Page 35 of Break The Ice

“Give me one night at the hockey rink, and I will do anything you want.”

Raider laughs. “You sound like me.”

I bite my lower lip as he flashes me a grin over his shoulder. Does he know how sexy he is or is it totally unconscious? I can’t be certain anymore.

Wren puts his hands on my shoulders and massages them.

“Just forget everything but the game.” He leans in close. “I’m sorry your attempt at pushing Callan away backfired. But, then again, judging by how hot you looked while you were kissing him, maybe I’m not after all.”

I let out a squeak, but he’s already gone.

“Come on, Ryann. Let’s go get you dressed.”

I wave at Callan as Kit drags me away. His smile is kind and promises me that this isn’t over.

Chapter nine

Wren

There’s a feeling inthe air when something is about to go wrong. I don’t know if it was just me or if it came from upper management, but about twenty minutes before we went on the ice, the coach asked for Raider. I got the feeling then, just something out of the ordinary that triggered it.

Addams curses. “I knew it! Didn’t I tell you? I knew. I told them not to touch my stick. It’s all jacked up.” He’s a defender on the third line and as superstitious as they come. We commonly joke that he’s got more muscles than brain cells, but that’s probably being kind. He’s a strangely pale guy with blond hair, pale eyes and black shadows under his eyes.

Ramirez, our captain, gazes coolly at Addams. “Hurry and retape them, then, and stop bitching.”

I snort a laugh. Ramirez is cold under fire, a demon on the ice, and one of the strongest and calmest alphas I’ve ever met. He’s damn good at being captain. But he also has no time for superstitious nonsense. He’s two inches shorter than I, with dark eyes and dark cropped hair.

I continue preparing for the game. Pulling on my socks and shin pads. The emerald green of the locker room with the shiny wood benches creates a luxurious and cozy feel. Every player has a cubby with our numbers above it and our gear that has been cleaned and prepared is waiting for us.

About ten minutes later, Raider roars. I stand up, staring at the door. Ramirez glances at me. His silent command says it all. Do not react. Do not act.

“What the fuck is wrong with him?” Hoffsfield asks. He’s a smaller guy with a head full of dark hair and a beard. He’s the right winger on my line.

“No idea. He was fine when we got here,” Waraski says. As Raider’s defense partner, Waraski is as close to Raider as a player can get. He’s lighthearted, fun to be around, and just a genuinely nice guy with a wicked smile and bright white teeth. He has brown eyes, and his brown hair is shaggy and unkempt but looks stylish on him.

Wesley and Arthur walk in. Our assistant coaches are talking quietly to each other with concerned frowns, but when they see us watching, they stop all the conversation. Wesley is built like a player with light brown hair and friendly green eyes. He’s quiet and came to the team at the same time I did. Arthur is skinnier and wears thick glasses, but his passion for the game oozes out of him. He has black hair and dark brown eyes.

“Did you see the weird teddy bear that was delivered to Coach this morning?” Evans snickers.

“Yeah, it was fucking freaky as. Coach just said it was some of the wacko fans. Ignore it,” Addams chortles back.

I close my eyes. I don’t care about the fans or the teddy. We’ll lose tonight if we don’t have Raider. His defense is the strongest we have and the most aggressive. He’s our veteran and damned good.

Typhor Raines must have gotten to coach Smith. I feel sick just thinking about it, but we’re just hockey players. Typhor is untouchable. He’s got too much money and power. I should stop listening around corners at home, but they make it too easy.

Raider slams into the change room and starts stripping out of his gear. A moment later, our coach walks in. He’s wearing a suit, his silver hair brushed back and his blue eyes gleaming with fire. I can’t see Ryann in him at all. For a coach, he’s pretty good, certainly better than some of the team’s coaches. The Demons are a brilliant team.

Coach Patrick Smith is a beta that loves the game and is good at understanding how to bring out the best out of his players. He’s a fair and good coach, just not as great an actual person.

I can’t blame him for not being able to stand against Typhor Raines. I’ve heard the stories of what he did to his wife and daughter, and the rumours from his employees. Typhor Raines is a monster.

Raider really has got the short end of the stick. I know there’s nothing we can do, but I wish I could fix it for him.

He stops by his open locker at the back of the room, where everyone is pretending they can’t see him. My feet are moving before I can even think.

I press my chest to his back, winding my arms around his waist.

“We’ll fix it,” I whisper.

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