Page 100 of Breakneck Hockey

“Sutter—” Logan starts.

“I’m good.” I’m grabbing my jacket and sliding into my high-top sneakers before I know I’m doing it. “I’ll catch you both next time.”

Rhett’s an Elkington. They don’t give up so easily. He nods, but he’ll be calling me tomorrow.

“His favorite meal,” Logan yells from behind me, chasing after me, until Rhett slings an arm around him from behind, trapping him in big arms. “Don’t forget!”

The door shuts. I need to pound on something. I guess a late-night boxing sesh in my condo’s gym’s gonna be what the doctor ordered.

Chapter 18

His

Casey

The universe hates me. How do I know? Boston plays Calgary the very next week. In other words, Sutter’s on the ice with Hayes. Sutter and Hayes are evenly matched as far as weight and height go, but Hayes can’t gain ice or catch the puck to save his life, not with Sutter on his ass at every fucking turn. He’s out for blood.

Stacey turns his head. He’s lying on the couch beside me at our place. We just got home from being on the road and let me tell you, I’m beat. We ordered pizza and turned on the game. Next week is the anniversary of Mom’s death, but we won’t be here and decided to honor it this week.

I don’t need all the time I told Sutter I do. I was being a dick because, yeah, I was fucking irritated. At Sutter—always—but that’s nothing new. I was more irritated with myself than him. That’s how I know I have a problem. It was as good an excuse as any to take a Sutter breather. Get my head on straight.

“Is that about you?” he says.

How could he know?

“It might be.”

“Tell me again about how you’re supposed to be on a break with Sutter?” Stacey says, eyebrows raised.

“I am goin’ on a break. Everyone gets their last meal before they start their diet.” Or so I’m told. I’ve never been on a diet in my life. Even when I was under Coach Meyer’s dictatorial regime, I think I cheated too much for it to count.

I also didn’t exactly tell Sutter we were on a break. If I told him that, he’d be at my door, and I do want a break no matter how much joy fills me while watching Sutter’s ass get dragged to the penalty box on my behalf. I’m not even anywhere near the ice and he’s still getting penalties thanks to me. He’s beaking off the ref. He’s beaking off Hayes. All because he gets super fucking possessive over me.

I smile.

At some point, I stopped caring abouthowI’m his and settled into being happy that I know I’m his. We don’t need to be boyfriends.Mineis a fine label, isn’t it? These are the things I needed to think about.

Despite being a violent menace all game, nearly getting kicked out, Sutter manages two goals and one assist. Boston spanks Calgary so hard with five goals total, one of them an empty netter, which is always a touch demoralizing for the other team. I’m kinda proud of Sutter and that might be the weirdest thing of all.

I think about checking my phone for a message from him. He won’t actually listen to my demand for radio silence, will he? He’ll push his way in like he always does. Like he’s fucking supposed to.

“Was all that because Hayes hit you last game?”

“All of that was because Hayes’s hits led to bruises on my ass. That territory strictly belongs to Sutter and he’s defending it.” That shit’s better than flowers.

“I’m not gonna pretend to understand you two.”

I wait for the lecture that doesn’t come. There’s always a lecture. Where’s my damn lecture? Looks like nobody’s doing what they’re supposed to be doing. I check my phone this time—nothing—and slide it onto the coffee table so that if anyone does text me, I’ll see it light up.

Stacey slides another slice of pizza onto his plate. He sips his beer. He changes the channels.

“Just say it, Stace.”

“Say what?” He won’t look at me.

“Tell me how foolish I am for doing the Sutter thing. Tell me I’m gonna get my heart broken. Tell me anything.”

He huffs a sigh and turns off the TV. “Anything I say will make Sutter all the more forbidden. It doesn’t seem possible, but I think you would be more attracted to him than ever.”

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