Page 108 of Unsteady

THIRTY-SIX

SADIE

I can tell Aurora is annoyed—more annoyed than I’ve seen her in a while.

It’s the end of the second period and they’re up by two. Boston College fans who made the short trip to our arena are very loud in their grumbling, but Waterfell is louder. We’ve been shouting sieve chants all night, singing songs and listening to some more intoxicated fans call out players by name and bang on the glass.

And then, there’s watching Rhys.

He skates like he was born with blades attached to his feet, like he’s got more coordination there than running or walking on land. His ability to read every single other player—in maroon and in blue—is borderline magical.

He’s just as I imagined, the boy with the blues turns gold under the arena lights and the cheers of adoring fans. His face-offs are at 100% tonight, and he might as well be glowing. And I can see him years from now, playing professionally and lighting up the jumbotron and the screens of phones everywhere with his dimpled smile beneath his visor.

Rhys scored twice, once during the first on the other end, skating through his team to high five and humbly angling his stick in the air as celebration. Then, again in the second period, on our side of the ice—the same celebration, only he pointed his stick right at me.

And I turned into a gooey mess.

Overall, it’s been an incredible night.

Though, watching Aurora fight the trio of girls in front of us would also be incredible.

Freddy scored just before the buzzer ending the second period, skating in a lunge and playing his stick like an air guitar which got several laughs out of both Rora and me—only after she finished screaming like a banshee for him.

But then, the pretty black-haired girl in a Waterfell jersey in front of us says, “God, he’s so hot.”

“Have you seen his OnlyFans?” the blonde next to her asks. If she thinks she is whispering, it’s not even close. “If you think he’s drool worthy now…”

“Oh my god, Ericka.” The boy on her left with strawberry curls, also decked in a jersey—and a pair of black leather lugged Converse that I’ve been drooling over since I spotted them—sighs. “That was arumor. The guy doesn’t even show his face.”

Ericka rolls her eyes and flecks a piece of popcorn at his face. “Oh my god, Ron, hisexwas the one who told everyone. It has to be him.”

The other girl pipes up with, “I don’t think so. He denied it—and, I mean, he has a reputation on campus, sure, but that doesn’t mean he’s selling sex.”

“He could if he wanted to. I mean, goodgod,he’s mouthwatering. And I’ve heard he’s not only generous, buthu—”

“Oh my god!” Rora squeals, jerking forward between their seats, head level with them, a mop of curls cascading like water around them all. “He’s not a fucking object. Shut the hell up and stop gossiping about rumors you knownothingabout.”

She stands then, grumbling about getting something to drink and takes off before I can ask if she wants company.

Rora looks a little worse for wear when she comes back, but it melts away as the third period starts up again.

The boys are dominating, the clock is dwindling and I’m…

I’m very aroused.

Rhys is clearly one of their best players, and I can see many of the hits hammered towards him—but his teammates on every line do a good job of protecting him.

It’s actually Kane who they continue to target. Whether from knowing his skill and size give an advantage to Waterfell, or from some sort of bad blood between the teams, it’s surprising, considering he used to play for Boston College.

They seem to hate him.

His own team now doesn’t seem to like him either, but I don’t blame them. Part of me wants to confront him, but the other part just hopes he leaves the team before the year is up.

I haven’t told Rhys about our standoff at practice, not because I’m hiding it, but more because every small piece of time I have with Rhys I want to use for other things.

“Have you seen where they sat the boys?” Rora asks, gulping down another hard cider.

“Yeah.” I nod, pointing across towards where the home and away benches are. Just beyond the end, pressed right up against the glass, sit Oliver and Liam, with Rhys’ mom and Bennett’s father to their right. Considering the wealth of attention most of the players have given them, I’d say it’s a win for them. Even this far away, Liam is beaming.

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