Page 21 of Goalie’s Obsession (Iron Ridge Icehawks #3)

Chapter Twenty-One

Lucy

T he next morning, I stretch beneath the sheets, my muscles pleasantly sore, my brain still wrapped in that warm cotton haze of post-gala bliss.

And then I look to my left.

Connor’s flat on his back, one arm tossed behind his head, the other resting palm-up on his chest. The sheet’s pushed down to his waist, exposing a whole lot of tanned skin and carved muscle and the kind of body that really shouldn’t be legal before coffee.

He’s snoring softly.

Like an actual, stupidly attractive bear.

I bite back a smile as I scoot closer, careful not to wake him. My fingers brush the ink curling along his ribs, and my chest does that annoying thing again where it squeezes so tight I can't help but smile.

Because last night? He said he loved me.

Like, really loved me.

He's said it before of course, but last night just felt… different.

I’ve never felt safer in my whole life than I did dancing with him in that ballroom, his arms wrapped around me like he was the only thing that mattered in the world.

I've never felt like that. About anything.

I should let him sleep.

I should get up, make coffee, maybe pack because we're due to fly back to Iron Ridge this morning.

But instead… I pull back the covers.

Because I am hopelessly in love with this man. And also because his morning wood is impossible to ignore when it’s tenting the sheet like a fully pitched fucking tent.

I slide down the bed with a wicked little grin, pushing the covers off him inch by inch until I’m eye-level with his cock—thick and hard and already twitching like it knows what’s coming.

“Good morning, Captain,” I whisper, wrapping my hand around the base and slowly rolling my wrist up and down his shaft.

He groans, low and sleepy, hips shifting instinctively.

I lick the tip slowly, letting my tongue swirl around him before I take him deeper, inch by inch. His fingers twitch on the sheet. That deep drawl releases from his chest with another long groan as my name slips from his lips in a half-sigh, half-plea.

“Lucy…”

I hum around him, and he jerks in response.

Just as I start to pick up a rhythm, his abs tighten and he shifts up on one elbow, blinking down at me like he’s not sure if he’s still dreaming.

“I am never letting you out of my bed again,” he rasps.

And just as I give him one long, deep suck…

BANG BANG BANG.

“Room service!” Blake yells through the door. “And by room service, I mean Ryder brought breakfast but Logan’s already eaten half of it.”

I freeze, Connor groans, and I swear to God—I’m murdering the entire Icehawks roster before breakfast.

Connor’s still hard and cursing under his breath when the door swings open.

“Seriously?” I hiss, grabbing for the sheet while Connor scrambles to cover himself with a pillow.

Blake strides in first, holding a tray like he’s Mother Teresa. “You’re welcome. Breakfast has arrived, and so has my sparkling personality.”

Sophia follows behind him, rolling her eyes at me from across the suite. "He's been like this since he woke up."

Logan follows with an iced coffee in each hand and a bag of muffins between his teeth. Ryder’s right behind him, licking jelly off his thumb and eyeing us both like we’ve been caught mid-crime.

“Oh, well, hello. Did we interrupt something?” he asks innocently, eyeing the tousled sheets and my extremely flushed face.

Connor throws a pillow at him without comment.

Natalie trails in last, sunglasses on indoors, her bun slightly lopsided, and a massive iced latte in her hand like it’s the only thing keeping her upright.

“Oh good,” she mutters. “At least you’re both vertical. Barely.”

Connor mumbles, “Not quiet vertical yet, but thanks for ruining that.”

I smooth my hair and sit up straighter. “Um, not that I don't love you all. But is there a reason we’re throwing an impromptu team meeting in our suite?”

Blake drops the tray on the coffee table. “Just wanted to check in before we fly out. One last hurrah before we’re back in Icehawk land.”

“Where grown men wear matching green jerseys and yell about sticks,” Ryder adds, shoving a muffin in his mouth.

Connor grabs a coffee and takes a long sip like he’s pretending the last five minutes didn’t happen. “If this ‘hurrah’ doesn’t come with pants and privacy, I’m officially filing a complaint.”

I lean against his shoulder, trying to laugh along as Logan stares at his phone while smashing down another muffin.

But even through the chaos and caffeine, I can feel it.

Something’s different.

Their smiles are tight. Their eyes are scanning more than usual. There’s tension buried beneath all the banter, like they’re circling something they don’t know how to say yet.

They're all scattered across the suite like we're not about to pack our bags and board the private jet out of here.

Coach Brody is the only one who hasn’t said much. He’s standing off to the side, arms crossed, that familiar gruff expression on his face—the one he usually saves for locker room speeches or chewing out refs.

Something about the way he keeps looking at me makes my stomach tighten.

Connor notices too. He shifts beside me, his thigh pressed firm against mine as he shifts in and lays an arm around my shoulder.

But it’s Logan who finally breaks the noise, setting his coffee down with a heavy grunt and glancing around like someone needs to say it before it festers too long.

“Fine. I'll fucking start," Logan says, the heavy tone in his voice making my stomach drop. "Look, Lucy, turns last night wasn’t just champagne and selfies.”

Coach Brody nods, finally stepping forward. “There was talk. About Ethan.”

Connor’s hand squeezes mine but I still feel the way the room tilts sideways.

“What kind of talk?” I manage, my voice trying to stay even.

Coach Brody exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “It wasn’t just one person. A couple agents. A guy from the Rangers front office. Even some of the players from Toronto.” He looks straight at me now. “There’s a rumor going around that he owes money. Big money.”

I nod slowly.

Yeah. What else is new?

