Stick it, p.37
Stick It, page 37
part #1 of Northern Legacy Series
More clips play out. I recognize the moments, remember them with unease, but the face in each of them has been altered. Each of these moments are private ones I shared with Lucas, but the clips have been doctored to make it seem as though I was intimate with most of the NSU team.
A montage of faked moments spliced in with real ones, painting a picture that isn’t real but looks damningly convincing.
Image after image blends together in a sickening display until acid burns in my mouth and my muscles scream at me to run.
The crowd gasps, murmurs turning into a deafening roar. NSU fans jeer and laughter echoes from their bench.
I can’t move. Can’t breathe. My entire body feels numb as I stare up at the screen, watching my humiliation play out in front of thousands of people.
Slowly, I turn to the guys, both dreading and hoping…
Ethan’s face is unreadable.
Jax grips his stick so tight his knuckles go white, but still, I can’t get a read on his thoughts.
Finn’s face is a blank slate.
And Griffin—Griffin looks as though he’s contemplating murder, but whether it’s whoever did this or mine, I can’t be sure.
When the vile, incriminating video is finished, the screen returns to the typical Steelhawks promo. I’m not sure if the arena goes quiet or if the rushing of my pulse in my ears drowns out all other noise. Only the high-pitched blow of the ref’s whistle jolts me back into the present. The reality that I am now left to rise or crumble in.
Despite the interruption, a game is in progress, and we are expected to continue on as if nothing happened.
I swallow hard, my hands shaking as I grip my stick.
A hand comes to rest on my shoulder, and I flinch.
“Dyl—” Bear’s worried tone has me sucking in a grounding breath.
Before he can say anything else, I shake my head. “I’m fine.”
I’m anything but, but I refuse to let Kyle and Lucas see any hint of weakness. I will play. I will fight. And I will win. Even if they’ve won the war, I will win this battle.
The third period starts. I try to catch the guys’ gazes, but they avoid looking my way. Any spare moment, I search for some kind of reassurance, but their faces remain unreadable.
Anxiety knots in my stomach, clawing up my throat. What if they believe what they saw? What if they think I’m a slut? That I played them all? That whatever we were starting to build is already over?
With every question unanswered, I push myself harder. Faster. I channel the sick churn of emotions inside me into every shift, every play. I crash into my opponents with unrelenting force, steal pucks with ruthless efficiency, and fire shots at the net like my life depends on it.
I check Lucas so hard he stumbles, my shoulder slamming into his ribs. When he snarls, I just skate away. I don’t even feel triumphant over besting him. I’m numb to it all.
I deke through the Glaciers’ defense, driving the puck forward, weaving past bodies like they’re nothing. When I finally get my chance, I take the shot—and score. The horn blares. The crowd erupts.
I don’t celebrate. I don’t stop. I demand the puck on every shift, pushing my body beyond its limits, refusing to let them take this from me.
They can try to ruin my name, but they will never take my game.
39
FINN
Celebrations are going on all around me in the locker room, but I am immune to it all. For the first time, I’m not joining in with the rest of the team, not celebrating our win against NSU.
Instead of being sweet with victory, the air around me is thick, suffocating. I’m distantly aware of skates clattering on the floor, the snap of a towel as the guys change out of their gear, but I barely register any of it. It’s background noise to the questions flying like loose pucks inside my head.
The only thing in the room I am aware of is Dylan’s absence. She was hauled into Coach’s office the second the final buzzer went. That, and the fact that Griffin, Ethan, and Jax are as quiet as I am. Like me, they aren’t partaking in the celebrations, not caught up in the high of the win. Heck, looking at the four of us, you’d think the Steelhawks lost tonight when we fucking dominated.
Even if it was Dylan who was ultimately responsible for our destroying win. She was on fire out there tonight, especially in that third period. Until that video, I’d been loving every second of being on the ice with her. Watching her do her thing. Helping her. We were a solid team, and it showed.
But after? My body was in the game, going through the motions, but my head was elsewhere.
