Page 54 of A Little Crush (The Little Things #6)

JAXON

T he score taunts me from the board as the time ticks down on the clock. It’s the third period, and the score is three to three with forty-four seconds to go. I pace behind the bench, eyes locked on the ice as the boards rattle beneath my feet.

Come on, come on, come on.

Skates cut through the ice, the low hum of fans holding their collective breath throughout the arena as one of the opposing team passes the puck. Reeves intercepts it.

"Get ready!" I bark, stepping to the edge of the bench.

Reeves darts past, juggling the puck left, right, left, right, as the opposing team zeroes in on his movements.

"We’re pulling Evans!" I yell.

My goalie catches the signal and darts toward the bench as fast as he can, despite his heavy pads making him drag more than if he was any other player on the ice. Grabbing Skanchy by the collar, I force him to look at me. “You're out there. Run Delta Loop. Got it?”

He nods, eyes blazing. “Get it to Thorne?”

“Every damn time. ”

I shove him forward, and he hops the boards. It’s six on five. An empty net taunts me from our side, shining like a beacon. If this doesn’t work, we’re fucked. Every inch of me clenches tight, and I try to keep a clear head.

“Come on, come on, come on,” I mutter.

Reeves chips the puck off the boards as Skanchy sweeps in, catching the pass and arching around one of the closest defenders. Griffin floats toward the high slot, just like we drew it up. Twenty-eight seconds.

“Let’s go!” I yell. “Pick it up! Delta Loop! Let’s go!”

Darting into action, they run the play like we practiced. Skanchy to Reeves. Reeves to Skanchy. He passes it between a pair of defenders, and Skanchy swoops in with a quick fake, distracting the opposing team, leaving my baby brother wide open.

The seconds relentlessly tick down on the clock.

Ten. Nine. Eight.

Griffin winds up. The loud crack of his stick hitting the puck sounds like thunder as it connects. I clutch the back of my head, and the rest of my team jumps to their feet, each of us holding our breath.

In the blink of an eye, the siren wails, and the crowd goes wild.

We won.

We fucking won!

Heart pounding, I wipe my forehead with the back of my hand and try to catch my breath. It’s not like I was out there, but the adrenaline is still enough to knock me on my ass. That was close. A little too close. But we did it.

We fucking did it.

“Good game, Coach,” Evans says.

“Good game,” I return, shifting my focus to the scoreboard while the rest of the team congratulates each other, each of them lining up to pat the goalie on the head for an excellent performance.

The post game events are over in a blink, and my body slowly relaxes from the adrenaline and the high from today’s win.

“So, when’s Crowther coming back?” Evans asks from beside me.

“Hopefully, he’ll be at the next game,” I answer.

“That’ll be good,” Reeves interjects. “Maybe we’ll score a few more goals with him back on the roster.” He rolls his shoulders and glances toward the scoreboard. “Not that the buzzer-beater wasn’t a kickass way to end the game, but four to three is way too narrow of a point spread.”

“We pulled off the win,” Griffin reminds him. “That's all that matters.”

“Barely,” Everett grunts.

“You saying I should trade you for a younger player?” I quip. “One with a little more stamina, maybe?”

Everett scoffs. “Nah, I’m good. Thanks, though.” He stretches his arms over his head. “I’m gonna hit the showers.”

“Me, too,” Reeves adds. “Good game, Coach.”

“Thanks, man,” I return while the crowd makes its way out of the arena.

When I realize my baby brother’s still hanging out by the bench, I say, “You did good.”

“Thanks.” He grins, still reeling from the win. “Only so many times a team will buy it, but I’m glad the play worked.”

“Me, too.”

He smothers a laugh and shakes his head. “Fuck, that was something else.”

“Yeah, it was.”

Riding the high, he cups the back of his head and turns to me. “Do you ever miss it?”

“Miss what? ”

“Being out here.” Arms spread wide, he motions to the ice. “In the action.”

“Every day,” I admit. “Miss it every day.”

“Still don’t get why you quit.”

No one does. No one but Rory. And it doesn’t matter how many times I’ve tried explaining it, my reasoning, people always look at me like I lost my mind. And maybe I did. Even then, I wouldn’t change it. Wouldn’t trade places with my brother or my dad or anyone else.

“Didn’t quit, just pivoted,” I offer, using Rory’s words from before.

“Guess so.” He rests his elbows against the half-wall separating us and stretches out his lower back. “You’re right about some of us getting too old for this shit, though.”

“Nah, you’re still a young buck,” I counter dryly.

“Sure, I am.” He rolls his eyes. “Not all of us spend our time hanging out at arcades and playing miniature golf.”

I drop my head back, trying not to lose my shit as I grumble, “What is it with everyone talking with everyone?”

With a laugh, he slaps his hand against my shoulder. “God forbid you have a family that communicates.”

I glare back at him. “Communicates. Gossips. Same difference, right?”

He grins. “Depends on what you consider gossip, ‘cause usually that means there’s something to hide.” His brow kicks up. “She still got a thing for you?”

She. As in, Rory. As in, the woman I went miniature golfing with. Guess it goes to show how many opportunities my brother’s had to give me shit for something that happened weeks ago. Keeping my emotions locked down, I say, “What?”

