Look, I’ve never said my survival skills are high or that I’m sane. Something must be broken inside of me to be okay with him stalking me. At least I’m self-aware enough to know that.
My cheeks are on fire as I read the note, my heartthumping so hard in my chest. I will be an absolute wreck if this game of ours ever ends. Thankfully, it looks like he feels the same way.
You looked sad. Did you miss me?
You’re mine, Serena. Tomorrow, you’ll see.
Wear this dress. I’ll wear a mask.
Heart eyes for you. Together at last.
—Your Masked Valentine
“Bates!” Head Coach Rafferty shouts my name, drawing my attention back to the bench as I skate across the ice for puck drop.
He nods sharply, giving me a look to be on my best behavior—something I’ve struggled with most of my life, especially tonight, when the entire opposing roster is aiming for an invisible target on my back.
The game’s almost over, and getting into a fight at this point wouldn’t serve a real purpose. While letting some anger out might make me feel a little happier, I don’t want to risk giving the other team a power play that could potentially tie up the game or possibly receiving a game misconduct penalty that would bench me for the entire next game.
I dip my head to him, showing my compliance. Gripping my stick tighter, I glide forward until Istop before the red dot in our offensive zone. The other players set up on the ice. A second later, the ref drops the puck, and chaos ensues. Sweeping my stick back toward my legs, I slap the puck behind me.
Casper Ridley—one of the other leading forwards on the Saint Paul Sinners and one of my best friends—takes possession as the rest of our line skate through the motions, looking for an opening to score.
Cutting around the back of the net, I land just outside the goalie’s crease. One of the opposing defensemen—number ninety-one—shoves me, jabbing his stick into the side of my ribs.
Anger floods my body, my nostrils flaring as I inhale sharply, my ribs burning from his assault.
Don’t kill this guy. Don’t kill this guy.
It takes everything in me not to do just that while Ninety-One spends the remaining forty seconds of this shift doing everything he possibly can to tip me over the edge, and I’mthisfucking close to giving him what he wants.
“Bates.” Kol Brighton—the other badass forward on my line and the other psycho in our maniacal friend trio—uses my name as a warning, and I’m starting to wonder if they know any other way.
I’m not a child; you can’t just say my name sternly to get me to obey. It only makes me want to beat Ninety-One into mush even more, out of spite.
“Get that goddamn look out of your eyes, Finny.” Cas uses my nickname–a shorted version of my last name, Finnegan. He smacks the back of my helmet as we hop over the boards into our bench.
“What look?” I chuckle, not doing anything to hide the smirk lifting the corner of my lips.
Cas’s and Kol’s expressions mirror one another as humor and annoyance shift onto their faces.
The three of us have been inseparable since we were kids, playing mini sticks in our basements in middle school. We dominated high school, and every year we played in World Juniors, we won.
Being picked up on the same pro team is nothing short of a miracle—one I’m thankful for every day. These guys are my family, and nothing is ever going to change that. We’re a package deal.
The truth is, we know far too much about one another to ever part ways. Too many secrets. Too many stories. We are stuck with one another for life, but we wouldn’t have it any other way. No one else in the world would tolerate our crazy asses.
“You guys act like I get into a fight every game.” I squeeze my water bottle, holding it a couple of inches from my face. Water streams into my mouth, and I let some drip down my chin and neck, cooling off my burning body while I hydrate.
They look at each other and break into exaggerated laughter.
The last time I even got into a real fight was like …shit… forty-eight hours ago, when we played the Otters.
“Okay.Okay. I get it. But there are only three minutes left, we’re up by one, and we won’t even go back in. I might be a little dumb, but I’m not a fucking idiot. Besides, I don’t need any new shiners before tonight.”
Cas groans, rolling his eyes. “I can’t believe we let youtalk us into going to a damn singles party in the middle of January.”
They didn’thaveto agree to go. Trust me, you can’t make these boys do anything they don’t want to do. Regardless of their agreement, I planned on being at that party. This is a big night for me—one I’ve been waiting for forever.
