Page 97 of Home Ice

Sorenson loops around their end of the ice to build up momentum, and then he flies toward me. Just as he crosses the blue line, they pass the puck to him. This time catching him in stride. Princeling tries to slow him down, but he doesn't stand a chance. Sorenson skates around him like he's a cone set up for an agility drill. Good. I want this fucker.

I press toward the front of the crease and coil my muscles, ready to spring whenever he shoots. My eyes are on the puck as he moves his stick from side-to-side. He's coming deep this time. No quick wrister trying to catch me napping. He gets almost to the goal line—I have every angle closed off—but he cuts hard on his edge and drags the puck across the front of the crease. Fuck. I don't have time to stick it away. I push to the other side. I throw my right leg in front of me to cover the bottom of the net, and I dive forward with my upper body to cover the rest. There's no way I'm letting him score against me. I don't care if I tear every ligament in both of my knees. Not happening.

He sweeps the puck across his body as he coils for the shot. His window is tiny, so he has to do it now. And we both know it. He brings the stick down. It slaps square against the edge of the puck. But I'm locked on to it. Not today, you soggy asswipe. I reach out with my blocker and knock the puck down in front of my pads. He sees the rebound a fraction of a second too late, and by the time he can bring his stick down to try for the put-back, I dive over it. I don't look up until I hear the whistle stopping the play.

Asher shakes his head in disbelief and stares at the puck as I stand. I'm taller than he is, and I rise to every centimeter I can now. "That one was good," I say. "I'm still better, though." His glare moves up to my face, and he looks like he's trying to murder me with his eyes. "What is your problem with me? Do you think you have to prove you're worthy of taking Serenity from me? Because you really don't. I don't care who she's with. I wish you both the best."

"How does that work when you're with that boy of yours?" He tries to sound detached, but his voice is still angry under the forced monotone. "Who does the fucking?"

I've never believed that a person can lose their vision from anger, but right now white is spreading in from the corners of my eyes, leaving only Asher Sorenson. His mouth is still moving. He's saying something, and that arrogant sneer is on his lips. But I can only hear the blood roaring in my ears. I rip my blocker and glove off, and before he can even react, I swing. Something pops under the blow. I'm not sure if it's my fist or his face. I don't care. The feeling is so satisfying. Almost as satisfying as seeing his head whip to the side, lining up perfectly for me to slam my left fist into his nose. This time I know it's not my knuckles that I feel crunch.

I've played hockey for twenty-seven years, and somehow I made it until this moment without ever fighting. Partly because I've been a goalie almost that entire time, but I'm also not a violent person. It takes a lot to make me angry, and I've never let anyone push me to the point where I wanted to hit them. But now? This feels fucking great. Asher shakes off his gloves and raises a hand to deflect one of my blows. Then he throws a punch at me. I might not be a fighter, but I am a professional blocker. It doesn't even come close to hitting me. Unlike the jab that I hurl at his already broken nose. "No one talks about her like that, got it? Please tell me no, because I would love to fucking beat the lesson into you all day."

He takes one more swing at me, but he's so dazed it throws him off balance. With his body twisted, I shove him and he crumples to the ice. The anger is still roiling through me, but I force myself to skate back until the crossbar of the net pushes into me. That's when I notice the other ref and the linesperson moving between me and Sorenson. Another breath, and I can see the players from both teams gathered halfway between us and the benches. Another breath, and I can hear the crowd booing and whistling down on me.

I skate toward the bench, already knowing what comes next. Vaguely, I'm aware of a referee announcing a game misconduct penalty. I'm ejected from a game for the first time in my life. And I do not regret it at all.

CHAPTER 58

GREASY

LILY

"Brant! What was that?" My body stiffens when I see the distant, cold look on his face. I've never seen him like this. What the hell did that other player do? "Brant?" I rush across the minuscule space to throw my arms around him. He barely moves as my weight collides with him, and he doesn't lift his arms. Sweat soaks into my clothes, and any other time I would feel gross. Now I'm too worried to care. I saw the Denver player trash talking Brant all game long. The idiotic television announcers just played it off like it was part of the game. Number forty-seven trying to get into his opponent's head, the same way any player does. But I've been around enough athletes to know when it's personal, and this looked very personal.

