Page 25

CHAPTER 24

BELL

The locker room was quiet in that specific way it always was after a loss—just the low sounds of tape being peeled off, the occasional scrape of equipment dragging across concrete, and unspoken tension hanging thick in the air.

No chirps, no shit-talking. No fun.

Normally, I liked the noise of the locker room. The laughter, the light jabs, the way someone was always banging on something. But tonight, the quiet fit my mood a little too well.

I peeled off my sweaty gloves and dropped them at my feet. Folding forward to unlace my skates, I winced, the burn in my quads a sharp reminder of all the forechecking that hadn’t paid off. Fuck. The bruise on my ankle from blocking that clapper in the second was already darkening. I’d have to keep an eye on that. Slowly, carefully, I unfastened my shin guards, the velcro sounding overly loud in my ears.

At his stall, Viggy caught my eye for just a second, his expression unreadable. I couldn’t tell if he was disappointed in my play or if he was wondering about the tension radiating between Ethan and me since we’d arrived this afternoon. Separately.

For weeks, we’d been driving in together—to save on gas, we told our teammates—but we’d barely spoken a word since I’d gone back inside to call Jax and tell him the “Bodies in Motion” issue was off the table.

Across the locker room, Ethan was methodically stripping off his own gear, never once glancing my way. The silence that had started last night after that disaster of a conversation had stretched for almost twenty-four hours, and now I couldn’t focus on anything except the hollow feeling in my chest.

And it showed in every single shift I put in on the ice tonight.

Two months of solid hockey and one bad night with new linemates might be all it took to send me back to the third line.

No matter how much I’d tried to focus, my mind kept replaying the moment when I realized all his talk about us being together for real had been just that—talk. A careful lie meant to soften the truth: that he’d never choose me out loud.

Maybe I shouldn’t have brought that photo shoot up at all, but it was too late now.

And I really didn’t know what to do with that. The smart thing would be to move out of his house, give myself a clean break from him, but when it came to Ethan Harrison, I was anything but smart.

I shot another glance his way.

I didn’t know what to say to him, didn’t know anything except that my chest had been aching since I walked away from that table, and now my hockey was suffering for it too.

Tomorrow’s video review was going to be brutal, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that my spot on the first line wasn’t the only thing at risk of falling apart.

I rolled my shoulders, feeling the familiar tightness from a late hit I’d taken in the second. My throat was dry from sucking wind during those long shifts when we’d been hemmed in our zone. All I wanted was to grab my post-game protein bar, head home, and try to forget about the scoreboard—and everything else weighing on my mind.

“You okay?” Miller’s voice broke through my spiral as he slid onto the bench beside me, his shoulder nudging mine in that easy, familiar way.

I glanced over, grateful for the distraction, even if I wasn’t sure I had the energy to fake a smile.

“Yeah,” I said, even though it wasn’t even close to true. “Just tired.”

“Tough game.”

“Tough week.”

He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “You wanna talk about it?”

I exhaled, my breath coming out rougher than I intended. I couldn’t tell him everything, but Miller was the closest thing I had to a friend here in Austin, and I wanted to honor that by sharing things about my life that mattered.

At least the stuff I was allowed to talk about.

I turned to look at him. “I got the REND campaign.”

I’d talked to him a bit about the possibility of it a couple of weeks back, when Jax had first mentioned I was in the running.

I didn’t make a habit of staring at my teammates’ underwear, but I’d recognized REND’s logo on a pair of trunks he’d pulled on after a game one evening. It turned out Miller was a fan of their products, especially a particular style of brief he called his “slutty underwear.”

I knew precisely the ones he was talking about—they were some of my favorites, too. That convex pouch was a game changer under a pair of gray sweatpants.

Miller blinked, his head snapping up. “Wait, you did?”

I nodded, chewing on my lip.

“Holy cannoli,” he breathed, his eyes wide. “That’s amazing. Can I tell people I know a famous model now?”

“Only if you promise not to say anything until the campaign drops.”

“I won’t,” he said, practically vibrating with excitement. “My college roommates are going to die.”

“Mine too.” Some of the tension I’d felt since last night finally loosened. This was my life. It was real, and this was happening. “It’s kind of wild. They’re even talking about a billboard in Times Square for the rollout. It’s pretty much everything my agent and I have been building toward.”

“Good for you.” A delighted grin broke out across his face as he pushed to his feet. “All that social media hustle is finally paying off.”

I nodded again, trying—and failing—to keep my eyes from seeking Ethan out across the room where he was sitting, silently watching my exchange with Miller, his expression unreadable.

Well, unreadable to anyone but me.

He was miserable, only I didn’t know why.

He’d done this to us.

Created this distance that was eating us both alive.

Was it more than the “Bodies in Motion” opportunity, the way he’d shut it down without even considering it? How he’d drawn a line in the proverbial sand—a line that had “love” on one side and “secrets” on the other?

Even before I brought the special issue up, I got the impression he was already upset. I kept replaying that horrible conversation, his “abso-fucking-lutely not” ricocheting around in my head.

Was it the REND campaign that set him off?

That didn’t make any sense, though. Why would Ethan care if I did a photoshoot in my underwear? I’d been posting half-naked pictures of myself for years.

Hell, just last week I’d posted a photo of me rocking a pair of their holiday-themed trunks, the outline of my junk covered by a strategically-placed red bow. While I was adjusting the focus on my camera, he’d walked into the room, taken one look at my outfit, and laughed, calling me a menace.

