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CHAPTER 4

LOGAN

T here’s a moment when you step out onto the ice, where the world seems to fall into slow motion. I’d never felt that out on the football or baseball fields as a kid, that moment of rightness, where the crisp air seeped into your lungs and you felt like you were at home. It’s how I could tell a good game from a bad game, whether I had that one perfect moment or not.

Unfortunately for me, I wasn’t finding any sort of perfection right now. Which was really bad timing since out of all the games I’d played in my career, this one was the one where I needed to be my best.

I skated along the boards, trying to center myself, trying to find that moment…

And then there was Miller. The fucker. Grinning at me like the absolute asshole that he was.

“What’s it like jacking off with those tiny hands, Miller,” I called out as the dipstick in question slid to a stop a foot away from me, showering me with a sheet of ice.

“Not a lot of that going on with her around,” he said cockily—his inference clear, even though any woman who willingly got within five feet of him definitely had something wrong with her.

I rolled my eyes and glanced at the stands as I headed toward a puck…only to almost trip over my skates.

Holy fuck.

I watched as a literal goddess walked down the steps toward the glass. Blinking a few times, I wondered if I was having a hallucination.

Long brown hair with gold streaks in it, she was styled like she’d just walked out of a magazine. She wasn’t wearing a jersey or anything remotely related to hockey. Instead, she had on this sleek, fitted coat like she was at some ritzy event. Everything about her screamed sophistication.

I couldn’t stop staring, I didn’t want to.

“Now that girl knows how to make an entrance,” I muttered, forgetting all about Miller as I stared at her as if I had been hypnotized.

“I’m sure you want to become very familiar with her entrances,” mused Ari, skating up next to me. I reluctantly glanced at him, because that was actually funny, but he wasn’t even paying attention to the goddess. He was staring at Blake, his wife, like usual.

“That was a good one,” said Camden right before he smacked a puck at the net.

Ari snarled, his eyes going wide as he stared at Camden in shock. “Why do you sound surprised at that, Hero? If anyone is funny in this group, it’s me.” He shoved past Lincoln who was staring at Monroe, and Lincoln growled at him.

See, that was why I aspired to be like Lincoln Daniels. He just had it.

“Golden Boy, tell them how funny I am,” demanded Ari as he started stretching.

“It seems like you’re doing a good job of that yourself,” Lincoln muttered, rubbing at where Ari had hit him.

As amusing as they were, I had to look at her again. It was like she had a beacon inside her that was pulling me in.

“I think I’m in love,” I murmured pitifully.

Camden laughed at me, but I wasn’t sure why. He couldn’t stop staring at his girl in the stands. He shouldn’t be laughing at my new obsession.

I’d heard Anastasia call him “Daddy.”

“Tell me I’m not seeing things,” I said, elbowing him so he had to pay attention. Was there a glow around her? It felt like there was, like she was literally shining out among the sea of people.

He ignored me, of course, grabbing a puck and sending a shot at Disney’s head in the goal.

I glanced back at the girl, almost tripping over my skates again.

Miller.

The all-consuming pussy magic around this girl had distracted me for a moment that he still existed.

Miller was standing near the boards, just below where she was now sitting. Like a fucking nightmare unfolding in slow motion, I watched as he leaned an arm against the glass, grinned that smug, shit-eating grin of his, and blew a kiss at her.

The world went silent for a moment and then an unhinged buzz filled my ears. I gripped my stick so tight that I heard a crack. My pulse was hammering, louder than the crowd, louder than the skates cutting across the ice.

“Fuck,” I snarled. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

I had to literally use all of my willpower not to go after him.

Okay then. So she had really bad taste in men.

I’d just have to fix that for her.

I could feel eyes on me, but I wasn’t in the mood. I forced myself to skate off, shooting at the net with all my pent-up rage.

“What the fuck, Rookie?” Walker snarled as I pegged him in the face mask. He hit the goalpost, the clang barely registering with me.

Don’t look at her. Don’t look at her , I chanted over and over.

