Page 85 of Crossing Lines

“Way to go, Jonah.” Archer patted my back.

“But if this shit gets out, could they retract your invitation?” Ace eyed me.

I hadn’t even thought of that. “I…don’t know.” I dropped my gaze to my oatmeal and pushed it around with my spoon, nausea pooling in my gut. That would be horrible. Through my teeth, I said, “If that happens, I swear I’ll beat the living shit out of that motherfucker.”

“You and me both.” Ace sneered. “Where the hell does this guy get off messing with you two like this? Why can’t he leave you both alone?”

With a shake of my head, I said, “I have no idea.” There had to be a way to stop the asshole. Wait a minute, I had all of them. “Guys.” I met each of their gazes around the table. “Weall need to keep an eye out. What he’s doing is, he’s leaving letters in the coaching staff’s mailbox. At least that’s how Coach Finley found out.” I wasn’t going to mention he’d also seen me leaving Ryan’s room. “If we can all stop by the rink during the day at various times, maybe we can catch the fucker.”

“So, we what, take turns guarding the place?” Mason stuffed a protein bar into his mouth, then chewed.

That was asking a lot when everyone had finals to study for on top of our grueling schedule. “Not maybe guard, but just stop by if you’re in the area and take a look around. Maybe go to practice a little earlier or stay a little later. Hell, I don’t know.” With a long exhale, I dipped my head. “Just keep an eye out for the guy.”

“Yeah, we’ll do that, Jonah.” Archer grabbed my hand resting next to my plate. “Won’t we, guys?” He looked everyone over. “If someone’s close by, use our squad text to let everyone know you’re stopping in, so we’re not doubling our efforts.”

Tyler let out a soft snort. “Think of all the cardio we’ll get in from the extra steps.”

“Yeah? Hell, maybe I’ll make it a point to run over there between every class.” Mason grinned around the room. “Better than running on a fucking treadmill if you ask me.”

“Okay, it sounds like we have our marching orders.” Ace beamed at me. “And if anyone sees the fucker, text the rest of us so we can collectively scare the living daylights out of him.” An evil smirk swept over his mouth.

“Hell, yes. I hope we do see him.” With a broad smile, Mason bit into his bar.

My heart warmed. I had the best friends. “Thanks, guys.”

The rest of the week,no one had seen Owen around the rink and now we’d landed in Sioux Falls, South Dakota forregionals. If we won these games, we’d be in St. Louis in two weeks for the Frozen Four.

As I stepped off our rented bus into the crisp night air, my gaze landed on Ryan, and I touched my nose, letting him know once again I was thinking of him. We’d spent a lot of time together at his place last week and still, it wasn’t enough. I wanted more of him. I wanted every night with him.

A soft smile teased Ryan’s lips and he turned to walk off with Coach Hammett. No doubt they were strategizing like crazy right now. We were playing Colorado State tomorrow night. One game each, all or nothing. We win or go home.

“Boehm, how are you feeling?” Coach Finley peered at me.

“Good. I feel rested, actually.” I hefted my duffel bag out of the storage compartment at the bottom of the bus. Funny, but Coach hadn’t said a word to me about Owen. Maybe he figured he didn’t need to.

“Perfect. I’m starting you tomorrow night.” He patted my shoulder and walked off, past tall trees, toward our colonial-style hotel, lit up like a beacon.

I stared after him. Holy shit, had I heard him right? I never started. Under my breath, I mumbled, “Thanks, Coach.”

“Who you talking to?” Mason stepped up beside me, duffel slung over his shoulder.

“Coach. He’s starting me tomorrow night.”

“Awesome. About time I got you and Richardson as starters.” He slapped my ass. “Come on, let’s go inside.”

The next night,I was on the ice for the starting puck drop, my stick down, legs twitching and ready to move. I wanted to shine. I wanted to show that fucker, Owen, he couldn’t hurt me or Ryan. We’d win these games and come home as division champions.

Hopkins glanced at me, sending me a sly grin. I knew that look. He was pumped and ready to go.

The puck dropped and Hopkins scrambled for it, then broke free, skating like his life depended on it toward Colorado’s goal. I raced beside him, huffing to catch up. The fucker was fast.

Colorado’s D-man beelined it for Hopkins and shoved him.

With a shout, Hopkins shot the puck at me.

It hit my stick with a satisfying thump, and I worked it down the ice. As one of their wingers skated up beside me, I dug in my skates and pivoted in a circle, then pushed the puck to Hopkins as he swung around out of nowhere. Fuck, he was good. No wonder he’d been drafted so early.

Hopkins flew through an opening and shot.

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