I gently set her down, but I didn’t fix my clothes or ask for my jersey back. Instead I memorized her—flushed cheeks, swollen lips, swimming in my jersey.
“I’m going to replay this moment until the day I die.”
A small smile lifted her lips and then she peeled off the jersey and handed it back to me. I tried not to stare as she got dressed in her regular clothes. When she was done, she looked like any other girl heading to a hockey game.
Just Drew’s sister. Here to watch her brother play.
And I fucking hated it.
She belonged inmyjersey.
I pulled my jersey back on, still warm from her body, and the scent of her hit me immediately. Vanilla, cinnamon, strawberries, and sex.
“Good luck out there,” she said, rising on her toes to press a quick kiss to my lips. “I’ll be cheering for you.”
I caught her hand before she could pull away. “One day, you’re going to wear my jersey in front of everyone.”
Longing seemed to flicker across her face—like shethought it’d never happen, but before I could tell her how serious I was, she slipped out the door.
I waited a few minutes before following, making my way back to the locker room to finish getting ready. The guys were loud and hyped, talking shit and running through plays, but I barely heard them.
All I could think about was the jersey against my skin. The way it smelled like her. Like us.
She was with me. Even if no one else knew it.
THIRTY-EIGHT
I wasn’t sure what had crawled up Drew’s ass, but he was on a tear.
I’d known him long enough to read his moods like a playbook, and right now, every line of his body screamed fury. During warm-ups, he’d barely looked at me. His passes were too sharp with way more force than necessary. And when I’d tried to run our usual pre-game drills, he’d skated away without a word.
“You good, man?” I’d asked, catching up to him near the boards.
His jaw had clenched so tight I thought he might crack a tooth. Before he could answer, Coach called for our attention.
Whatever was eating at him would have to wait. Montana Tech wasn’t an easy opponent, and we needed to be locked in if we wanted to win.
Unfortunately, Drew missed that memo.
Every time I tried to set up our usual plays, he went rogue. He wouldn’t cover my side, wouldn’t communicate, wouldn’t even acknowledge my existence on the ice. It waslike playing with a stranger wearing my best friend’s jersey.
“What the fuck, Drew?” I called after he left me hanging on a defensive rotation that should’ve been second nature.
I got no response from him. Just the same rigid fury that had been radiating off him in waves since before the game started.
Foster shot me a look from the bench during a line change. “What’s going on with Monty?”
“No fucking clue.” But even as I said it, dread started pooling in my gut. Because there was really only one thing I could think of that would make Drew this angry at me specifically.
But there was no way he knew. We’d been careful—apart from today, but I’d been back in the locker room long before Drew showed up.
Then Drew slammed into the boards after a particularly brutal check. His helmet went askew and when he got up, his face was flushed with something far beyond exertion.
I skated over to check on him—the same way I’d done a thousand times before—and held out my hand to help.
Instead of taking the help, he shoved me hard.
Okay, fuck this. I’d had enough of whatever bullshit was going on with him.
