Page 15

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Braden

The past few weeks have felt surreal, as if I've been caught in a vivid fever dream I never want to end.

Kenzie has seamlessly woven herself into the fabric of our daily lives.

It's not just the electric chemistry that sparks between us. It’s how she naturally integrates with everyone.

She has a knack for coaxing Ambrose out of his brooding silences, gently drawing him into conversations with a playful nudge or a mocking remark.

With Reggie, she matches his boundless energy, challenging him to impromptu races or engaging in spirited debates that leave us all laughing. And when my thoughts become a tangled mess, her soothing presence grounds me, her calm voice and steady gaze easing my mind.

Kenzie has become a fixture in my life, a presence I yearn for in a way that feels thrillingly precarious.

Our nights are a tapestry of laughter that echoes off the walls, whispered confessions shared under dim lighting, and sheets tangled from the heat of the night.

Days unfold with her perched in the stands during practice, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she rolls them at our antics on the ice.

Sometimes, she watches from the clinic, where we pretend to “help” her, only to end up distracting her with our banter and stories.

It all feels effortless, and for the first time in my life, I find myself dreaming beyond the rink.

I don't just want this season with her; I want every season that life has to offer, with Kenzie by my side.

Hockey has always been my first love, and this season? It's shaping up to be nothing short of legendary.

The Marauders are firing on all cylinders, players moving in perfect harmony, each pass and shot pushing us ever closer to the championship title.

The mere thought sends an electrifying thrill down my spine as I imagine the moment when we hoist that gleaming cup high above our heads, feeling its cold, metallic weight of victory in my grasp, while our names are immortalized on its silver surface.

As I glide across the freshly zambonied ice, my skates carving smooth arcs, my mind wanders. Not just to the championship, but to Kenzie.

I picture the scene vividly: standing on the rink, sweat-soaked jersey clinging to my skin, bruises and exhaustion evident, but overshadowed by the euphoria of victory.

In that moment, I pull her close, kissing her with abandon as the crowd erupts around us.

Let them watch.

Let everyone witness how much she means to me and to us all.

A loud smack echoes as the puck crashes against the boards, snapping me back to the present.

Coach's voice cuts through the air, but I'm only half-attentive, shifting my weight from one foot to the other as we weave through the drills.

I've always excelled at this game, my stick handling and speed setting me apart. But for the first time ever, there's something else I want to master.

Something beyond the ice.

I roll my shoulders, feeling the tension seep into the very fibers of my muscles, like a tightly wound coil refusing to unwind. It's not all from the game, though.

A smirk tugs at my lips as images from last night flood my mind, Kenzie, with that mischievous glint in her eyes, had thrust that damn book into my hands, challenging me to bring its pages to life.

And, well...I rose to the occasion.

The dull ache in my thighs and the persistent tightness in my lower back serve as a vivid reminder of just how eagerly I embraced that challenge.

Every twinge reassures me it was worth it. Completely worth it.

I tilt my head side to side, attempting to loosen the knots in my neck, but my mind stubbornly drifts back to Kenzie’s breathy whispers of my name, the desperate way she wrapped herself around me, her nails a fiery trail down my spine as if she couldn't draw me close enough.

Fuck, I need to focus on the game.

I force my attention back to the ice, my eyes trailing the puck as it glides smoothly between my teammates’ sticks, but I can sense that my distraction is as obvious as storm clouds on a clear day.

Reggie skates up beside me, his skates slicing through the ice with a soft swooshing sound, a knowing smirk dancing on his lips. His dark eyes glint with mischief under the bright arena lights.

“You all right there, mate?” he asks, nudging me gently with his elbow, a playful challenge in his voice. “You look a bit…distracted.”

I roll my eyes, shaking my head as the cold air nips at my cheeks. “Yeah, just…a little sore today,” I say, rotating my shoulders.