I drop onto the bench, ignoring the pumping music from someone’s phone and the general buzz of laughter around me as I rest my elbows on my knees and lean forward, closing my eyes. The images from the jumbotron play on a loop in my head.
I knew Dylan was getting close with the others, that lines had been crossed. But seeing her doing the exact same thing with guys from NSU…
What the fuck does that mean? Was she using us—them? Does she get off on screwing her teammates? I don’t understand. All I know is the bitter taste of the acidic bile that crawled up my throat as clip after clip played out before me.
I shake my head, willing the pictures away, but they are burned into my retinas.
Kyle was right.
He warned me. Fucking warned me and I didn’t listen. Continued to get close to her, unable to physically stay away. I groan into my hands.
I should have trusted him—my best fucking friend.
Whatever Dylan’s game is, it’s clear none of us meant a goddamn thing to her.
I was foolish to believe she was different. She’d wholly captured my attention that day she rocked up to the porch in her little denim shorts and Converse, and I wanted to believe that maybe, just maybe, she was the kind of girl who meant the things she said.
But I was wrong.
So. Fucking. Wrong.
My head snaps up as a hand claps my shoulder, and I look up at Kyle’s pinched, sympathetic expression. “Come on.” He gestures toward the door, and barely sparing the others a glance, I grab my things and follow.
I’m not paying any attention to our surroundings as we leave the arena, as I drop into the passenger seat of Kyle’s Mercedes. The small town of Blackstone blurs past my window.
“I’m sorry, man,” he says, glancing my way. “I tried to warn you.”
My stomach knots. He did. And like the idiot I am, I ignored him.
“I just—I don’t get it,” I mutter. “She seemed—”
“Convincing?” Kyle fills in, huffing a quiet laugh. “Yeah. I’m sure she did.” He shakes his head, another soft chuckle escaping. “Bench bunny suddenly sounds a lot more fitting.”
I grimace, turning away to stare absently out the window. Even now, the thought of him—of anyone—referring to her that way pisses me off. I hated it when Selena did it, although telling her to stop only made her do it more, but the thought of all that shit starting all over again pisses me off. Even though it shouldn’t. Dylan’s true colors have been revealed now.
And I should be fucking done. Done with her. Done with this tangled mess of emotions gnawing on my gut any time I think of her, scent her bodywash in the bathroom, spy her from across the room.
“I hate that it had to happen this way,” he says a while later as we pull up to a lookout spot halfway up the mountain that overlooks Blackstone. Lights sparkle against the night sky, the lights of civilization competing with the stars above. “But at least now you know the truth.”
The truth. The word tastes bitter in my mouth.
And yet, something in his voice gives me pause.
Had to happen this way.
I frown, turning those words over in my head.
“Did you put together that video?” All the pieces slot into place. Our conversation the other week. Running into him in The Stanley right after that kiss with Dylan, The lack of surprise when the music cut out right before third period. “You did, didn’t you?”
There’s no contrition on his face. No guilt or shame. Equally, there’s no smugness either. He just stares expectantly back at me. Waiting.
“Why?”
“Because I need you to see—all of you to see—who she is. She doesn’t care about you. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s trying to fracture the team from the inside so when scouts come, she looks like the best one of us on the ice.”
My brow furrows, but I don’t say anything.
He shakes his head. “I didn’t even share the worst of it, man.”
“What do you mean?” I ask almost nervously. How can there be more?
He hesitates just long enough to make my pulse spike. Then he pulls out his phone, taps the screen, and turns it toward me. The video plays, shaky and grainy, but clear enough. Dylan and Coach.
Coach’s hand on her back, lingering just a second too long. Dylan standing too close, her expression one of joy and affection I’ve never seen on her before. Coach hugging her on the front stoop of his house, late enough at night that the lights inside glow through his windows.
“I don’t—” I cut myself off, unable to say any more.