My brother’s financial fuck-ups could probably fund a mid-tier expansion team at this point.

But I keep my voice steady as I meet Coach’s eyes. “Okay. But what’s that got to do with you guys?”

“They said he’s been seen near a few betting lounges. High profile sports lounges. One guy mentioned he’s been seen hanging out near the back entrances of the Seattle and Chicago arenas with… not exactly clean company.”

Ryder shifts uncomfortably on the bed. “Someone said his name’s been whispered around a few well-known hockey bookies. Quietly, but still.”

Blake adds, “No one’s going on record or anything, but it’s… out there.”

"And with you on board, we find ourselves bordering on the line of conflict-of-interest territory," Coach Brody says finally.

They're the words that hit the hardest. I feel my chest tighten like a steel corset just cinched in three notches too tight.

This isn’t just about Ethan making bad choices anymore. This is about the Icehawks.

And my brother meddling in shit he should know better than to meddle with.

Coach Brody’s voice softens. “I didn’t want to bring it up, Lucy. But you need to know. It’s not just gossip anymore. And it's something we're gonna have to deal with."

I look down at my hands, my thumbnail digging into the soft flesh of my palm.

Connor leans in, his voice low in my ear. “We’ve got you, okay?”

He's still juggling the damn pillow at his crotch like it’s a tactical maneuver, but he’s holding me tighter the second the words big money hit the air.

Sophia appears next, slipping in like a heat-seeking missile. Natalie’s right behind her, sunglasses still shading the lights that feel like they're now pointing down right on top of me.

“We’ve got you,” Sophia murmurs, hand warm against my back.

Natalie slides in, lowering her voice. “I mean this in the most loving way possible, babe—your brother is an idiot. But you’re not alone in this.”

Connor’s hand finds my hip, his thumb dragging slowly over my skin. I glance at him, and those amber eyes are still locked on me like I’m the only thing anchoring him to the planet.

Across the room, Ryder plops onto the couch, muffin in one hand, phone already in the other.

“You want me to ask around? I know a guy who knows a guy who probably dated Ethan’s bookie. Or at least tried to.”

“Ryder,” Blake groans. “Not the time.”

“What? I’m offering actionable solutions.”

My throat’s dry. My brain’s spinning. But these people—this weird, chaotic, green-jersey-wearing crew—are looking at me like I’m their center. The heartbeat of this team, despite barely lifting a finger to help their recent success.

Like I matter.

Like I’m theirs .

And that?

That might be the hardest part. Because this is what family’s supposed to feel like. Safe. Supported. Unshakable.

Instead, the one I was born into feels like a goddamn black hole swallowing everything it touches. And here I am again, suffering from the actions of my bloodline despite every effort to remove myself from that world.

"I think I might just need a moment," I say quietly, taking a deep breath. "I need to process this."

Coach Brody straightens and nods. "Take your time, and we'll talk back at HQ."

The team files out and as Sophia slides in under his arm, the door clicks shut behind Blake.

Silence falls.

Glorious, blessed, bare-assed silence.

Connor groans and flops back onto the bed beside me, still completely naked and now lying spread-eagle like a man personally cock-blocked by the entire Icehawks roster.

I let out a weak laugh, then grab the nearest hotel robe and toss it over his stomach. “At least pretend you’re clothed.”

He smirks, eyes closed. “You didn’t seem to mind ten minutes ago.”

Connor snorts and finally sits up, dragging the robe over his hips and then standing long enough to grab mine from the armchair and toss it at me. He crosses the room, flips the lock on the door, and turns back, his expression shifting the second his eyes land on me.

“Come here,” he says quietly.

I don’t argue.

He sinks back onto the edge of the bed, legs open, arms out, and I move straight into his hold like my body’s been waiting for it all morning. His arms wind around me, strong and secure, like he’s trying to shield me from everything outside that door.

I bury my face in his neck, and for the first time since Logan opened his mouth, I let myself really breathe.

“I should’ve seen it coming,” I murmur after a moment, voice tight. “The debt. The way he talked from the moment he came back to Iron Ridge. I knew Ethan gambled. I knew he liked yachts and parties and bad investments. But I didn’t know it was this bad.”

Connor doesn’t say anything. Just holds me tighter.

“I thought it was surface-level stuff. Like usual. Flashy shit that’d fade eventually. But this? Now it’s circling back to me—and to you.”

His fingers move along my spine in slow, grounding strokes. “Hey. None of this is on you, Lucy.”

“But it feels like it is.”

I pull back to look at him. His eyes hold mine, full of that steady warmth that’s kept me sane ever since our moment in that hallway in Vegas.

“I hate that he’s dragging you into this,” I whisper.

“Then don’t look at it like that,” he says. “I’m not being dragged. I’m choosing to be here. With you.”

My throat tightens.

“You don’t have to carry this alone,” he adds, voice softer now. “You never did.”

And that’s what undoes me a little. Not the talk about Ethan. Not the debt. Not the fact that my last name is once again tangled in something scandalous enough to be whispered about at flashy NHL galas.

No—it’s this.

Connor Walsh, calm and unshakeable, holding me like I’m something fragile and fierce all at once. Like I’m worth protecting, even from my own guilt.

I press a kiss to his collarbone and rest there a moment longer.

But then… I straighten and suck in a deep breath.

Because I can’t hide in his arms forever.

I’ve got a flight to catch, a brother to find, and a job to protect. Ethan’s screw-ups aren’t just threatening my peace anymore… they could put Connor’s entire career on the line.

And that ?

That’s something I will never, ever let happen.