I shrug. “Better than when I was flat on my ass on the ice.”
He flashes me aBe seriouslook, the first of many for the day, I’m sure. I ignore it and head toward the noise. I’m not ready to talk about my feelings, to dissect my fears about missing so many games that I lose my chance for a long-term contract with the Wolves.
People view me as loose-lipped and easygoing, sharing my innermost thoughts without thinking. They aren’t exactly wrong; I let my thoughts flow out easily, but only the surface-level ones. Anything deeper remains locked down. No one pushes further than the surface, because they assume nothing else exists. Until Finley.
Volk stands from the couch and comes to me when I enter the room. “Good to see you on your fucking feet, Briggsy.” He claps me on the back, his version of a hug.
I put a hand on his face, and he immediately swats it away. Faint cuts are still healing beneath his left eye. “Thanks for sacrificing your looks for my honor.”
He runs his hand over the scruff on his chin. “Kennedy likes scars.”
What would it be like to have confidence in another person’s feelings about you? Knowing the parts of you some people consider damaged, they treasure?
Matt rests his hands behind his head. “They do look badass.”
“Like he needed anything else to help him cultivate that look,” I say, perching on the arm of the couch.
The front door swings open, the security-system chime echoing through the house. I recognize the familiar sounds ofFinley’s arrival—the rattle of the door, the drop of each shoe hitting the ceramic floor, the jangle of car keys on the metal hook. My heart beats faster with each additional sound, with the anticipation of seeing her.
Volk grips the sides of his collar and pops it out. “Some people just haveit.” He tosses us his signature shit-eating grin, the one fans associate with Volk after he scores a goal or wins a fight.
“Besides Volk getting an even bigger head, whatddya all been up to?”
Matt jerks a thumb at Volk. “We got him to come out for an hour before going back to his room to talk to Kennedy. Princeton, here, had a game-winner against Seattle. And I was the first star in LA.”
“Sounds like a great trip.” Finley comes into the room, sucking every ounce of air from my lungs.
“I hear you were good while I was gone,” Matt says to her.
My stomach tenses at the implication I reported on her. Somehow, he interpretedShe’s fine, I thinkas insight into his sister’s well-being. Finley’s gaze meets mine, and I keep my expression carefully neutral. I don’t want her to think I’m sharing anything about us with Matt.
“Don’t worry, brother, I’m still in school.” Her tone remains light, but she crosses her arms over her chest, giving away how much his comment bothers her. “Submitted all my homework on time. Made my bed. Went to sleep before midnight. Didn’t kiss a single boy.”
I’m damn happy to hear the last one.
Matt lets out a chuckle. “All right. I get it.”
“Get what? That you’re overbearing?”
Matt stops laughing at Finley’s words.
“Imagine having him as your captain,” I remark. Finley’s eyes snap to me, full of the scary intensity I’ve seen when she prepares to run toward the vault. “Ihaveto listen to him.”
“That’s rough sledding.”
That’s my phrase.
And of course Matt, who spends more time with me than most people, notices.
“I don’t like the way you’re rubbing off on my sister,” he tells me.
Jesus Christ. I avert my gaze so Matt can’t see the heat in my cheeks.
“Why don’t you want him to rub off on me?” Finley asks, her voice sugary sweet. Does shewanthim to suspect us? Or is she mocking my obvious crush on her? When Matt doesn’t answer, she adds, “He’s your teammate.”
Matt doesn’t pick up on the innuendo. Thank fuck.
Instead, he lets out a deep-bellied laugh, lurching forward as his body vibrates with laughter. “I don’t want you to be likeanyof these jokers.”
