My breath escapes with a whoosh of air the moment my back collides with the cold beneath me, knocking the wind out of me so thoroughly that not a single sound leaves my chest. Ice stings the skin between my leggings and shirt, scraping at the smooth skin with a sharp scratch, while my entire body bounces off the ice once before I’m left sprawled over it in a heap. To add insult to injury, the hockey stick clutched in my hand goes flying into the air, using its newfound freedom to free-fall straight intomy face, the thickest part of the stupid stick clocking me in my eyebrow before clattering against the ice.
“Oh, shit. You good, kiddo?” Mack rushes to ask, right before I hear several hisses that indicate several someones are coming to my rescue.
The one body I don’t expect, however, is that of a worried Caiden. I have no idea how he managed to get to me so quickly, one glance at his knees telling me more than words that the crazy man likely hauled himself over the barrier and skidded to my side.
“Fuck. Someone get a cloth or something,” he demands, scooping me up off the ice like I weigh next to nothing, placing my head on his sweatpants-covered lap while he peers down at me with a pinched brow and a tight mouth.
I open my mouth to ask what the hell the problem is when I feel a trickle of warmth spill from above my eye, slowly trailing down to my temple. Enough injuries over my lifetime tell me that damned hockey stick has cut me, the pulse just above my brow throbbing enough to know that it’s likely a deep gash that’s probably going to scar.
“Oooh, you’re a dead man, Uncle Mack,” I seethe without much gusto, groaning when the ache in my head suddenly blooms with the knowledge that I’ve been bested by hockey equipment. “Just wait until I tell Mom and Dad what you did.”
Mack scoffs, though it lacks any kind of emotion other than worry, as he says, “You learned to skate before you walked. How the hell was I to know you’d lose your balance like that? Jesus, kid, are you all right?”
“Oh, yeah, just peachy,” I whimper, raising my hand to the new slice in my head.
A warm hand stops me before the pads of my fingers connect, and my eyes snap to a pair of pale-green eyes that remind me of freshly tumbled aventurine crystals. Whoa. Howdid I not realize how pretty his eyes were? A girl could get lost in those.
“Don’t touch, Blue. You’ll get blood all over you,” he gently commands, linking his fingers with mine to keep them from reaching for the cut again. Not that I would, since I’m growing increasingly distracted by the pretty hue of his eyes, the pale green ringed beautifully with a more emerald shade that really makes them pop.
“Anyone ever told you how pretty your eyes are?” I wonder mindlessly, my mouth twitching with a smile when a beautiful, white-toothed grin appears on the jokester’s face. Because that smile? Hell, I’d go to war for that smile, and I can’t even kill a fly without sobbing over it. I wouldn’t make a good soldier, but I’ll be damned if I wouldn’t be the first on the front lines if it meant seeing that smile again.
And those eyes.
And that face.
Christ, what’s in the water these guys have been drinking? Because surely it’s unnatural and against the law of… something, anything, to be as good-looking as they are. Just hand me my helmet, tank, and Nerf gun. I’m ready to serve my country.
I’m like a moth to a flame as I stare at a chiseled jaw lined with intentional stubble, the smallest divot in his chin, and the beauty spot just beneath glittering green eyes. That’s not even touching on the peek of muscle I can see beneath the collar of his shirt.
Caiden licks his lip as though he’s trying to dampen his grin before he charmingly quips, “Only one that matters is you telling me they’re pretty.”
Snorts echo around us, and I realize then that we’re surrounded by The City Titans, their coach, and a worried-looking Baxter Marshall.
Huffing a laugh, I drawl, “This feels like a fever dream or something.”
“Better check she doesn’t have a concussion,” Uncle Mack points out, eyeing me with humor in his eyes now that he knows I’m only slightly wounded and not on the brink of death.
“If I do, it’s all your fault, you jackass,” I grumble, reaching my free hand around to my back and feeling the scrapes over my skin left behind. “I’m definitely telling Dad that you injured me.”
“Don’t you even think about it, you shit,” he laughs, just as Oscar comes hurrying over with a pristine white towel that’s about to have its life ruined.
Instead of handing it to me, the sweetheart presses the towel against my forehead, cringing when I wince and gasp in pain.
“Sorry, firecracker. Got yourself good with that stick,” he apologizes, pressing the towel more securely to my eyebrow while I continue to lie on the freezing-cold ice, water seeping through my leggings quicker than I’d like.
Snorting and groaning when it hurts, I try to nod and say, “Felt like a good hit. Reckon it’ll scar?”
“Oh, for sure,” Morgan quips, making me grin.
“Badass,” I mutter with a pained smile, drawing laughter from the men around me once more. Even Baxter finally relaxes, a tatted hand roaming over his neat beard in a poor attempt to hide his amused smile from me. Caiden has no such qualms, the asshole laughing along with everyone else, his thumb stroking the skin on my hand gently.
It almost distracts me from the ice thawing under my ass, but not quite. Clearing my throat, I finally ask, “Think I can get off the ice now that I’m mortally wounded? My ass is growing numb, and the backs of my legs are soaked.”
“You heard the girl. Get her off the ice, and get to practice,” Mack shouts, clapping his hands loudly enough that I wince again, just as Caiden stands steadily and scoops me into his arms before I can squeak.
With careful shuffles, he glides over to the opening in the boards, ready to haul me off the ice, but not before Morgan presses a kiss to my uninjured temple while he laughs, muttering, “See you soon, dumbass.”
I roll my eyes, but then I smile when Lawson scratches the top of my head with his glove before disappearing after my cousin. The last to leave is Oscar, who hands the towel over carefully to Caiden to keep pressed against my head, knocking his fist gently under my chin with a sweet, “Hope it heals up nice, firecracker.”
