Page 33 of Price of Victory
I grabbed my gear bag and headed for the door, trying to push those thoughts out of my mind. Whatever happened at practice, whatever came next between us, I would deal with it when I got there.
But as I waited for the elevator, I found myself smiling despite everything. The conversation with my mother, the family pressure, the guilt about my father—all of that was still there, still waiting to be dealt with.
But Rhett’s text had made me laugh, and somehow, that felt like hope.
Maybe that had to count for something.
THIRTEEN
RHETT
The ice feltdifferent under my skates today, like it was crackling with the same energy that had been humming under my skin since I’d woken up this morning. Every stride felt purposeful, every movement charged with anticipation that I was trying desperately to keep under control.
I’d been thinking about Aiden’s response to my text all day, that cocky reply about expensive cologne and success that was so perfectly him it made me want to laugh and shake him at the same time. The easy banter between us felt natural in a way that should have been impossible, given everything that had happened between us, but somehow wasn’t.
Now, watching him glide across the ice during warm-ups with that fluid grace that made hockey look effortless, I found myself remembering exactly why I’d been fighting this attraction for so long. He was beautiful in motion, all controlled power and confident precision, and knowing what he looked like underneath all that gear was making it impossible to concentrate on anything else.
“Morrison!” Coach Webber’s voice cut through my distracted thoughts. “You planning to join us for practice, or are you just here to admire the scenery?”
Heat flooded my cheeks as I realized I’d been standing motionless near the boards, obviously staring at Aiden. “Sorry, Coach. Just working out some muscle tension.”
“Work it out on the ice. We’re running checking drills again. Same pairs as last week.”
Of course we were. The universe had a sense of humor that bordered on cruel.
I skated over to where Aiden was waiting, noting the way his eyes tracked my movement with an intensity that made my pulse quicken. He looked perfectly composed, like nothing had changed between us, but I could see something different in his expression. A heat that hadn’t been there before, a knowledge that made my stomach flip with nervous anticipation.
“Ready for round two, Morrison?” he asked as I approached, his voice carrying just enough innuendo to make my breath catch.
“Try to survive,” I shot back, settling into position across from him.
The first check was exactly what I’d expected. Hard, technical, perfectly executed within the bounds of what Coach considered acceptable contact. But when Aiden slammed into me, there was something extra in it, a force that sent me stumbling backward harder than necessary.
“Shit, you okay?” he asked immediately, skating closer with genuine concern in his voice.
The question annoyed me more than it should have. “I’m fine. What do you think I am, made of glass?”
“Just checking. You seemed a little distracted during warm-ups.”
“I wasn’t distracted.”
“No? Because from where I was standing, it looked like you were thinking about something pretty intensely. Someething nice?”
The way he said it, with that knowing smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, made it clear he knew exactly what I’d been thinking about. Heat crept up my neck, and I had to resist the urge to wipe that smug expression off his face.
“Your turn,” I said instead, taking possession of the puck and lining up for my approach.
When I hit him, I made sure to put every ounce of frustration and want and confusion into the contact. The impact sent him sliding backward, but he recovered with that damned grace of his, already grinning before he’d fully regained his balance.
“Now, that’s more like it,” he said, close enough that only I could hear him. “I was starting to think you’d gone soft on me.”
“Never.”
“Good. I’d hate to think last night made you weak in the knees.”
The words sent a bolt of heat straight through me, and I had to grip my stick tighter to keep my hands from shaking. This was dangerous territory, flirting on the ice where anyone could overhear, but I couldn’t seem to stop myself. “The only thing that’s weak is your trash talk,” I said, already lining up for the next repetition.
“Is that a challenge?”
