Page 32

Chapter 32

JAMIE

T he familiar pulse of pre-game warmups thrums through me as we take the ice. Normally I love the anticipation, but tonight my stomach is churning unpleasantly. Florida's dark jerseys blur in my peripheral vision because I refuse to give them my attention until I have to, focusing instead on my team.

"Don't let them in your head," Louis told me earlier, his usual playful demeanor replaced by fierce protectiveness. "They're just another team now. You're one of us."

His words echo as I send another puck top shelf, earning appreciative taps from Charlie and Gino. Even Austin's usual gruff energy feels supportive; like he's daring anyone to mess with me. The team forms a loose circle around me during warmups. It's nothing obvious, but I'm never left exposed.

Nathan Leblanc is staring me down from the visitors' bench, his glare like a physical weight on my chest. But I refuse to look his way. Fucker's not worth it. My attention stays where it belongs: on the crisp passes Rylan keeps sending me. We're on the same wavelength tonight, our connection smooth and instinctive, like we’ve been playing together for years instead of months.

The memory of my first NHL goal slams into me: Nate throwing his arm around my shoulders, bellowing proudly "That's my rookie!" while the guys mobbed us both. What should be a fond memory is tainted now though, poisoned by how fast he turned on me after that. Shit, my head's not in it . An easy pass from Gagnon sails right past me. Goddammit.

"Hey." Rylan appears beside me, close enough that I can hear him over the crowd noise. "Stay with me."

The quiet command in his voice centers me. His eyes hold mine for a moment, and his quiet confidence steadies me.

"We're ready." He says as we line up for the opening faceoff.

When the puck drops, everything else falls away.

During the first shift, Leblanc tries to line me up along the boards, but Santucci, the big, grouchy defenseman appears out of nowhere, a wall of muscle forcing him to pull up. The message is clear: not here, motherfuckers. Not in our house.

We go up 1-0 early on Charlie's wrister from the slot. The crowd roars as we celebrate, my teammates' bodies forming a protective circle around me during the celly. I catch Vladimir Belov sneering from Florida's bench, but his hatred is distant and meaningless now.

During the second period, things start to get chippy. Every hit gets finished a bit harder than necessary, and every scrum ends with an "accidental" elbow or borderline high stick. Leblanc shadows me constantly, muttering taunts just quiet enough the officials can't hear.

"Hey, Pirelli, found another 'straight' guy to corrupt, eh?"

I grit my teeth and keep skating. Let that shit roll off.Water off a duck's back. I'm not that same nervous kid trying to prove himself anymore.

The puck finds me in the neutral zone while Rylan breaks up the left side. Pure instinct takes over, no need to look, I know where he'll be. The pass connects perfectly, but before I can follow the play, Leblanc catches me with a late hit.

"Fucking fairy," he spits as I pick myself up.

Austin Cote appears out of nowhere, getting right up in Nathan's face. "Do it again, Leblanc," he growls. "See what happens."

The refs separate them, but something's shifted. Every Sasquatch player is on fire now, fueled by righteous anger. My team rallies around me in a way I never dreamed could happen in this league even a year ago.

Heading into the third, we're tied 2-2. Coach's intermission speech is simple: "Play our game. Show them what we're made of, boys. They're in our barn, give 'em a lesson in Sasquatch hockey."

Rylan catches my eye, sending me a subtle up nod. We both know what's at stake here.

Back out on the ice, everything clicks. Our line's flying, connecting on plays that shouldn't even be possible. The Jags keep trying to get under my skin, but I focus on Rylan and the way we seem to read each other's minds.

With three minutes left, their defensemen are all over me, but they don't get how Rylan and I work together. One look, one subtle head tilt, and we're in perfect sync.

The goal is perfect. Rylan draws both defenders to him, then slides the puck right to me, through a gap that shouldn't exist. I one-time it top shelf right over the goalie's shoulder. The red lamp lights, the horn sounds, and the crowd explodes.

My teammates pile on, and for just a moment, I let myself hold onto Rylan longer than is strictly necessary. In the chaos, no one notices. But I catch Leblanc's narrowed eyes focused on us as we head back to our bench.

The final minute is pure adrenaline. Florida pulls their goalie, sending six attackers our way, but Lou stands on his head, denying every last shot. When the final horn sounds, the relief hits so hard that my knees almost buckle.

"Fucking brilliant!" Charlie screeches crashing into me with a huge grin on his freckled face. The rest of the team follows, and through the crowd, I catch Rylan's eyes. His captain's mask is firmly in place, but his expression is full of pride, relief, and something deeper. It's a look that fills my gut with a delicious, liquid warmth.