Kyle sighs, the sound heavy. “Apparently she was sleeping with her old coach too. It’s just what she does.” He shrugs casually, like he’s not destroying every single image of the girl I thought I knew. “She might be a great player—I’m not disputing that—but she’s got some serious issues.”
The recording he’s taken plays again, and I stare at the screen in shock. Every muscle in my body is locked up tight.
She played us. Lied to us. And we fell for it.
Anger flares hot in my chest, burying away whatever was left of the doubt I’d been harboring. I look up at Kyle, my jaw tight. “We need to tell the others. They need to see this.”
Kyle nods, his expression solemn. “Yeah. They do.”
40
JAX
“There must be some sort of explanation.”
The words fall out of my mouth before I can stop them, shattering the silence that’s been weighing down the locker room like a fucking tomb since the rest of the team piled out, heading to The Stanley to celebrate our win. Unsurprisingly, no one stopped to ask if we were coming, probably sensing that we weren’t in the mood. Even Ethan didn’t try to muster the enthusiasm to go, even though usually, if the team is out, he is too, wanting to keep an eye on everyone and make sure no one celebrates too hard.
He hasn’t said a word since we got off the ice. Even now, his arms are crossed as he sits on the bench farther down from me, his jaw clenched so tightly I swear I can hear his teeth grinding.
Griffin doesn’t hesitate. “Of course there is.” His tone is firm, leaving no room for doubt. I glance his way, wondering how he can be so confident. He saw what I did—what the entire arena did.
I want to believe him, but my mind won’t stop churning. Dylan told us she had issues with her old team. That they didn’t get along. But she also dated Lucas. What if there were others? What if, once she burned bridges, she just started fresh at a new school—new team, new guys, new game?
All this time, I’ve been thinking we have something special—not only between myself and Dylan but between the five of us. I’ve sat back and watched as she got closer to my friends, catching glimpses of a future where she is ours. I’ve even accepted Griffin’s role in all of this.
And now I’m wondering if she’s done this before, with her old team. If it means nothing to her at all. If I mean nothing to her. It hurts. My entire life, the only thing I’ve ever had, the only thing I could call my own, was hockey.
Until Dylan.
I never had a stable home growing up, never a place where I felt like I truly belonged, but when I was around Dylan, I felt at peace in a way I never thought possible. She was my home—the one I’d longed for as a kid, convinced myself I didn’t need as an anguished teen, had found the beginnings of in Ethan and Finn.
The thought that we—that I—didn’t mean the same to her…makes my stomach churn. Makes my blood feel like it’s burning under my skin. I liked Dylan. Hell, I was fucking falling for her. Based on how fucking wretched I feel right now, I’d go so far as to say I was nearly in fucking love with her.
And now, after weeks of watching her, learning her, getting pulled deeper and deeper into whatever this thing is between us, I’m starting to wonder if any of it was real.
There’s a swoosh as the door swings open.
Dylan walks in, skates digging into the floor, helmet dangling from her loose grip. Her shoulders are rounded, her head low. But the second she spots the three of us sitting there, her spine snaps straight. There’s a sheen to her eyes that makes them sparkle beneath the bright overhead lights—a flash of raw, unfiltered emotion—before it vanishes behind a cold, unreadable mask.
Her gaze slowly sweeps over us before flicking around the otherwise empty room, looking for someone else. Looking for Finn.
“What are you still doing here?” she asks, returning her focus to us. There’s an edge to her voice, something wary, closed off. Like she’s suddenly realized she’s alone in an empty locker room with three guys who might not be on her side anymore.
Before I can say anything, Ethan steps forward, his expression hard. “We need to hear your side.”
Dylan scoffs, lifting her chin as she defiantly stares Ethan down. “You need to hear that I’m not a slut? That I didn’t make out with half the fucking NSU team? Or do you need to hear that I haven’t been playing you?”
Her gaze locks on to me, then Ethan, then Griffin. “We’ve been living in and out of each other’s pockets for two months. We live together. Train together. Play together. One of you is with me every moment I’m on campus. If a ten-second video is enough to make you think I’m someone else, then we never had a chance of being anything.”
