Page 42 of Kitty Season (Green Line Ice #2)

I s this real? Are we really doing this? Are we in fact, fucking nuts?

That and a million questions in a similar vein consume my thoughts because we are walking towards and sitting down in a cozy little window booth at Beanz and Bookz.

And by we, I mean all three of us. It’s our first official date.

Quinn’s jumping out of her skin with happiness, Brady looks like he may vomit, and me?

Well let’s say I’m closer to Skip than Quinn, but working my ass off to maintain the cavalier facade expected.

We entered as a threesome, Quinn in the middle holding and swinging both our hands like she’s been part of a throuple all her life and this is an everyday occurrence. She may be the only one here who thinks that.

“Everyone is looking at us,” Skip says through gritted teeth while hiding behind his menu.

He’s right. I can feel a million tiny holes being seared into my skin.

The urge to turn and glare is strong, but ignoring it all is probably wiser.

Kitty was so excited for our hard launch , as she called it.

I don’t want to get in a fight with some ignorant moron and ruin it.

Besides, she’s woman enough to handle it herself.

Leaning into Skip’s shoulder, she distracts him with a quick peck to the lips then plucks the menu from his hands. “Don’t worry, Brades. They’re looking at me, not you.”

“Well that hardly seems fair. We’re all here together.”

“That’s right, we are. So let’s not worry about anyone else. Let them think what they want. We know what we have.”

Brady shakes his head, then leans forward and lets it clunk on the table. “How are you okay with all the attention? I hate it.”

“One, you’re gorgeous and get attention constantly, but you also happen to be too oblivious to notice. And two, I’m not really, but for most of my life Dad’s either been cheered or booed wherever we went. It was ignore or become neurotic.”

“So you took a little from column A and B?” I smirk.

“Exactly. Now shut up and pick what you want to eat. You’ve got a game to get ready for.”

Inspired by our successful launch date, I decide to take a little public risk of my own.

Kind of. There’s no one else in the locker room when I’m taken by the mood, lean in, grab Skip’s chin and kiss him, but there could be at any moment.

He’s taken by surprise but into it, moaning so low and dirty I want to drop to my knees.

“So wait. You two are together? But what about Quinn?”

“Yeah, I thought Brady had a boner for Quinn?”

“He’s got a boner for both of them, dumbass. Okay, enough with the moaning already, Basse. Jesus.”

We break apart, Skip brighter than a red Skittle and Shane, Cory, and Paul are watching us at the doors, each with a face twisted into a different state of confusion.

I expect Brady to freak out punch a hole in the wall, or me, but instead he laughs, snakes his hands around my waist and fucking dips me. “You ain’t seen nothing yet, boys.”

Hollers and wolf-whistles ring out, and I’m so fucking happy I got sacked and sent here, I could cry. Obviously because of Quinn and the dick that’s close to dropping me, and what we have. But also because tonight, we’re playing in the Frozen Fucking Four.

I’ve only just got back on my feet when the rest of the boys shuffle in, their energy contagious.

As an outsider looking in, I never expected the Bears to make it this far without Noah, their famous #13.

But they have. In part because of me, but a lot because of Brady.

He’s improved each practice, and game, and earned another shutout.

Quinny and I couldn’t be prouder. Something she told him repeatedly when she was on her knees for us both this morning.

That image is on repeat in my mind, when Brady, already stripping down to suit up, nudges me in the ribs. “Hey, I know that face, I know that twitch, I know what you’re thinking about. Stop it right now.”

I don’t. Not one second of the time it takes me to kit out. It’s only as I lace up that two things take a fraction of my focus. One, “bunny ears, bunny ears playing by a tree,” and two, the pink haired troll in my pocket.

I’ve wanted to return Poppy to her rightful owner for weeks, but me being the coward that I am, I haven’t had the courage.

Especially since we’re in a good place now.

I can’t let things go back to how they are.

I can’t. But I also can’t keep the troll.

And since these few games are the last I’ll play with Skip, and I want to make the most of them, now’s the time.

Lucky for me he’s a superstitious nerd who always has to be on the ice last. I wait with him, abnormal for me as I’m usually one of the first. “Please tell me you’re not gonna try something here,” he whines, low enough that only I can hear. “I cannot get a boner right now.”

The worry on his face has a laugh rattle out of me.

“Don’t stress. I’m not going to give you a blow job.

But I am giving you this.” I open my clenched palm, hand embarrassingly shaky as though I was handing over a ring not a fucking plastic troll.

“I should have returned it a long time ago. I’m sorry that I didn’t. ”

His eyes leave mine and pan down, widening when they see the tuft of pink hair. “Poppy?”

Tears well in his eyes and I feel like a bigger prick that I have ever have, and that’s saying something. He really loves this freaking doll. “I found it on the ground my first day here. I can pretend that I didn’t know what it was, but I did, and I’m sorry.”

