Page 27 of Almost Ravaged

Relief ripples through me. I practically fall into his embrace, letting him take my weight as I push out a contented sigh.

“I’m glad you’re coming with us,” he murmurs, surprising me. “It’ll feel good to walk into a new rink together. I can’t wait to be back on the ice, knowing you’ve got your nose stuck in a book somewhere in the stands, not paying attention to anything that’s happening around you.”

With a huff, I squeeze him tighter. He’s broader than he’s ever been, his entire body a mass of impenetrable muscle.

“Hold on.” He positions his arms across my mid-back in a familiar hold.

“Oh. Yes please.”

As I exhale, he gently lifts, and my spine pops in several places in the most satisfying way.

Once he’s released me, I groan and tip my head from side to side to crack my neck again.

The gas nozzle clicks to indicate the tank is full. “Do you know how annoying it is that I’m too big for you to lift nowadays?” he bemoans.

It’s a fair complaint. This was a daily routine for us when we were younger and similarly sized.

I snicker. “It’s not my fault you grew into an enormous mass of muscle I can’t lift. If you’re desperate, you could always ask Ty to help.”

“Help with what?” Tytus circles the car, his hands full of beverages.

He passes two yellow cans to Atty, then pockets one for himself.

“Hell no.” Atty cracks one can and fiddles with the tab. “He’s too brutal. I can’t even risk asking him to help me stretch.”

Ty rolls his eyes. “Maybe you’re just too fucking soft.”

With a smile, I squint into the morning light and scan the bridge that will lead us to our final destination. “Can I drive the rest of the way?”

We’ve all put in equal amounts of time behind the wheel, but I want to be the one to cross the bridge and drive under the archway at the esplanade I’ve seen on the school’s website.

“Sure.” Atty twirls the keys on his finger, then drops them into my hand. “Shotgun,” he calls, clapping Tytus on the back as he passes him.

Ty shakes his head, his lips twitching with amusement.

I yank the driver’s side door open, but before I can slip in, warm fingertips brush my forearm, making my breath hitch.

Ty holds out a can and gives me a sheepish shrug. “Here. Figured you might want it later.”

I accept the drink and smile at the label. Vanilla sweet cream cold brew. It used to be my favorite, although not so much anymore.

Still.

It was sweet that he tried.

“Thanks,” I murmur, stashing the drink in my crossbody bag.

Ty doesn’t respond. Instead, he silently grasps the edge of my door, waiting for me to lower myself into the driver’s seat. Once I’m safely inside, he shuts me in, then climbs into the back seat.

Chapter twelve

Sawyer

As I take in the worn bricks and boring beige doors, I can’t help but feel underwhelmed. “This is it?”

We’re standing in a parking lot, facing the back side of the Holt University ice arena.

The entrance before us is flanked by a rusted red dumpster on one side and a dirty pile of ice on the other.