Silence stretches tight. Her words dig under my skin, planting themselves there like barbed wire.
Then Griffin moves. One step. Another. Until he’s standing directly in front of her. With her skates on, it puts her at nearly the same height as him. Her throat bobs as she waits for him to speak, but he seems content to drink her in for a moment, his gaze roaming over her face as though committing it to memory. “I know exactly whose bed I’ve been sleeping in every night,” he murmurs, voice pitched low, but the words carry nonetheless. “Whose lips I’ve been kissing. Whose body has been wrapped around mine. Anyone who believes that amateur soft porn is an idiot undeserving of you.”
Her gaze softens with hope, but she doesn’t truly allow herself to relax until his arm curls around her, pulling her against him. She buries her face in his chest, and a shudder rolls through her as she relaxes into his hold.
After placing a chaste kiss on the top of her head, he shifts, moving to stand behind her. One arm snakes around her waist, the other banding around the front of her chest as he pulls her flush against him.
They both stare at Ethan and I. Dylan with a shuddered, albeit slightly nervous expression, and Griffin with hard, unyielding eyes that promise pain and retribution. It’s clear whose side he’s on. Without a single moment of hesitation, he has chosen Dylan.
I envy him. I wish I could so blindingly move to her side. Wish I didn’t have these questions and doubts. And yet, seeing how resolutely he stands with her makes me wonder if he’s right. What did that video on the jumbotron really tell us? That Dylan has kissed a few guys? It would make each of us a hypocrite to say we hadn’t gotten around with other girls before her. Some of us more than others, but there have been puck bunnies a plenty since we started at BSU.
There’s bound to be some reasonable explanation. Hell, even if it’s just that she hooked up with a few guys after a win or on a night out. That doesn’t have to diminish what we have. Her past shouldn’t be held against her.
My foot moves forward.
My weight shifts.
Dylan’s keen gaze zeros in on the movement.
And then the door bangs open, and we all turn as Kyle strolls in, Finn at his side.
“The gang’s all here,” Kyle sneers, his gaze landing on Dylan. “Even the whore.”
Griffin is on him in seconds, shoving him back against the wall so hard Kyle grunts in pain. However, he still finds it in him to smirk—cocky and sure.
My gaze catches on Dylan and Finn. The two of them are locked in a silent battle, seemingly oblivious to everything going on around them as they just…stare at one another. Even with his jaw ticking, Finn looks broken.
As for Dylan? She just looks resigned.
“Say that again,” Griffin’s menacing growl draws my attention back to his confrontation with Kyle. A vein pulses along his temple, his hold on Reed’s shirt unrelenting. “I fucking dare you.” A vehement snarl rumbles from his chest, his lip curling. “Please, do,” he taunts, voice low and deadly. “I’m looking for any excuse to rip you limb from limb.”
Kyle remains smug, quiet, satisfaction glinting in his eyes because he knows he’s getting under Griffin’s skin.
Griffin sneers, his rage only intensifying as he leans in closer. However, he doesn’t lower his voice as he snarls, “That jumbotron stunt, that was you, wasn’t it?”
Kyle’s smirk widens. “You needed to see who she truly was.”
Griffin doesn’t hesitate. His fist slams into Kyle’s face with a brutal crack.
Dylan’s gasp slices through the air as Kyle stumbles, clutching at his face. Bent over with a hand on his knee, he breathes heavily before lifting his gaze to Griffin. Hatred darkens his eyes. “You and Dylan are perfect for one another.” He spits blood onto the white floor, the bright red stark and offensive, before he stands up. There’s a fresh cut along his lower lip. “Crazy attracts crazy, I guess. But have the common decency to leave the rest of us out of it.”
“It’s laughable that you think you’re any part of this,” Griffin sneers.