The locker room buzzes with victory energy. I can't stop grinning, high on the win and the way we came together as a team.

"Three fucking stars tonight, baby!"Charlie'spracticallybouncing as he strips off his gear."First star Pirelli, showing those Florida fucks what they lost!"

Louis tosses a towel at my head."Hit the shower, hotshot. You smell like victory and ball sweat."

Standing under the hot water, I revel in the victory, and it feels fucking amazing. It's more than winning the game, it's what this win means for me both as a player and a person. It means Florida's bullshit couldn't break me. They tried, but I found something better, something real. Found a team that has my back, a place where I'm starting to feel like I belong. Like it might be home.

"Drinks,"Gino Santucci announces,"First round's on me. No arguments."

A cheer goes up just as Rylan strides back into the locker area fresh from the showers with only a towel wrapped around his waist. My mouthliterallywaters as my eyes trace the perfect lines of his shoulders and the way his torso narrows into his trim waist before getting to his perfect, incredible ass.

Jesus fucking Christ, Ineed to be careful. Probablywouldn't be great for anyone if I got caught eye-fucking our captain. But at this moment, riding this high, I can't find a good reason to care.

"Proper celebration required,"Charlie agrees."Those twats can drink alone tonight."

I catch Rylan sneaking glances at me as hemethodicallypacks his gear. There's heat in his gaze that has nothing to do with the game.

Bigfoot's Sin Bin, the new hockey bar by the arena, is packed when we arrive, the victory drawing Sasquatch fans like moths to flame. Charlie's already commandeered the corner, regaling anyone within earshot with a play-by-play of my game-winner. My skin buzzes with leftover adrenaline from the win. And from Rylan's proximity on the other side of our table. He's doing that controlled-captain thing, one hand wrapped around his beer bottle, nodding at something Santucci's saying. But his eyes keep finding me, and I like it a little too much.

"To Pirelli!"Charlie raises his glass, and the whole team joins in. Warmth floods my chest that has nothing to do with alcohol. This—this right here is what I never had with the Jaguars. Real teammates. Real friendship.

The puck bunnies find us fast. They always do after a win. A leggy blonde in a cropped Sasquatch jersey presses against my side for a selfie, and I slip into autopilot charm mode: easy smiles, and harmless flirtation. But in my peripheral vision, Rylan's shoulders are rigid, his jaw tight. When another woman, this one in painted-on jeans, runs her fingers down my arm, his knuckles go white around his beer bottle.

Fuck. I should stop. I'm playing with fire here, but there's something intoxicating about seeing that crack in Rylan's careful control. About knowing he wants to stake his claim, even if he can't.

"Such a team player now."

Leblanc's voice cuts through my buzz. He's been lurking over by the bar, his eyes moving between me and Rylan for most of the night, but I've been determined to ignore him. What the hell is he even doing here, hanging out by himself at our victory celebration? It's creepy as fuck. My stomach knots.

Louis materializes beside me, radiating his laid-back goalie energy."Hey, Leblanc. Still bitter about those goals I stole from you? You might wanna work on that wrist shot, I was reading you like a kid's book tonight."

Nathan's face darkens but he slinks away.

"Another round!"Charlie announces, already weaving toward the bar. He stumbles, catching himself on Rylan's shoulder. Our captain steadies him with practiced ease, but his eyes find mine across the table. The heat in them makes my breath catch.

I should leave. Should make an excuse and get out before Leblanc picks up on anything else. But then Rylan shifts and his knee brushes mine under the table. The contact is brief, but electricity zings through my whole body.

This thing between us is scary as fuck. Because Rylan might never be ready to acknowledge uspublicly. And I'm never going to want to hide, that's just not who I am. But fuck, when he looks at me like that...

The team starts breaking upnaturallyas midnight approaches. I hang back, letting the others file out first. Rylan does the same, maintaining careful distance. But I feel Nathan watching from his corner, that calculating look still on his face.

Outside, everyone splits up, some guys order Ubers while others head toward their cars. I start toward my building, but Rylan catches my arm. His touch is casual, nothing anyone would notice, but it burns through my jacket.

"My place,"he saysquietly, not quite meeting my eyes."It's closer."

Holy shit. My heart slams against my ribs. I've never been to Rylan's apartment. He treats it like his fortress of solitude, never inviting anyone over, as far as I know, and I wasn't sure he was ever going to let me get behind that wall.

"You sure?"I ask, giving him an out.

Hefinallylooks at mefully, and holy fuck the raw want in his eyes makes me forget about Nathan Leblanc, about being careful, about everything except getting somewhere private. Right. Fucking. Now.

"Yeah," he says roughly. "I'm sure."