Reggie’s grin widens into a full-blown mischievous grin. “Ah, not from training, though,” he teases, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“Not even a little,” I admit with a chuckle, the memory of Kenzie’s wild laughter and the soft glow of her skin still fresh and vivid.

Reggie laughs heartily, the sound echoing around us as he taps his hockey stick against the ice. “She’s somethin’ else, isn’t she?” he says, his voice filled with admiration and a touch of envy.

Before I can respond, Ambrose glides over, his skates cutting sharp curves in the ice, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. “You two want to keep giggling like schoolgirls, or do you want to actually focus?” he demands, his voice carrying the authority of our captain. “You know, since we’ve got a game to win?”

Reggie snickers, unable to resist the urge to poke fun, but I straighten up, the seriousness of Ambrose’s words hitting home. He’s right.

Championship or not, I need to prove that I can keep my head in the game, both on the ice and with Kenzie. The stakes are high, and if I want both the trophy and her, I need to be at the top of my game in every way.

And I do want both, more than anything.

The adrenaline surges through me as I focus on the ice beneath my feet, ready to give it my all.

We glide over to the boards, our breaths coming in sharp, shallow gasps after a grueling drill that left us drenched in sweat.

Reggie, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, nudges me with his elbow, a wide grin stretching across his face.

"I think it’s workin’, yeah? She’s warming up to us," he says, his voice brimming with excitement.

Ambrose props his stick against the boards and uses the back of his hand to wipe the sweat from his forehead, beads of perspiration glistening under the rink's harsh lights.

"She’s letting us in. Slowly, but it’s happening," he replies, his expression softening with hope.

A smile tugs at my lips as I think back on the long hours at the clinic, the shared dinners filled with laughter and stories. "The clinic stuff, the dinners… it’s all adding up. I think she likes us. Like, really likes us," I say, feeling the warmth of camaraderie.

Reggie lets out a bark of laughter, his Scottish accent becoming more pronounced with his enthusiasm. "Mate, she’s obsessed with us. Who wouldn’t be? Look at us!" He strikes a pose, flexing his arms exaggeratedly, and we all burst into laughter.

Suddenly, Coach’s voice ricochets across the rink, cutting through the air like a whip. “You three princesses done with your tea party? Get your asses moving!” he bellows, his tone demanding yet tinged with a hint of amusement.

We quickly break apart, chuckling softly under our breath. Ambrose mutters, “Huddle’s over, lads ,” as we prepare to return to practice.

Our gloves meet in a series of enthusiastic high fives, the sound echoing off the rink walls, before we skate back into formation.

My legs scream with a familiar, welcome burn that reminds me we’re striving for greatness.

The championship cup looms in our minds, a shining beacon of our hard work, and maybe, just maybe, something equally rewarding awaits us off the ice.

After practice, I'm one of the last to emerge from the locker room.

The air inside is thick and humid, saturated with the melding scents of sweat and the steam rising from the showers.

I pull on my hoodie, its fabric cozy and warm a contrasts with the ever-present icy chill of the rink outside.

As I push the heavy door open I spot Kenzie, standing just outside.

Her complexion is rather pallid, and she's clutching her stomach, yet there's something undeniably cute about her in that oversized puffer jacket and snug leggings.

Her dark eyes widen, momentarily like a deer caught in headlights, as if my sudden appearance has startled her. She attempts to sidestep me, her voice a hurried murmur, “Hey, sorry, I just need to, ”

Before she can complete her sentence, she staggers forward unexpectedly.

In an instant, hot, sour vomit cascades down my chest, the unexpected warmth and acrid stench hitting me all at once.

“Oh shit!” I exclaim instinctively, stepping back in shock, though the damage is already done.

The acidic mess seeps into my hoodie, the pungency so overwhelming that it brings tears to my eyes.

Kenzie gasps, her hands flying to her mouth in horror. “Oh my God, Braden, I’m so sorry!” she cries, her face flushing a deep crimson.