Ignoring him, Kyle fixes each of us in his sights. “You should all walk away while you still can.” Focusing on Ethan, his voice is edged with insistence. “Don’t you see who she is now? She’s a user. She does this for attention, to divide the team. And you’re all falling for it.”
A montage of faked moments spliced in with real ones, painting a picture that isn’t real but looks damningly convincing.
Image after image blends together in a sickening display until acid burns in my mouth and my muscles scream at me to run.
The crowd gasps, murmurs turning into a deafening roar. NSU fans jeer and laughter echoes from their bench.
I can’t move. Can’t breathe. My entire body feels numb as I stare up at the screen, watching my humiliation play out in front of thousands of people.
Slowly, I turn to the guys, both dreading and hoping…
Ethan’s face is unreadable.
Jax grips his stick so tight his knuckles go white, but still, I can’t get a read on his thoughts.
Finn’s face is a blank slate.
And Griffin—Griffin looks as though he’s contemplating murder, but whether it’s whoever did this or mine, I can’t be sure.
When the vile, incriminating video is finished, the screen returns to the typical Steelhawks promo. I’m not sure if the arena goes quiet or if the rushing of my pulse in my ears drowns out all other noise. Only the high-pitched blow of the ref’s whistle jolts me back into the present. The reality that I am now left to rise or crumble in.
Despite the interruption, a game is in progress, and we are expected to continue on as if nothing happened.
I swallow hard, my hands shaking as I grip my stick.
A hand comes to rest on my shoulder, and I flinch.
“Dyl—” Bear’s worried tone has me sucking in a grounding breath.
Before he can say anything else, I shake my head. “I’m fine.”
I’m anything but, but I refuse to let Kyle and Lucas see any hint of weakness. I will play. I will fight. And I will win. Even if they’ve won the war, I will win this battle.
The third period starts. I try to catch the guys’ gazes, but they avoid looking my way. Any spare moment, I search for some kind of reassurance, but their faces remain unreadable.
Anxiety knots in my stomach, clawing up my throat. What if they believe what they saw? What if they think I’m a slut? That I played them all? That whatever we were starting to build is already over?
With every question unanswered, I push myself harder. Faster. I channel the sick churn of emotions inside me into every shift, every play. I crash into my opponents with unrelenting force, steal pucks with ruthless efficiency, and fire shots at the net like my life depends on it.
I check Lucas so hard he stumbles, my shoulder slamming into his ribs. When he snarls, I just skate away. I don’t even feel triumphant over besting him. I’m numb to it all.
I deke through the Glaciers’ defense, driving the puck forward, weaving past bodies like they’re nothing. When I finally get my chance, I take the shot—and score. The horn blares. The crowd erupts.
I don’t celebrate. I don’t stop. I demand the puck on every shift, pushing my body beyond its limits, refusing to let them take this from me.
They can try to ruin my name, but they will never take my game.
39
FINN
Celebrations are going on all around me in the locker room, but I am immune to it all. For the first time, I’m not joining in with the rest of the team, not celebrating our win against NSU.
Instead of being sweet with victory, the air around me is thick, suffocating. I’m distantly aware of skates clattering on the floor, the snap of a towel as the guys change out of their gear, but I barely register any of it. It’s background noise to the questions flying like loose pucks inside my head.
The only thing in the room I am aware of is Dylan’s absence. She was hauled into Coach’s office the second the final buzzer went. That, and the fact that Griffin, Ethan, and Jax are as quiet as I am. Like me, they aren’t partaking in the celebrations, not caught up in the high of the win. Heck, looking at the four of us, you’d think the Steelhawks lost tonight when we fucking dominated.
Even if it was Dylan who was ultimately responsible for our destroying win. She was on fire out there tonight, especially in that third period. Until that video, I’d been loving every second of being on the ice with her. Watching her do her thing. Helping her. We were a solid team, and it showed.
But after? My body was in the game, going through the motions, but my head was elsewhere.
I drop onto the bench, ignoring the pumping music from someone’s phone and the general buzz of laughter around me as I rest my elbows on my knees and lean forward, closing my eyes. The images from the jumbotron play on a loop in my head.
