Page 17 of Stick By Me

“O-kay.” Lifting his brows, he turned on his heels and strode out the door toward the parking lot.

“I take it you didn’t drive him here?” Leo tugged on my hand, pulling me back into his chest.

Looking up into his dark eyes, I said, “I did, but I’m sure he’ll catch a ride with one of the other guys.” Jonah was good like that, knew how to handle situations without being told. Of course, he was like that on the ice, too.

“Okay.” Leo cocked his head, a coy smile spreading over his mouth. “I’m glad you’re taking me home.”

My heart pattered. I had to keep my wits about me. He was killing me here. “Let’s go.” I guided him to the door, and he pushed it open for me to pass through first, then he followed me to my SUV and we both climbed inside. “So, where do you live exactly?”

“You know the older neighborhood off Broadway and Rural?” He sank back into his car seat, then tapped on his phone. “Here, my phone will tell you where to go.”

“Okay.” I turned on the engine and drove out of the parking lot onto the main boulevard, taking in the long, squat plazas on either side of the road.

“So, tomorrow. What time do you think you’ll be at the show?” He turned his head to gaze out his window.

“We have an earlier game, so we should be there between nine and ten.” His phone told me to turn right, and so I did, entering an older neighborhood of bungalows, some with green, grassy yards and tall trees, others updated with rocks and desert plants.

“That’s the band house, where most of the Knot Me guys live.” Leo pointed out the windshield.

“Yeah?” I drove by the house with a full front yard of grass and a big tree. “Who mows the lawn?” Weird question, but it was hot-as-fuck out here in the summer and I couldn’t imagine a bunch of college guys wanting to do that.

“They have a neighbor kid they pay to do it.” Leo snickered, then rubbed his eyes. “Axel used to live there before…well, before he was shot in the mass shooting.” He tipped his head back on the headrest.

We passed a small playground, and the phone told me to turn left. “Oh yeah, I think Milo mentioned something about it to me.” Axel and his friend Silas had taken down the shooter. They should play hockey, with balls like that.

“Here, the house is here.” He pointed to a smaller, white bungalow. A front window spilled light onto the landscaping rock in the yard and a red Jeep was parked in the driveway.

“My brother and Remy are definitely home. That’s Axel’s Jeep.” He sighed.

I drove up next to the Jeep and parked my SUV, then twisted my lips. This was awkward all of a sudden. But we were friends, remember? This hadn’t been a date.

Leo turned to face me and leaned over the center console. “I had fun tonight, Archer, and thank you for driving me home.” He fixated on my mouth, biting the side of his lower lip.

With my pulse racing, I leaned closer to him. His breath whispered over my cheek. “I had fun, too. Tomorrow—” Fuck, I wanted to kiss him.

He swallowed hard, then drew back. “Looking forward to tomorrow. I’ll keep an eye on the game. Good luck.” He flung the car door open, jumped out and gave me a quick wave, then jogged to the front door of the house.

“Fuck.” I slapped my steering wheel. What the hell was I thinking?

The next nightwas the second game in our back to back with the U of A, and I was out on the ice, and we were down, one to two in the last few minutes of the third period. The Wildcats had changed up their offensive and I’d been having a hard time keeping the puck away from Ace. Now, bent over the ice, I held my stick tight and hoped to hell I was going to win this faceoff. We’d had a minor scuffle that led to the faceoff being deep in my zone and fucking Novak was notorious for winning these things and scoring.

Novak tapped his stick to the ice and growled. “You’re going down, Carlson. You and your fucking squad.” He threw me a glare, then fixated on the puck in the refs hand between us.

“Yeah? Just like the guy I went down on last night?” I snorted. I hadn’t, but fuck if he knew that. I breathed in deeply, focusing on the puck. When was the fucker going to drop it?

“Come on, Carlson. Fuck that guy!” Hopkins called out behind me.

The puck dropped.

I scrabbled for it, hitting Novak’s skates, his stick, the puck.

Picking it off, he blew past me in a blur of white jersey.

“Fuck!” I skated after him. He was bringing it to Ace.

Hodge, my other half, was there, skating and waiting for his chance to get the puck back.

Novak shot the puck to his other winger.

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