Tears shimmer at the edges of her eyes, and it's clear she's on the brink of a meltdown, her distress palpable.

“It’s okay,” I respond quickly, trying to soothe her panic, even as I stand awkwardly in a small, unpleasant puddle. “Seriously, Kenz. Don’t worry about it.”

Kenzie wipes her mouth with the back of her sleeve, her breathing shallow and uneven, as if each inhale is a struggle against an invisible weight.

She looks so embarrassed, her eyes darting around like a cornered animal, and I swear she’s about to bolt any second.

“I-I’ll clean it! Oh, fuck, I’m such an idiot! I’ve been feeling horrible all day,” she stammers, her voice a shaky whisper.

I reach out gently, resting a comforting hand on her shoulder, feeling the tension coiled beneath her skin. “Stop. You’re sick. It’s no big deal,” I say softly, hoping to ease her frantic mind.

She shakes her head, her voice tight and strained. “No, I…I need to get home. I’m…” Her words trail off, a torn look across her small face.

“You sure?” I offer, my voice laced with concern. “I can take you. Or you can crash at our place. We’ll look after you.” My offer hangs in the air, heavy with sincerity.

Her eyes flick up to mine, and for a fleeting moment, I see something raw and unguarded there, vulnerability.

She considers it, just for a heartbeat, but then shakes her head again, more firmly this time, her resolve hardening.

“No, Braden. I just need to get home. I’ll text you later, okay?”

I nod, though the thought of her being alone when she’s feeling like this gnaws at me. “All right. But if you need anything, anything, you call me. Or Reggie. Or Ambrose. Got it?”

Her lips twitch into a weak smile, like the sun struggling to break through a clouded sky. “Got it.”

She turns and hurries out, her hand pressed to her stomach, each step a testament to her determination.

I stand there, feeling my own stomach churn at the acrid scent of puke clinging to me.

I watch her go, my chest tight and uneasy. I wave over the janitor to clean up this mess. He hands me one of his rags before he starts his work and I wipe myself off as best I can.

I jog across the sprawling parking lot, clutching my balled-up hoodie like it's a bundle of toxic waste.

Reggie sits idling in the driver's seat, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the steering wheel, while Ambrose lounges in the passenger seat, eyes glued to the glowing screen of his phone, scrolling absentmindedly.

I yank the car door open, and as I slide into the backseat, the acrid stench of puke clings stubbornly to me like an unwelcome shadow.

Reggie wrinkles his nose immediately, his face contorting in a mixture of surprise and disgust. “Bloody hell, mate. What happened to you?” he asks, his voice tinged with incredulity.

Ambrose doesn’t even bother to look up, a smirk playing on his lips. “Is this what you smell like after every practice before you shower?” he quips, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

I groan, tossing the offending hoodie into a plastic bag I find crumpled in the backseat. “Kenzie threw up on me,” I explain.

Both heads snap toward me, eyes wide with shock.

“What?” Reggie exclaims, his eyes widening in alarm.

“Is she all right?” Ambrose asks, his voice dropping to a tone of panicked concern.

I nod, though the tight knot twisting in my stomach says otherwise. “She said she’s fine. Just needed to get home. I offered to take her or bring her back to ours, but she insisted,” I reply.

I begin to peel the shirt off of me, rolling it into a ball and stuffing it down to my feet.

Reggie exhales a heavy sigh, shaking his head slowly. “Poor lass ,” he mutters, sympathy etched across his features.

Ambrose’s jaw tightens, his eyes narrowing with worry. “I don’t like her being alone when she’s sick,” he admits, his voice firm.

“Me neither,” I confess, the tension in my voice mirroring the tension in the car.

We fall into a shared silence as Reggie maneuvers the vehicle out of the parking lot.

The air inside is thick with the lingering smell of puke and the pungent odor of exhaust, but none of us mention it.

Our thoughts are collectively focused on Kenzie, each of us wishing we could be there to care for her.