I knew Dylan was getting close with the others, that lines had been crossed. But seeing her doing the exact same thing with guys from NSU…
What the fuck does that mean? Was she using us—them? Does she get off on screwing her teammates? I don’t understand. All I know is the bitter taste of the acidic bile that crawled up my throat as clip after clip played out before me.
I shake my head, willing the pictures away, but they are burned into my retinas.
Kyle was right.
He warned me. Fucking warned me and I didn’t listen. Continued to get close to her, unable to physically stay away. I groan into my hands.
I should have trusted him—my best fucking friend.
Whatever Dylan’s game is, it’s clear none of us meant a goddamn thing to her.
I was foolish to believe she was different. She’d wholly captured my attention that day she rocked up to the porch in her little denim shorts and Converse, and I wanted to believe that maybe, just maybe, she was the kind of girl who meant the things she said.
But I was wrong.
So. Fucking. Wrong.
My head snaps up as a hand claps my shoulder, and I look up at Kyle’s pinched, sympathetic expression. “Come on.” He gestures toward the door, and barely sparing the others a glance, I grab my things and follow.
I’m not paying any attention to our surroundings as we leave the arena, as I drop into the passenger seat of Kyle’s Mercedes. The small town of Blackstone blurs past my window.
“I’m sorry, man,” he says, glancing my way. “I tried to warn you.”
My stomach knots. He did. And like the idiot I am, I ignored him.
“I just—I don’t get it,” I mutter. “She seemed—”
“Convincing?” Kyle fills in, huffing a quiet laugh. “Yeah. I’m sure she did.” He shakes his head, another soft chuckle escaping. “Bench bunny suddenly sounds a lot more fitting.”
I grimace, turning away to stare absently out the window. Even now, the thought of him—of anyone—referring to her that way pisses me off. I hated it when Selena did it, although telling her to stop only made her do it more, but the thought of all that shit starting all over again pisses me off. Even though it shouldn’t. Dylan’s true colors have been revealed now.
And I should be fucking done. Done with her. Done with this tangled mess of emotions gnawing on my gut any time I think of her, scent her bodywash in the bathroom, spy her from across the room.
“I hate that it had to happen this way,” he says a while later as we pull up to a lookout spot halfway up the mountain that overlooks Blackstone. Lights sparkle against the night sky, the lights of civilization competing with the stars above. “But at least now you know the truth.”
The truth. The word tastes bitter in my mouth.
And yet, something in his voice gives me pause.
Had to happen this way.
I frown, turning those words over in my head.
“Did you put together that video?” All the pieces slot into place. Our conversation the other week. Running into him in The Stanley right after that kiss with Dylan, The lack of surprise when the music cut out right before third period. “You did, didn’t you?”
There’s no contrition on his face. No guilt or shame. Equally, there’s no smugness either. He just stares expectantly back at me. Waiting.
“Why?”
“Because I need you to see—all of you to see—who she is. She doesn’t care about you. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s trying to fracture the team from the inside so when scouts come, she looks like the best one of us on the ice.”
My brow furrows, but I don’t say anything.
He shakes his head. “I didn’t even share the worst of it, man.”
“What do you mean?” I ask almost nervously. How can there be more?
He hesitates just long enough to make my pulse spike. Then he pulls out his phone, taps the screen, and turns it toward me. The video plays, shaky and grainy, but clear enough. Dylan and Coach.
Coach’s hand on her back, lingering just a second too long. Dylan standing too close, her expression one of joy and affection I’ve never seen on her before. Coach hugging her on the front stoop of his house, late enough at night that the lights inside glow through his windows.
“I don’t—” I cut myself off, unable to say any more.
Kyle sighs, the sound heavy. “Apparently she was sleeping with her old coach too. It’s just what she does.” He shrugs casually, like he’s not destroying every single image of the girl I thought I knew. “She might be a great player—I’m not disputing that—but she’s got some serious issues.”