He’d never complained about these sort of shots before.

Showing off my body was what I did. What did it matter if it was for a million thirsty Instagram followers or on a digital billboard in Times Square? At the end of the day, they were just looking.

Ethan Harrison was the only one allowed to actually touch these goods.

“Everything okay there?” Miller asked.

I glanced up at him. “Uh, what? Sorry. I zoned out there for a bit.”

“You and Harrison? You getting along any better?” His eyes flicked to Ethan and then back to me.

I ran my hand through my hair, taking a moment to carefully weigh my words. “We were, but he’s pissed at me. Not sure for what this time, though.”

Miller made a sound that was somewhere between amusement and understanding. “Remind me again how we wound up living with the moodiest guys on the team?”

“Well, your place burned down, and Coach forced Ethan to babysit me. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I require adult supervision at all times.”

That earned me a real laugh. “Never change, man. Never change.”

When Miller went back to his stall, I finished stripping out of my gear. I wanted a hot shower and to crash. I was ready for today to be over.

First, though, I needed Toby, our equipment manager, to check out my right skate. A wobble on my inside edge had nearly sent me sprawling when I tried to pivot during Washington’s power play in the third period.

A few of the guys shuffled toward the showers, while two guys recently called up as injury cover were collecting pucks and water bottles, part of their post-game duties. Down the row, Roonie was meticulously rewrapping the knob of his stick—superstitious as always after a loss. The trainers moved around the room, plastic bags of ice in hand for those nursing the usual assortment of bruises and tweaked muscles.

With a sigh, I heaved my body to my feet and forced myself to move.

I was halfway to Toby’s equipment room, skate in hand, when Chet came barreling around the corner, a towel wrapped low around his waist and wet hair plastered to his forehead. He clocked me mid-step and gave that smug little grin I’d grown to hate.

“Sorry, princess. Didn’t see you there.” His gaze dragged down my bare chest, then flicked over my shoulder and back again. “You seemed distracted tonight. Not getting enough cuddle time with your boyfriend?”

I stiffened, my body going on high alert. What was this asshole doing now?

“Or maybe you two had a lovers’ spat? That what’s got you playing like shit tonight? Didn’t get a thorough enough dicking down from Harry before the game?”

Bang . The sound of equipment being slammed to the floor sounded through the space.

I twisted around to see Ethan already halfway across the room, his jaw clenched, his eyes locked on Chet like a sniper zeroing in on a target.

“What the fuck did you just say?”

Chet snorted. “Relax, man. Everyone knows you two are just bros .” He tossed the word like bait, his face stretched in a sneer. “No judgment. Though I gotta say, it’s brave of you to play house with a guy who uses your living room for naked photo shoots.” His eyes scanned Ethan from head to toe, then back again. “Though maybe you get off on that shit.”

Chet barely had time to react before Ethan lunged, grabbing him by the throat and slamming him into the wall so hard that a couple of guys jumped. Framed photos—of the team, of inspirational quotes— rattled with the force of the hit, drawing every eye our way.

Conversations died. Equipment hit the floor. Even the ever-present buzz of the fluorescent lines seemed to quiet.

“Don’t you dare talk about Bell like that,” Ethan snarled, pinning Chet in place with a forearm to the chest. “Don’t you dare make jokes about something you don’t fucking understand.”

Chet let out a sharp breath—almost a laugh—but it sounded shaky. His lips parted, and for a second, his expression twisted, not into fear but something heavier. His pupils dilated. His chest rose faster beneath Ethan’s arm. And then his tongue darted out and licked a path across his bottom lip.

Ethan’s eyes dropped for the briefest second to where Chet’s towel had slipped to show off the sharp line of his hip and a glimpse of trimmed, coarse, dark hair.

All at once, I understood with startling clarity what had drawn Ethan’s attention.

Chet’s throat bobbed with a swallow. His lips curved, cocky and bitter all at once. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could get anything out, Coach Mack barked, “Harrison!”

Chet took advantage of the moment, shoving Ethan’s arm aside and stepping around him, but not before throwing one whispered shot over his shoulder. “Faggots.”

Ethan lunged again, fury twisting his face, but I dropped my skate and quickly grabbed him from behind. My bare chest was pressed flush against his damp back, my arms locked tight around his middle, a palm splayed flat across his abs, the other crossing over his chest and gripping his shoulder like a vice.

He was breathing hard, his chest heaving, his fists clenched at his sides. I could feel a tremor roll through him, the tension in his body coiled tight like a spring.

“Don’t,” I whispered, my mouth brushing against his ear. “He’s not worth it.”

Ethan shuddered at the feel of my breath ghosting over his skin.

That was when I realized how my hold on him must have looked to everyone watching.

I released him quickly and stepped away, my panicked gaze sweeping over the room. A few guys were staring, some looked away the second I met their eyes. Miller stood frozen near his stall, his mouth parted slightly. He gave me a small smile, a look that said he understood. Shit. I’d have to talk to him later. Right now, I had to do major damage control.

Coach’s voice rang out again, louder this time. “Harrison! Doyle! In my office. Now.”

For one long second, Ethan didn’t move, then I watched as his brain seemed to come back online and his feet moved forward. “Fuck!” he bellowed, punching the wall on his way into Coach’s office.

He never once looked back.