Page 39 of Major Penalty

Rowan stretches his arms out, rolling his shoulder slightly.

“But Ares doesn’t dig his heels in just to be difficult,” he says. “He adapts. He does what needs to be done, and he doesn’t complain.” He lifts a brow. “He’s never been stubborn just to be stubborn. Damien and I, on the other hand…” He smirks slightly.

I exhale sharply, half-smiling despite myself.

“Ares is not like us. Not in that regard, at least.” Rowan shakes his head. “So, if he doesn’t want to come in for scans and treatment, there’s a reason.”

His gaze is too sharp. Too calculating. Like he already knows what it is.

I look away, moving over to his leg to hide my hot cheeks from him. My hands move over his skin, checking muscle tension, double-checking for strain, except I already did that.

Rowan is fine. No injuries. Nothing wrong. And yet, I keep working. I need to keep my hands moving to ignore what’s in my head.

Then Rowan moves, lifts his hands, covers mine, and slides it off his leg.

I freeze, and my heart stutters, but not in the way it does when Ares is close.

Not in the way it does when I can feel Ares’s breath against my skin, when he looks at me like he wants to consume me whole.

No. This is different.

Because Rowan is undeniably handsome, huge, carved with muscle and tattooed…

I feel nothing. Not because I know he’s dating the Panthers’ PR agent, Livia Moody. Even if he wasn’t, there would still be nothing but objective awareness. Nothing like the way my pulse reacts when Ares is near.

Rowan sits up, his green eyes locked onto mine. His fingers slip from my wrist, and he exhales slowly.

“Whatever’s making Ares avoid treatment is personal,” he says, already knowing this exam is over.

He doesn’t outright say it, but I see it in his eyes. He knows something happened between us.

I pause, shaking my head. But something in Rowan makes me want to tell him. I’ve been texting Sidney about it, but the only reply I’m getting from her is, “Get that NHL dick.” Not helpful at all. I need someone who knows Ares.

“It might be because of something that happened a few days ago,” I finally admit.

Rowan hums thoughtfully but doesn’t pry, doesn’t ask what that something was. There’s understanding in his eyes like he already knows. Did Ares tell him? Did he tell Damien? From what I’ve observed, they’re the trio of the team—always together.

“Ares isn’t an easy person to understand,” he says after a while. “I’ve been friends with him for a long time, and even I don’t understand him sometimes.”

Rowan leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “But I do know this. Ares is one of the best people I know. Unfortunately, even if I try to talk to him…he isn’t a person anyone can influence.”

“Great,” I say with a small sarcastic smile.

Rowan shakes his head, lips pressing together.

“Look, he does what he thinks is best.” Rowan looks at me, serious now, but his eyes are soft. “He’s used to sacrificing his own well-being for others. He puts other people before himself if he thinks it’s what they need, even if it isn’t. Even if it hurts him.”

“I don’t think we’re talking about hips anymore,” I say quietly.

Rowan watches me for a moment before the corners of his lips curl into a soft smile.

“No, we’re not.”

The rink is cold. The kind of cold that seeps into your skin, into your bones. The kind that should snap me out of my thoughts, but it doesn’t. I’m not thinking about the temperature. I’m thinking about Ares.

I watch him from where I stand, tablet in hand, as the guys warm up on the ice.

He moves like a machine, like his hip isn’t messing him up. But I know a nasty hip pointer when I see one, and I know his body is screaming at him to stop. It’s not a serious injury; it’ll go away with some icing and rest, but it can get worse if he doesn’t treat it.

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