The recording he’s taken plays again, and I stare at the screen in shock. Every muscle in my body is locked up tight.
She played us. Lied to us. And we fell for it.
Anger flares hot in my chest, burying away whatever was left of the doubt I’d been harboring. I look up at Kyle, my jaw tight. “We need to tell the others. They need to see this.”
Kyle nods, his expression solemn. “Yeah. They do.”
40
JAX
“There must be some sort of explanation.”
The words fall out of my mouth before I can stop them, shattering the silence that’s been weighing down the locker room like a fucking tomb since the rest of the team piled out, heading to The Stanley to celebrate our win. Unsurprisingly, no one stopped to ask if we were coming, probably sensing that we weren’t in the mood. Even Ethan didn’t try to muster the enthusiasm to go, even though usually, if the team is out, he is too, wanting to keep an eye on everyone and make sure no one celebrates too hard.
He hasn’t said a word since we got off the ice. Even now, his arms are crossed as he sits on the bench farther down from me, his jaw clenched so tightly I swear I can hear his teeth grinding.
Griffin doesn’t hesitate. “Of course there is.” His tone is firm, leaving no room for doubt. I glance his way, wondering how he can be so confident. He saw what I did—what the entire arena did.
I want to believe him, but my mind won’t stop churning. Dylan told us she had issues with her old team. That they didn’t get along. But she also dated Lucas. What if there were others? What if, once she burned bridges, she just started fresh at a new school—new team, new guys, new game?
All this time, I’ve been thinking we have something special—not only between myself and Dylan but between the five of us. I’ve sat back and watched as she got closer to my friends, catching glimpses of a future where she is ours. I’ve even accepted Griffin’s role in all of this.
And now I’m wondering if she’s done this before, with her old team. If it means nothing to her at all. If I mean nothing to her. It hurts. My entire life, the only thing I’ve ever had, the only thing I could call my own, was hockey.
Until Dylan.
I never had a stable home growing up, never a place where I felt like I truly belonged, but when I was around Dylan, I felt at peace in a way I never thought possible. She was my home—the one I’d longed for as a kid, convinced myself I didn’t need as an anguished teen, had found the beginnings of in Ethan and Finn.
The thought that we—that I—didn’t mean the same to her…makes my stomach churn. Makes my blood feel like it’s burning under my skin. I liked Dylan. Hell, I was fucking falling for her. Based on how fucking wretched I feel right now, I’d go so far as to say I was nearly in fucking love with her.
And now, after weeks of watching her, learning her, getting pulled deeper and deeper into whatever this thing is between us, I’m starting to wonder if any of it was real.
There’s a swoosh as the door swings open.
Dylan walks in, skates digging into the floor, helmet dangling from her loose grip. Her shoulders are rounded, her head low. But the second she spots the three of us sitting there, her spine snaps straight. There’s a sheen to her eyes that makes them sparkle beneath the bright overhead lights—a flash of raw, unfiltered emotion—before it vanishes behind a cold, unreadable mask.
Her gaze slowly sweeps over us before flicking around the otherwise empty room, looking for someone else. Looking for Finn.
“What are you still doing here?” she asks, returning her focus to us. There’s an edge to her voice, something wary, closed off. Like she’s suddenly realized she’s alone in an empty locker room with three guys who might not be on her side anymore.
Before I can say anything, Ethan steps forward, his expression hard. “We need to hear your side.”
Dylan scoffs, lifting her chin as she defiantly stares Ethan down. “You need to hear that I’m not a slut? That I didn’t make out with half the fucking NSU team? Or do you need to hear that I haven’t been playing you?”
Her gaze locks on to me, then Ethan, then Griffin. “We’ve been living in and out of each other’s pockets for two months. We live together. Train together. Play together. One of you is with me every moment I’m on campus. If a ten-second video is enough to make you think I’m someone else, then we never had a chance of being anything.”
Silence stretches tight. Her words dig under my skin, planting themselves there like barbed wire.