I needed to focus. I would find her later. I would keep her later.

Fuck, this was going to be a long game.

* * *

From the second the puck dropped, I was skating with a purpose that had nothing to do with the game plan.

Tyler Fucking Miller. Of all people, why did it have to be him with her? I kept seeing it—the image of him leaning toward the glass, his lips forming a kiss. It dug into my mind like a knife, twisting with every shift, every glance in his direction. Fuck. If his blowing her a kiss affected me this much…what was I going to do when he actually kissed her?

And what the fuck was wrong with me? Why was I having such a violent reaction? I didn’t even know the woman.

It must have been because she was saddled with the biggest douchebag on the planet. That’s what this was. I was just being a good citizen, concerned because she had such terrible taste.

I was a guy. When a girl looks like that, you’re going to get hard.

The fact that I’d gotten an erection in front of an arena full of spectators meant nothing. Or at least it only meant that my testosterone levels were doing well.

I refused to think about the fact that all these thoughts and excuses felt like the biggest lies I’d ever told.

The first time Miller had the puck, I didn’t think. I just acted. I hit him into the boards, harder than I should’ve. The crowd roared, and for a second, I felt immensely better…until he skated by the girl, placing his hand on the glass in front of her while she gave him an enthralled look.

I wanted to throw up.

I was faintly aware of the ref’s whistle, warning me, but I couldn’t find it in myself to care.

“What’s your problem, York?” Miller said with a grin after he turned his back to the glass.

I snapped, slamming into him again, this time even harder, driving him against the boards with enough force to make the glass rattle. His smug face smashed up against the hard surface.

“What the fuck was that for?” he spat, shoving me as he pried himself off the glass and turned toward me.

I grinned, and before I could answer, his gloves and helmet were off. His fist came flying, and I barely ducked in time. I straightened and threw a hard punch that connected with his jaw, sending him stumbling back. We were tangled up within seconds, fists flying, our bodies crashing back against the boards as the refs scrambled to break us up.

“Fuck you, York,” Miller spat, his teeth bloody as he tried to swing again. I grabbed his jersey and yanked him down, throwing another punch to his ribs.

Adrenaline was roaring in my ears as the refs finally pulled us apart, dragging me toward the penalty box as I tried to shake them off. I could still hear Miller chirping from the ice.

I slammed down on the bench, breathing hard, my fists clenched beside me. My knuckles were throbbing, but it was the good kind of pain.

Lincoln skated by and banged on the glass. “Get your fucking head on straight,” he roared, his eyes locked on me with a fury I hadn’t seen directed at me before. “We’re in the fucking Stanley Cup Finals, Rookie, and you’re playing like a fucking idiot . What the hell is wrong with you?”

He shook his head and raced toward the puck as I gritted my teeth and hissed in frustration. Next door, Miller wiggled his fingers at me from his own penalty box.

Fucking asshole.

I shouldn’t have done it. I tried not to. But I couldn’t help but look over at her. She was sitting there serenely, with no idea that I was out here losing my mind over her.

It felt weird, that I could be feeling so crazy…and she didn’t even know I existed.

She was going to know that I existed soon enough, though…if I kept telling myself that, maybe it would come true.

Maybe.

Fuck . Stop thinking like that .

I groaned when the puck slipped past Disney, and then the buzzer was going off, signaling the end of the first period.

We were down by one. Mostly because of me.

I raced out of the penalty box toward where the team was gathered.

“I’m coming for you, York!” Miller bellowed over the din of the crowd, and all my good intentions went out the window. I was going to kill that prick.

“Fucking hell,” I snarled, resisting the urge to lunge at him right then.

“Hey, Rookie, is there a reason you keep checking number forty-five? And was that fight really necessary?” Ari spat as we walked back to the locker room. “I’d rather not be one man down the entire fucking game.”

I gritted my teeth, feeling the insane urge to lunge at him at the moment too. “That was fucking Tyler Miller. The biggest motherfucking asshole you will ever meet. We played together in college.” I began pacing the locker room, stomping as I went. I was sure I looked like a lunatic, but I couldn’t get myself to stop.

