Page 56 of On Thin Ice

“Then what the fuck?” Brody asked, voice kind.

“It doesn’t matter,” Finn muttered.

“Do you—” Brody cut off his question. “Oh. I get it. Youwishit was like that, and it’s not.”

“You are disgustingly smart,” Finn muttered. “It’s better if it’snotlike that.”

“Maybe,” Brody agreed.

“Are you kidding—my dad would lose his fucking mind if he knew Jacob was just coaching me, nevermind anything else.”

“I thought Jacob was supposed to be making you care less what your dad thinks,” Brody remarked mildly. “It’s not his business who coaches you, or who you spend your time with.”

Finn frowned. “Well,Iknow that, but I don’t think anybody’s ever given him that memo.”

Brody shot him a knowing look. “I’d imagine that there’s someone out there who could.” And he skated away, like a total asshole.

Not leaving Finn in any better of a mood than he’d been before.

He didn’t know if Brody meant him or Jacob—but both of those options frustrated him. He didn’t want Jacob sticking up for him, like he couldn’t stick up for himself. And if hedidstick up for himself . . .well, it wasn’t like Finn hadn’t ever done it before.

But it never got easier.

His frustration didn’t end, though.

He went through his own drills. Incorporating some of the new moves Jacob had taught him, but that only reminded him, unbearably, of how Jacob looked when he’d shown him. How strong and broad and totally fucking capable—of recording a shutout, and of decimating the last of Finn’s precarious self-control.

Then Zach skated over and told Finn they were going to run a shootout drill.

Not Finn’s favorite thing in the world.

But the last thing he wanted was for Zach—or anyone else—to know how much this drill pissed him off. Made him doubt himself.

He’d been doing this for years and years, and he’d hated it from the beginning, and he’d probably always hate it.

It was one thing to be scored on during a game—when that was the opposing team’s entire purpose for being on the fucking ice. It was another entirely when it was guys he respected and trusted, exposing him in front of everyone. Every crack and seam that he hoped they might miss. Broken open for everyone to see.

“Alright,” Finn said, because what else was he supposed to do? Beg Zach to leave it alone, when he was already in a shit mood?

He wasn’t going to do that.

He was a hockey player, agoalie, and this was his only purpose.

If he couldn’t do this, he couldn’t do anything.

Finn tightened the grip on his stick and centered himself, watching the group on the other side of the ice.

“Mal,” Zach called out, and Mal separated from the group, heading towards Finn’s side of the ice with long, lazy swoops, skating deceptively easy.

But Mal was anything but easy. It wasn’t hard to be fooled by his approach, and Finn had seen so many goalies get sucked into the matter-of-fact way he skated.

Then suddenly, he hit an edge, changing direction and taking off with a speed that nobody ever expected a guy of Mal’s size to possess.

But Finn knew he had it and had been waiting for it.

He watched his eyes, as they slid up to his shoulder and then back down like he was trying to decide where he was going to go. But he knew, already, and Finn knew he knew.

It was only a matter of guessing which angle he’d already chosen.

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