit into his taco, his eyes watering slightly from the burn. It was the only hint he gave that the heat from the peppers was getting to him.
Our indifferent server brought over six fresh waters, and without a word, all three of us reached for one in unison. It was a small, comforting thing in a moment that felt like everything was unraveling.
I watched Ryder closely, trying to read his face, but he finished his plate without giving away much. He was a goddamn master at hiding his thoughts.
Rowan didn’t have the same filter. His brow furrowed in thought before his gaze locked on me. “So, it wasn’t just sex? You’re not just lusting after her…”
I groaned, tossing my napkin at him. “Don’t saylusting. What are you, ninety years old?”
Rowan grinned like the damn devil. “Actually, I believe you’ve got like a decade on me?—”
“If you finish that sentence,” Ryder interrupted, his voice low but heavy with the kind of warning that made anyone think twice, “you won’t live to see our age.”
Goalies, like Rowan, were an odd breed—wild, untamed, and somehow always on the edge of losing control. His personality? Intense. Whether he was angry, happy, or just existing, it was an all-consuming force. And right now? Right now, he waslovingthis.
It was like he was watching a comedy show that had no end in sight. “Just saying, you old dudes have to find love where you can, even if it’s with our… coach.” He shivered for emphasis.
I reached across the table, gripping the front of his shirt. “Call me old one more fucking time.”
Rowan’s grin only widened, showing no hint of fear. He knew better than to be scared of me. Deep down, I cared about him—hell, I had to. He’d been living with us for a year now, and at this point, he was like a second puppy in the house—one that cooked better than anyone else.
He leaned into my grip, never backing down. “You’re so old, your balls have probably shriveled up inside you.”
Was it illegal to murder your teammate?
Luckily for Rowan, I didn’t have to make that decision. Ryder threw an arm around Rowan’s neck and yanked him back. “You’re a fuckwad, bro. But right now, we’ve got bigger chickens to fry.”
“Fish,” I muttered, the words falling from my lips like an afterthought.
“What?” Ryder glanced at me, his brow furrowing in confusion.
“It’sfishto fry,” I explained, as if it made any more sense the second time.
“Yeah, but I don’t do seafood,” Ryder smirked. “And you’re the chicken shit who’s been staring at his phone all lunch instead of just texting her.”
Rowan shoved Ryder off him with a laugh, clearly enjoying the chaos. His eyes found mine again, narrowing with that mischievous glint he couldn’t ever quite hide. “So, you two—" He tilted his head, clearly amused by the idea. "All that yelling. I could have sworn she hated you. I’m sure it made for a great lay, but more than that?”
“She does.” A small, almost stupid smile tugged at my lips. "But I think she might like me, too. Only… she hasn’t texted me back today."
Ryder grabbed my phone before I could stop him, typing in the passcode I’d had forever without hesitation. He scrolled through the messages, his face cracking into a mockery of sympathy. "Yikes, Ted."
“Let me see.” Rowan grabbed the phone from Ryder’s hands and squinted at the screen, his face contorting into a look of painful secondhand embarrassment. “Ouch. Are you sure you two are even together?”
“No.” I snatched it and shoved it into my pocket with a frustrated sigh. “But goddamn, I can’t stop thinking about her. About the way she?—”
Ryder held up a hand, cutting me off with a knowing look. “If you talk about coach like that, I might have to break our code.”