“Finley wanted me to ask. Although, I am curious.” His gaze narrows as he studies me carefully, waiting for me to show my hand .

If only he knew.

“We’re friends,” I answer.

“Friends who play miniature golf together.”

“Friends who are trying to figure out how to be friends again after everything we’ve been through,” I counter, deciding a half-truth is better than nothing.

My brother cocks his head. “You got a thing for Rore?”

“Griff—”

“It’s a simple question, big brother.” He shrugs. “Although, now that I think about it, maybe the real question is, why are you avoiding it?”

“Avoiding what?”

“The question,” he clarifies.

My eye twitches. “I’m not avoiding anything?—”

“So you don’t have a thing for Rory?”

Yeah, this asshole’s been around Finley way too long.

I want to tell him I have a dick, so of course I have a thing for Rory, but the truth is, my attraction to her runs so much deeper than superficial bullshit.

Should it, though? Should my attraction for Rory Buchanan run deeper than superficial bullshit?

I don’t know. I like her. I care about her.

I want her to be happy and appreciated. And I keep finding myself searching the stands just to see if she’s here with Pops and checking my phone just to see if she’s sent me another text or video.

But do I have a thing for her? A real, lasting thing?

Outside of what it feels like to be inside her?

Shit.

I think I do.

Slipping off his helmet, Griffin tucks it under his arm and points out, “Yeah, your silence isn’t telling at all.”

“She’s my nanny,” I remind him.

“Who you were seen with when the kid she’s supposed to be nannying was at her mom’s house.”

The asshole makes a good point .

“She wanted me to show her a few things,” I argue.

“Like…sexual things? Or?—”

“Don’t be an ass,” I warn.

He raises his free hand in defense. “All right, I’ll drop it.”

“Will you?” I challenge before motioning to the scoreboard. “Because you’re kind of ruining the high from tonight’s win.”

“Sorry.” He drops his hand. “But do you wanna know what else would ruin the high from tonight’s win? Crowther stealing her from you once he’s back.”

My stomach plummets at the idea of Crowther coming anywhere near Rory, but I keep a blank face no matter how much it kills me.

“There’s nothing to steal.” The lie tastes like ass, but I don’t know what else to say.

Not yet. Not without Rory’s permission. Not without Iris finding out and pitching a fit.

Not without our families making assumptions and putting even more pressure on whatever’s happening between Rory and me than there already is.

Besides, it’s still new. Way too fucking new to go around announcing our private business to our families all because they’re too nosy for their own good.

Isn’t it?

“Sure, there’s nothing to steal,” Griffin retorts. “Just like how there was nothing to steal from Drew when I made a move on Fin.”

Drew.

Fuck, I haven’t heard that name in years.

Drew was Finley’s long-distance boyfriend before Griffin drove her across the country to tell him something face-to-face.

By the time they made it back to Lockwood Heights, Griffin was all in and somehow managed to steal and mend Finley’s broken heart in the process.

“What are you trying to say, Griff?” I demand.

“I’m saying you can either shit or get off the pot because Rory deserves better than being strung along when a good guy like Dodge or Crowther would happily take a chance on her.”

He thinks I don’t know this? That Rory isn’t as close to perfect as a woman can be?

He doesn’t get it, though. Doesn’t understand that I have a daughter to think about.

And a career. And Rory herself. Besides, it’s only been a little while.

Everyone needs to keep their opinions and assumptions to themselves, including whether or not Crowther’s a better fit for Rory than I am.

Asshole.

“Some brother you are,” I mutter.

“Just sayin’.”

“Or Finley’s just sayin’,” I counter.

His smile grows. “You may have been a hot topic at the Thorne house after the wedding. Add in the miniature golf run-in, and she’s convinced you two are sleeping together.”

I grit my teeth but keep my mouth shut.

Analyzing my expression, Griffin skates forward. “And if you were, hypothetically, sleeping together, you know none of us would care. Right?”

Yes and no. No one cares until it doesn’t work out.

Then, it’s a shit show. And yeah. Everything wound up fine for Griffin and Fin.

Everything even wound up fine for Mav and Lia, but no one likes the reminder of Archer’s involvement in their relationship before he died, do they?

Because it wasn’t so simple before he passed.

I know it, and if my relationship with Rory doesn’t work out, everyone else will be reminded of it, too.

Scratching my temple, I mutter, “Rory’s…”

“All grown up now?” Griffin finishes for me. “Yeah, I know. And so does Crowther.” With a grin, he slips off his gloves and shoves them into his helmet. “I’m gonna hit the showers. ”

He skates away, disappearing into the tunnel and leaving me more on edge than I’d like to admit.

He’s right about one thing. I haven’t talked to Rory about Crowther since I showed up in her parents’ backyard and confessed my feelings for her.

I figured it wasn’t any of my business, and maybe it isn’t, but the idea of something happening between them once he’s back is more than I can stomach.

Then again, so is the idea of telling people I’m sleeping with a girl who’s ten years younger than I am and has been in love with me her entire life.

I’m so fucked.