"Just two men being stupid," he mutters when he realizes I'm not going to let him get away without answering. "One. One man being stupid and squeezing so hard, I finally broke. I really don't want to talk about it right now."

I take a step back and slide my fingers down his arm. He winces as they run over his hand, so I pull it closer to examine it. His knuckles are already beginning to swell and there are some small cuts. "Let me clean these for you and get you some ice."

He slips his hand from mine and lets it drop back to his side. But he doesn't look at me. He just marches around me, further into the dressing room, as if I won't follow him. "I… I need to be alone." He takes his phone from the stall, swipes through it for a few seconds, and then rips off his pads and skates. When he glances up, he seems shocked that I'm still standing here. "Lily, I love you. Tell me you know that."

Nervousness weaves through my chest even though I know there's no one in the room and all the executives I worry so much about would be in their luxury suite watching the end of the period like nothing happened. "I love you too." It's little more than a whisper when I wish I could scream it. "What's wrong? You don't fight people."

He goes stiff. "No, I don't." He takes a breath, and I think maybe he's going to tell me more, tell me what the hell caused this. "I ordered a ride, and they'll be here in two minutes."

"You're leaving? In the middle of a game?"

If this anxiety weren't slashing through me, I would laugh. He's sitting on the bench at his stall, wearing nothing but a soaked black undershirt and matching shorts and sliding his bare feet into the brown loafers he wore as part of his suit when he came to the arena today. "I need to be alone," he repeats. He runs his hands through his hair and sighs as he stands. "Come up to my room tonight. I don't care who knows about you, Lily. I really don't." He cups my face as he rests his forehead against mine, and I close my eyes like it's the first time he's touched me. "I love you, Lily. For everything that you are."

What the hell does that mean? I bite back the urge to ask him—I know he wouldn't answer—and just nod instead. "I love you too."

He nods back and walks around a corner. A couple of seconds later, I hear a door softly close. I gather his pads and uniform into a pile in front of his stall and sit on the bench. Even though the dressing room is freezing, the bench is warm from him.

I'm still sitting and staring at his chest protector when I hear the other players filing in. It must be the second intermission. Normally, they would be chattering. Talking about what's going wrong if they're losing or talking about their plans for the night if they're winning. But other than the shuffle of the blades on the floor, they don't make a noise as they come in.

Kayden is the first one in the room, and he lifts me in a hug so tight my shoulders pop. "He better not go back on that ice today." Even though his mouth is right beside my ear, he says it loudly, like it's not just meant for me.

"He left. What's going on?"

Kayden takes a step back and slides his hands down to my arms. "How do you know?" He looks hopeful for a second. Then his face falls. "Oh, you mean Brant. I'm talking about fucking Sorenson. He's not walking off if he goes back out there." A murmur of agreement causes me to look up. The rest of the team is standing around us now, packed shoulder to shoulder. The space is barely big enough for ten people, but they're all here. "You know you're one of us, right?" Kayden asks. "And no one outside this room messes with one of us. Not without learning the lesson Sorenson just learned. We're going to make sure he never says shit about you again."

"What is this about?" I ask. Kayden sounds so serious. So different from the guy I've gotten to know over the last few months. "And what does it have to do with me?"

"We care about you. You know that, right?" Sammy steps beside Kayden. There's an urgency in his voice that I've never heard. "About you, Lily, not about whatever they called you when you were born. Not about anything that happened before. Like Kayden said, you're ours, and we got your back if anyone ever tries to use that against you."

No. He can't mean that, can he? My chest feels hollow and when cold crawls through my body, I’m sure it's because my heart stopped.

"I've always believed that rigid gender norms are just a tool of the patriarchy's oppression, so I fully support your identity, Lily," Kayden says, his voice proud.

---