“If I found one of your comics, I probably would have kept it too,” his voice remains low though we’re alone now.

“No you wouldn’t have.”

“Yeah, I probably wouldn’t.” Blushing, he smiles, and I can’t stop myself. People can see us. I know that, but I don’t care. I lean in and kiss the absolute shit out of him till his helmet slides off the top of his head, thudding against the rubber mat beneath our skates.

We’re halfway through the final period, it’s 2-2 and I’m on the bench, waiting for my line to be switched back in. Damn Mahomes is chirping me from the penalty box, his third visit. “You took a dive, you fucker.” I hear for the fiftieth time.

What a dick. Everyone loses it and draws a penalty at some point, but to cost your team three power plays in a final?

That’s unforgivable. And we make them pay for it when Cory sneaks another goal.

Game one is so fucking ours, I can taste it.

I don’t say it of course, I’m not that stupid, but I definitely feel it as I skate down the bench, fists tapping furiously while my eyes scan the crowd.

Quinn is here somewhere, so are my moms, but I’ve yet to spot them and it’s kind of killing me. Now that I’ve embraced how I feel about her, the feeling has intensified. I need her.

Normally, they’d be right behind the goals, or in the reserved family and friends section.

But for the first time ever there were no seats available when Quinn tried to book them.

Daddy Dear claimed he had nothing to do with it.

Yeah, Sure. He’s the freaking coach. He could have got her a fucking stand if he wanted to.

This was about me, and it takes all my strength not to grease him off when I take a seat alongside my linemates.

It feels like the shift has just ended, my lungs and legs still burning when Coach calls for the change and Cory, Shane and I jump the boards and are in play immediately.

Big D man, Sean passes it to Shane, who has a wall of red before him.

Thinking quickly and with the footwork to back it up, he taps it backwards between his legs straight onto my stick.

I tap it to Cory, who fakes a shot then slaps it back to me.

There’s moments in hockey where you can feel the goal as it leaves the puck and this is one of them.

A one-timer leaves my blade like a bullet, snapping my stick in half, slamming into the net.

Above the thousands of voices in the crowd, I swear I can hear my moms and Quinn, and Brady.

He’s the only one I can see though, as I skate back to the center.

Even with his concentration and weird-ass twitchy goalie eyes, I see the loving smile.

The second one I’ve earned today. Never take it for granted, I think to myself, as I bend, readying for the face-off.

I never thought I would have not one, but two people look at me the way Kitty and Brades do, and I’m still not sure I’m worthy.

But I am greedy and I’m going to cherish it while it lasts.

“What the fuck are you smiling at?” Riko Kenji, my opposing center grumps, face inches from mine.

“Just thinking of the dick pic your Daddy sent me.” The ref snorts a laugh and drops the puck.

Riko, either shocked or disgusted by my chirp, is slow to react and I steal it, tapping it straight onto Cory’s waiting stick.

Mahomes, who’s got a good few inches on Cory, the shortest on our team is on him though, slamming him into the boards with a bruising, but legal, tackle.

Cory bounces back quickly, but loses the puck to Riko.

He zips into their zone, weaving through Shane, then Sean but looking around for someone to pass off too.

He’s got a clear shot, only Paul and Brady standing between him and the net.

He doesn’t take it, rather he slaps it to fucking Mahomes and my heart stops.

“Don’t touch my fucking goalie!” I’m not sure if I think it, say it, scream it, or yell it, but I do see and feel what’s going to happen seconds before it does.

With no attempt made at a shot, Mahomes drops his shoulder and slams into Brady at full speed.

I’m a fair distance away but hear the crack as their heads collide and watch helplessly as Brady, Mahomes and the net spin haphazardly along the ice, slamming into the boards.

Mahomes is up in a heartbeat, but not of his own accord, by Paul, yanking him by the back of his jersey. The refs are everywhere, the players losing their God damn minds, and Brady is lifeless beneath it all.

“Whatever the hell is going on between you, my daughter, and my goalie, is not my priority right now. What is, is this game.”

Coach is ducking down in front of me, his shark-like gaze locked onto mine. Like I can feel the swollen welts scarring my hands beneath my gloves, I can feel myself shaking. I don’t care about this fucking game. I want to scream, I care about Brady and Quinn .

“We need you, Becker. We need your head back in the game for ten more minutes then I will drive you to the hospital myself.”

I nod. “Where’s Quinn?”

“As far as I know, she went with Basse to the hospital.” That eases my panic. Wait. No it doesn’t. Not one bit. Sure Quinn is with Brady, but who is with Quinn? It should be me. I should be there.

“You can do this,” adds Shane. He’s sitting beside me, as scraped and bruised as I am. “Brady would want you to.”

“He would. You’re right. I can. I can do this,” I say to myself more than any of the other bodies crowded around me. “For them.”