Page 50 of Stick Handled

Memories of him from last night flash through my mind, and I feel my cheeks heat. I shouldn’t think about this here.

I wince as I shift in my seat, the soreness still fresh, like every part of me is too tender to move without feeling it, feeling him. I shift uncomfortably again as I watch Damien plow through his opponent. His movements are fluid yet brutal, and he’s looking every bit the enforcer. Damien has a reputation for a reason.

He skates up the ice, easily blocking another opponent with a flick of his stick, shooting a look over his shoulder at his team, his jaw set in a determined line. There’s a rawness to him today, fierce, unstoppable, like nothing and no one can touch him. His eyes are locked on the puck, but even from here, I can tell he’s aware of everything happening around him.

Next to him, number 8 flashes through.Ares.He’s even more intense today. He’s slamming guys into the boards with a viciousness I haven’t witnessed before. The whole rink feels like it’s shaking from the force of it. When Ares checks someone into the glass, I swear the guy’s entire body jolts. Ares doesn’t give a shit. His face is a mask of fury behind the helmet, and when he gets the puck, it’s like watching a bull in a China shop. He’s not looking to score but to crush anything that stands in his way.

Rowan is quieter, more strategic. He’s everywhere, weaving through opponents, setting up plays with a flick of his stick, faking turns that his teammates should be used to by now, but he’s faster.

I can’t look away, even though my body still feels like it’s made of Jell-O after last night. I can barely keep my knees together without wincing.

But as I keep watching, I see Ares’ aggression ramp up, and something feels different. He’s pushing harder, shoving opponents down in a way that’s almost reckless. Ares isn’t reckless. He’s the opposite. What’s gotten to him today?

He’s not just playing to win the practice game; he’s playing to dominate, to send a message. I have no idea what’s going on, but it’s clear something’s off.

I settle into my seat, watching the ice, captivated by the sheer brutality of it all.

And Rowan’s afraid of me figure skating again.I huff out an annoyed laugh as I keep watching.

They’re playing like it’s war out there, and everyone else on the ice is just an obstacle. The team is split in two, jerseys clashing as they rush up and down the rink, carving lines across the ice with sharp precision.

Damien’s careful with his teammates, guiding his body around them when he needs to, blocking them with just enough force to assert his presence but not enough to send anyone crashing.

But Ares keeps playing hard, not caring that this is a practice game and his opponents are actually his teammates. He slams into anyone in his path and looks like he’s on a mission to obliterate everything between him and the puck.

My eyes track Damien as he cuts across the ice, his focus zeroed in on the goal. Just as he swings his stick to catch a pass, I see Ares charging toward him like a freight train. There’s no hesitation, no mercy. Ares plows into Damien full force, slamming him hard against the boards with a bone-rattling crash.

Damien’s roar of pain echoes through the rink, and I feel it like a punch to my gut. Before I even realize it, I’m on my feet, my voice escaping in a panicked shout.

“Damien!”

He’s gripping the boards, his face twisted in pain, and for a moment, it looks like he might stay down. But then Rowan skates up to Ares, shoving him lightly in the chest, his tone hard as I hear him bark, “Take it easy, man. What’s the matter with you today?”

Ares doesn’t even look at Rowan. He just glances down at Damien and reaches out his hand, offering to help him up, but Damien swats it away, pulling himself to his feet. He straightens, rolling his shoulders with a wince, and then looks up right at me.

Our eyes lock, and my heart stumbles. His gaze is silently reassuring me, telling me he’s fine. And then his eyes travel to my T-shirt, his T-shirt, under my unzipped hoodie. He grins that cocky, maddening grin before turning his attention back to the game, heading toward the center like nothing happened.

I’m still reeling, barely able to catch my breath, when I hear a voice next to me.

“Men on fire today, huh?”

I turn, startled, to find the blonde girl from the parking lot from a few days ago standing there, her eyes on the ice, a sly little smile playing on her lips.

“Yeah, I guess,” I say, trying to sound casual, though I know I don’t. My voice is shaky, still thick with concern.

Why is she even talking to me?

She doesn’t look at me, but she’s studying me out of the corner of her eye. “Must be exciting, watching your first hockey practice up close.” Her tone is sweet but laced with something that prickles at my skin. Passive-aggressive, with just enough venom to remind me she’s not here to be friendly.

“It’s not my first time watching,” I say, trying not to let her get under my skin. There's no point in telling her that my brother’s down there, and my… Damien.

“So, you and Damien, huh?” she asks with a huff. I arch a brow, and she laughs. “Oh, please. I saw you in the parking lot a few days ago. He’s good, isn’t he?” She gives me a mischievous look. I turn back to the ice, staying silent and still wondering why the hell she’s talking to me.

She turns, giving me a pointed look. “The guys are really going at it today. Guess that’s what happens when you’repassionateabout the game.” Her eyes flick over to Damien, who’s back in the thick of it, already tangling with an opponent, showing no sign of the hit he just took from Ares. “Or about other things.”

There’s a glint in her eyes, something knowing, something that digs under my skin, despite my efforts not to let it. She leans closer, her tone dropping to a mock whisper.

“But you already know Damien has a…strong track recordwhen it comes to his passions, don’t you?”

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