Then Griffin moves. One step. Another. Until he’s standing directly in front of her. With her skates on, it puts her at nearly the same height as him. Her throat bobs as she waits for him to speak, but he seems content to drink her in for a moment, his gaze roaming over her face as though committing it to memory. “I know exactly whose bed I’ve been sleeping in every night,” he murmurs, voice pitched low, but the words carry nonetheless. “Whose lips I’ve been kissing. Whose body has been wrapped around mine. Anyone who believes that amateur soft porn is an idiot undeserving of you.”
Her gaze softens with hope, but she doesn’t truly allow herself to relax until his arm curls around her, pulling her against him. She buries her face in his chest, and a shudder rolls through her as she relaxes into his hold.
After placing a chaste kiss on the top of her head, he shifts, moving to stand behind her. One arm snakes around her waist, the other banding around the front of her chest as he pulls her flush against him.
They both stare at Ethan and I. Dylan with a shuddered, albeit slightly nervous expression, and Griffin with hard, unyielding eyes that promise pain and retribution. It’s clear whose side he’s on. Without a single moment of hesitation, he has chosen Dylan.
I envy him. I wish I could so blindingly move to her side. Wish I didn’t have these questions and doubts. And yet, seeing how resolutely he stands with her makes me wonder if he’s right. What did that video on the jumbotron really tell us? That Dylan has kissed a few guys? It would make each of us a hypocrite to say we hadn’t gotten around with other girls before her. Some of us more than others, but there have been puck bunnies a plenty since we started at BSU.
There’s bound to be some reasonable explanation. Hell, even if it’s just that she hooked up with a few guys after a win or on a night out. That doesn’t have to diminish what we have. Her past shouldn’t be held against her.
My foot moves forward.
My weight shifts.
Dylan’s keen gaze zeros in on the movement.
And then the door bangs open, and we all turn as Kyle strolls in, Finn at his side.
“The gang’s all here,” Kyle sneers, his gaze landing on Dylan. “Even the whore.”
Griffin is on him in seconds, shoving him back against the wall so hard Kyle grunts in pain. However, he still finds it in him to smirk—cocky and sure.
My gaze catches on Dylan and Finn. The two of them are locked in a silent battle, seemingly oblivious to everything going on around them as they just…stare at one another. Even with his jaw ticking, Finn looks broken.
As for Dylan? She just looks resigned.
“Say that again,” Griffin’s menacing growl draws my attention back to his confrontation with Kyle. A vein pulses along his temple, his hold on Reed’s shirt unrelenting. “I fucking dare you.” A vehement snarl rumbles from his chest, his lip curling. “Please, do,” he taunts, voice low and deadly. “I’m looking for any excuse to rip you limb from limb.”
Kyle remains smug, quiet, satisfaction glinting in his eyes because he knows he’s getting under Griffin’s skin.
Griffin sneers, his rage only intensifying as he leans in closer. However, he doesn’t lower his voice as he snarls, “That jumbotron stunt, that was you, wasn’t it?”
Kyle’s smirk widens. “You needed to see who she truly was.”
Griffin doesn’t hesitate. His fist slams into Kyle’s face with a brutal crack.
Dylan’s gasp slices through the air as Kyle stumbles, clutching at his face. Bent over with a hand on his knee, he breathes heavily before lifting his gaze to Griffin. Hatred darkens his eyes. “You and Dylan are perfect for one another.” He spits blood onto the white floor, the bright red stark and offensive, before he stands up. There’s a fresh cut along his lower lip. “Crazy attracts crazy, I guess. But have the common decency to leave the rest of us out of it.”
“It’s laughable that you think you’re any part of this,” Griffin sneers.
Ignoring him, Kyle fixes each of us in his sights. “You should all walk away while you still can.” Focusing on Ethan, his voice is edged with insistence. “Don’t you see who she is now? She’s a user. She does this for attention, to divide the team. And you’re all falling for it.”
