Keller steps in and flashes the lights, quieting us down.
“Nice win tonight. Good teamwork. Celebrate — lightly — then get some sleep. Curfew’s 11 pm. Don’t make me regret the extension.” He shoots a warning look around the room, his eyes landing on me.
As if I can’t be trusted.
I tip my chin and give him a two-finger salute. His jaw ticks and then he leaves the locker room without another word.
“Damn, Keller’s a real hardass.” I pick at the lifted edge of the tape on my wrist, unwinding the tight wrap and flexing my knuckles.
“He’s got something to prove, that’s for sure.” Weston tosses his sweat-soaked jersey into the laundry bag. “Rookie season in the league. We’re his guinea pigs.”
“Lucky us.” I strip out of my gear, grabbing my towel.
“You’ll be fine as long as you keep playing like you did tonight.” Weston slams his locker shut and I snicker.
“Scoring the game-winning goal?”
“Yeah, that works. And not fucking up off the ice.” He shoots me a sideways glance, his lips pressed in a thin line.
I nod. “Right. Play the best hockey of my life and have no fun. Got it.”
Weston shakes his head. “I’m not saying no fun.”
Aggravation builds in my gut. Because that’s exactly what it sounds like. Another warning.
Another reminder to behave.
Like I’m still the screw-up kid who can’t be trusted to keep his head on straight.
Never mind that I rescued his girlfriend.
Then paid for it with probation. Showed up early to early practice this season. Kept my nose squeaky fucking clean.
Put in the work.
Done everything short of bleeding for this team to prove I’m locked in.
And still my own brothers look at me like they’re waiting for the other skate to drop.
I square my shoulders. “What are you saying, Captain?”
He steps closer to me, leaning in. “Not her. Anyone but her.”
I grind my molars, jaw tight. For the first time in my life, I’m into someone — really into her — and the entire damn universe is against us.
Including my own brothers.
Fuck that.
“Heard.” I spin and head to the showers, leaving Weston and his well-meaning shitty advice behind.
The team meets at the hotel bar as soon as we’re back. Lights are dim and the space gets noisy, the highlight reel of our game playing on the TV above the bar. Keller’s 11 pm curfew looms over us, the clock ticking. Everyone orders drinks rapid-fire, not wanting to waste any precious time.
Least of all, me.
I tip my glass back, take a quick slug of club soda. My heart’s not in the scene tonight, but I need to put in face time. Gotta be a team player or more people will be sniffing around, not just my nosy ass brothers.
“Nice goal, Steele.” Morrison slides up next to me, resting one arm on the high top and jiggling the ice in his glass.