“As enthralling as this story is—get your fucking head on straight, Rookie,” Walker snarled as Coach Porter threw open the door and stalked into the room.

“This is the fucking Stanley Cup Finals, gentlemen,” he sneered. “How about you start fucking playing like it!” His cheeks were red with anger, and I was pretty sure there was a new tic in his right eye.

Walker and Ari chewed me out for the rest of the break and all the way onto the ice for the next period.

I wish I could say that their “pep talk” worked, but it was like that girl had rewired my brain. I’d gone from a mostly sane, mostly disciplined player, to a completely unhinged one.

It was really bad timing, honestly.

Miller came at me as soon as the buzzer started the period. I had just finished a pass to Camden when I felt the hard crack of his shoulder slamming into mine, driving me into the boards. The impact rattled through my body, the breath knocked clean out of my lungs. I blinked and shook my head, trying to pull myself together. He grinned at me, all teeth, and gave me a fucking thumbs-up as he began to skate away.

Once again…I had lost my mind. I dropped my shoulder and rammed into him with everything I had, sending him crashing into the glass so hard I heard one of the fans scream. There was a satisfying crunch as his body folded in on itself, and then he sank to the ice. I went for him again, but before I could get in another shot, Lancaster was on me, grabbing the back of my jersey and yanking me off him.

“Fucking chill,” Ari hissed, his grip tight as he shoved me back toward the bench before the refs could get involved. “If you end up in the penalty box again…”

“Would you chill if it was fucking Soto?” I snapped, seeing the light come on in Ari’s eyes. Soto was a player with the L.A. Cobras who was also Ari’s nemesis. I wasn’t sure of all the details, but I knew Soto was now sporting full-on dentures after a fight with Ari…and that was from when they were playing on the same team.

“Touché,” Ari muttered, letting me go and pushing me toward the bench.

I couldn’t sit down; instead, I stood, bouncing anxiously as I wiped the sweat from my forehead. My gaze ping-ponged from the play on the ice to Miller to her and then repeated the cycle.

Right before I got back on the ice, I glanced at her one more time, but this time…she was watching me.

And just like that, my mood shifted. A grin pulled at the corners of my mouth, and I couldn’t help myself. I gave her a little wave, playful-ish, like I hadn’t nearly broken her boyfriend against the boards a few seconds ago.

For a brief second she smiled. Just a hint of it crossed her pretty lips, but it was enough to make my dick hard in what was once again the most inopportune moment possible.

Well, actually, a woody at Geraldine’s would have been worse. She would have taken it as a sign.

I shuddered at the thought.

As I reluctantly moved my attention from my dream girl back to the game, I saw that Miller was watching me, an angry snarl on his face because he’d obviously seen the entire interaction.

Good. He needed to get used to disappointment and loss real quick.

Once I was back on the ice, Miller snarled, shoulder-checking me as he skated by. Hard enough to make a point, but not enough to get called for it. He was even more pissed now.

Good.

For the rest of the game, the gloves were off—figuratively at least. I didn’t care what the score was, didn’t care about anything but getting Miller every chance I got. Every shift, every time he had the puck…I was there. Slamming him into the boards.

“How’s Clarissa these days, York?” he said at one point, after he spit what I believe was his tooth out onto the ice.

I passed the puck to Lincoln and then went after Miller again, shoulder checking him so he went sprawling.

The ref’s whistle blew.

“Fuck!” I growled as the ref signaled me to the penalty box…for the third time this game.

“Shame, shame, shame,” Tampa Bay’s fans screamed as I made my way to the bench.

I plopped down dejectedly, throwing off my helmet and running my hands through my sweaty hair, trying to catch my breath. I could feel the eyes on me—the coaches, the fans…her.

Tampa Bay scored again, and I raced back on the ice. But we were done. They got back the puck almost immediately, and we spent the rest of the period just making sure they didn’t score again.

