Page 68 of Breakneck Hockey

“What does that mean?” Logan demands. “What does it mean, Leslie?”

Jack’s expression softens. “It means two Alderchucks are playing with fire instead of just the one.”

Rhett feigns a yawn. “Doesn’t anyone around here ever get bored of Alderchuck drama?”

“No,” Logan says. “I knew it. I knew they weren’t just friends.” He’s practically crowing.

“Sorry to disappoint, Lo,” I say. “But they are just friends—best friends.”

“There’s a story. I want the story,” he says. “There’s no way there’s not something between them … or maybe there was?”

That’s an understatement on both counts, but the answer isn’t straightforward.

“It’s a long story, but the short version is, Dash’s dad Travis—our boss at the Wicklow—was looking for a place for Dash to stay, we were looking for rent helpers.” Man, haven’t thought about those days in some time.

Logan nods. “I get that. Didn’t feel right starting something with his boss’s son?”

“That was a factor, but Dash had just gone through some bad shit. Stacey is Stacey. He felt responsible for him, and he became something like a caretaker for Dash.” Though sometimes I’d be tempted to use the word champion. Dash idolizes Stacey like he’s his damn hero.

“Stacey thought it would be wrong to pursue anything,” Jack adds.

“And you think something’s changed?” Logan hedges.

“It changed well before now, but Syd wormed his way into the picture.” My hands clench, hating Syd’s existence for no reason. From what I hear, Syd’s a nice guy. “Pretty sure Stacey had plans on starting something last hockey season, but then Syd came along.”

A demure smile creases Jack’s face, remembering things. “Yeah, he was.”

“I’m surprised you noticed with the way you were pursuing the coach of our hockey team.” I waggle my eyebrows.

“Oh, was this at the same time you were trying to shack up with my brother?” Logan says. “I’ve shockingly never heard this story; I just have to witness the disgusting aftermath.”

“Is that your way of asking to hear the story, Lo?” Jack says.

“Please?”

Rhett groans. “I’ll order us more drinks. We’re going to be here awhile.”

“Don’t mind him, he’s just grouchy because he was the villain of that story,” I say.

“That’s perfect, baby,” Logan says, rubbing against his man. “I always fall for the villain.”

Rhett smiles. “In that case, I’ll start us off. Once upon a time, in a hockey universe far, far, away…”

On the Ice

Number one reason I hate Boston so much? They’re dirty motherfuckers. Especially Sutter. And he’s on my fuckingass more than usual this game. Is this payback for the credit card? Probably. But fuck him. He deserved that. Besides, it’s not like he can’t afford a measly thousand dollars—um, plus all the food I bought—with the Scrooge-sized money bin he has.

My blades carve the ice, quick scraping sounds echo off the boards. I swear to fuck, skating at the Garden is like skating on fucking Velcro. My muscles work overtime, burning with every glide. The puck’s cradled against my stick as I carry it across the ice. I drop it back for Stacey, who I can feel behind me. We operate on a sixth sense, another level. Reading where the other is via our twin version of spidey sense. That’s why Vancouver wanted us—our ability to pass the puck to each other and score as if we operate from the same mind.

Stacey lobs it back to me, but I let it go over the blue line before my skates do so I’m not offside andthuck!Right to my stick like there’s a fucking puck magnet on it.

Hell, yeah.

There’s nobody. Nothing. Just me and the goalie. I find fuel from somewhere to power my legs.

Alderchuck on the breakaway.

I own the puck. This moment. The fucking goalie. This goal is mine. Two points for?—

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