Page 89 of Knot Your Rebel

The other team's forwards come flying at me in the next second, the puck is being passed much like our forwards did last play, trying to confuse me on which one will shoot it. I pay close attention to the puck each time it flips in between them. Another one of their players yells that he’s open, but these two won’t give it up. The one forward lines up to hit a slap shot, but I block it.

He really should work on his faking skills. I had him pegged halfway down the rink. A few guys on my team skate past, giving me a congrats on the stop before taking the puck back to the other end of the ice. The shot gets deflected back to our guys, and they shoot again after setting it up. The lamp goes off a second time tonight, and the crowd loses it again.

REBEL

I’ve watched Tate ogle me all night long. And when he isn’t watching me, I can feel his hot gaze lingering on my skin. As the door opens for the next TV break, the other girls and I race out onto the ice, trying to clean it up as fast as possible. We can’t take too long. Five minutes tops.

Only this time, not only are we cleaning the ice shavings, we’re cleaning up hats from the hat trick Arden just scored. It wouldn’t be a tough thing if this arena wasn’t filled with fifteen thousand people, the majority of which are, of course, wearing hats. Lucky me.

I watch as the team skates around all congratulating each other and high-fiving. I have no issues with Arden.

He goes out of his way to do nice things for his team. He’s a good captain.

As a matter of fact, the majority of the team is nice. Some of the new guys have egos that are unnecessary. I swear it's like they’re trying to prove something by banging everything with two legs. Doesn’t help when girls throw themselves at them desperately. It’s just tacky in my opinion.

I’ve never been a big fan of hockey; the brutality, the stories of man-whoring, and the injuries. But now that I’ve seen a few games, I get the appeal. It's a rush. Like taking a potent drug and living it every night of your life. There’s something about the chill of the ice rink and players doing stretches and skating like rock stars that gets me going. I see the hype, I guess, is where I’m trying to go with this.

Shoveling up another pile of hats, I look over to find Nova eyeing me. I’m glad she’s back. The bruises are gone for the most part, but I can’t stop seeing that frail girl in the hospital bed. “Rebel… I see that look. Wipe it off your face right now. I’m here. I’m good, okay?”

I bite my bottom lip. She’s right. I know she is. Nova has always been tough as long as I’ve known her, and she’s apparently not letting this life snafu mess up her vibes.

She’s got the trash can held tightly as I shove the hats into it. “So, how’s Gunnar?” She turns away, looking towards the bench. Their eyes meet, and he gives her a wink. It’s so damn sweet how hung up he is on this girl.

“He’s good.”

“Do you think he’s the one?”

“He won’t want me long term, Rebel. I’m a beta. Alphas are meant to mate with omegas. Not us.”

I sigh. “Don’t tell him what to do. If he wants to date you, let him. If he wants to mark you, consider it. He seems like a good guy, despite my initial thoughts on him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Her tone is a little defensive.

“Just thought he was a typical hockey douche canoe.”

“He’s not.”

I smile over at her. “Then I believe you. Just want you to be happy.”

“I am.”

We make our way back off the ice, and the game resumes. Plays are called, penalties are given, guys end up in the box. A few fights happen. The other team manages to steal two goals from us, and Tate is pissed, but the Hellbenders still end the game 4-2. Another solid win.

She wiggles her eyes at me. “Whatcha wanna do after the game tonight? Let’s go hang out. Have a girls night. Maybe invite the guys along.”

“If the guys come, then it’s not a girls night.”

“Don’t be smart with me, ma’am.”

“I’ll be as damn well smart as I want to be.”

“What are you doing for the next game? I know it’s away. I don’t want you to have to stay in that massive mansion all by yourself without Tate to keep an eye on you.”

“He’s apparently asked Drake to watch over me since he can’t play with concussion protocol. Oh, and here’s a fun tidbit. Drake is him. The guy from the foster home…”

Her eyes widen. “No, shit. He is the Drake?”

“Yep, and I have no fucking clue how to handle it. I know, I sound like a broken freaking record, but I always thought it’d be us.”

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