The final buzzer echoed through the arena like a death knell, and my senses came back enough to feel the burning disappointment—and shame—that came with the loss. Tampa had taken Game One on our home ice. All the anticipation for tonight…

My chest heaved as I stared at the scoreboard, blinking away the sting of sweat dripping into my eyes.

The noise around me was deafening, but it felt distant, muffled under layers of frustration and rage.

They were letting what looked like Tampa family members onto the ice like this was fucking Game Seven, flooding the surface with their obnoxious cheers. Security? Nowhere to be found.

“Unbelievable,” Camden muttered next to me, his face mirroring my disappointment and disgust as we made our way back across the ice to go to the locker room.

I stopped in my tracks when I saw the girl come out, a small almost amused smirk on her lips as she tried not to slip in high heels that had no business being on the ice.

They made her ass look amazing, though. My head dipped to the side as I watched her walk.

If the guys thought I’d lost it already, it was no match for how I lost it right then.

I skated straight toward her, not thinking, not caring. The crowd didn’t matter. The loss didn’t matter. I had one thing on my mind.

She looked up, her eyes wide as I reached her, and before she could say a word, I grabbed her by the waist and pulled her into me.

“Wh—at,” she gasped.

Without a second thought, I dipped her back dramatically, my hand firm on her lower back as I kissed her, right there in the middle of the ice, in front of everyone. It wasn’t just a kiss. It was a statement. A middle finger to Miller. A claim.

I’d thought that the moment on the ice when everything faded was as close to perfect as life could get.

But I’d been wrong.

This was what perfection felt like, her warm body in my hands, her lips against mine.

The crowd roared, some cheering, some gasping, but I didn’t hear any of it. All I could focus on was her—how she froze for a second, then melted into the kiss, her hands grabbing at my jersey for balance. For that brief moment, it felt like we were all alone in the most perfect moment known to humankind.

Until I heard Miller’s fucking voice.

“What the fuck?!”

I barely had time to react before I felt his hands shove me hard, knocking me off-balance. I let go of her, staggering back, and I saw her slip on the ice, her arms flailing as she went down. Miller didn’t even notice, his eyes locked on me, looking like he wanted to kill me. But I noticed.

Something inside me flared white-hot.

I reached out to help her up, but before I could do anything he was lunging toward me.

“You son of a?—”

My fists flew before my brain even caught up. The first punch landed hard, right on his jaw, sending him stumbling back. But he came at me fast, his shoulder driving into my chest as we both crashed to the ice, fists flying. I got in another hit, square in his ribs, before he managed to swing wildly, his knuckles clipping my lip.

The crowd exploded. The sound was deafening—cheers, screams, gasps—but it didn’t matter. I could barely hear any of it over the rush of adrenaline. Miller’s fists were everywhere, but I was faster, stronger, and the next punch I threw hit him square in the nose, blood splattering across the ice.

“Logan!” Walker’s voice broke through the chaos, but I couldn’t stop.

Teammates from both sides rushed in, grabbing us, pulling us apart, but I was still fighting, still throwing punches even as Lincoln grabbed me by the jersey and dragged me backward.

“You’re fucking dead, York!” Miller screamed, his face splattered with blood as he was held back by two of his teammates. His voice was shrill, desperate, but it only made me grin.

“Bring it, asshole!” I shouted back, wiping the blood from my lip with the back of my glove. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my girl walking off the ice in the other direction.

Lincoln shoved me toward our bench, his face red with frustration. “Get your head out of your ass, Logan! You’re not getting suspended over that idiot!”

I barely heard him. My eyes were locked on Miller, who was still trying to get at me despite all the people trying to hold him back.

I flipped him off with both hands, a maniacal grin splitting my face. “I’ll see you in Game Two, motherfucker!”

Lincoln pushed me toward the tunnel, shaking his head. “You’ve lost your fucking mind.”

I grinned through the blood, my pulse still racing. I had lost my mind. And I had a feeling this was only the beginning.

Bring it on.