Page 21 of Twisted Play
“Missed you, man,” I said, pulling back so I could meet his eyes.
“Bullshit,” he answered with a grin. “We talked on the phone almost every day.”
“Like a couple of housewives,” Haruto teased. “Cole couldn’t go to sleep without his goodnight call.”
Cole swung at Haruto, slowly, lazily, with no expectation of actually making contact. I was so glad those two were getting along again. It’d been rough last year—nobody on the team knew Cole’d been to rehab after our sophomoreyear, and he’d been fighting—was still fighting—to win back the team’s respect.
Haruto dodged easily and caught me in a headlock. “Welcome back,” he said while rubbing my forehead with his fist, careful not to mess up my cornrows. “You two better invite me to your wedding.”
Cole’s answering laugh was free and easy. My eyes flicked to his, and I was startled at the warmth in them. I’d missed that fucker so much.
“Sure thing, Haruto. You and the rest of the team,” Cole said, catching and holding my gaze. “How was your flight?”
“Came straight from the airport,” I said, jerking my head toward the two suitcases behind me.
“Christ—you should have told me. I’d have booked you a flight yesterday,” Cole said, turning toward his locker so he could change.
“My brother would have paid after a lecture about thriftiness. But I’m here now.” The signs of fresh, untouched gear in my locker sent a thrill through me. This was the year everything would change. No more middle-of-the-pack for me.
Growing up, middle-of-the-pack would have been a luxury. If it weren’t for my older brother giving up his own dreams of playing in the NHL to study business and go into consulting, I might never have made it to Yorkfield. Hockey was expensive as shit, and he’d found a way to pay for the best coaches, the best equipment, everything I needed until I could stand on my own two feet, hopefully in the NHL next year. He’d given up his dreams to give me a chance to follow mine, and I couldn’t let him down. I couldn’t let it be for nothing.
He’d worked three jobs to pay for college while my parents were still broke and struggling, sending every pennyhome, first to my parents, then to pay for my hockey dreams. This year, I’d prove it wasn’t wasted on me, that I could contribute to the family instead of being just another expensive mouth for my brother to feed.
Cole laced up his skates beside me. “This year’s gonna be ours,” he said quietly. “I can feel it.”
The weight of expectation settled over me, but coming from Cole, it felt good, like together, we could accomplish anything.
Twenty minutes later, we stood on the ice, eager to get started.
Coach skated out to us, his massive frame commanding attention. With his hands clasped behind his back, he surveyed us like a general eyeing soldiers before battle.
“Gentlemen,” he began in his heavy Russian accent. The team quieted immediately. “Welcome back.”
Cheers erupted, but Coach’s sharp gaze silenced us.
“For the new players—I do not make inspiring speeches. I expect you to play your best every time you’re on the ice, and I expect you to treat your bodies with the respect they deserve when you’re not. I do not tolerate poor behavior, and I do not tolerate failure in the classroom or anywhere else.”
His words fell upon us like a warning, and a shiver of unease rippled down my spine. I looked around the crowd, identifying a handful of new players who ranged from pimple-faced kids to men who’d clearly spent a couple of years polishing their skills in a junior league before enrolling at Yorkfield U. One of them glanced nervously at Coach, and I hid a smirk.
“In return, I intend to take this team to another championship,” Coach continued, and we roared our agreement.
Impatient to start moving, especially after hours ofsitting on a plane, I waited as he introduced the coaching staff, and then the support staff, all familiar faces, except?—
“Eva Jackson is our student medical assistant this year,” he said. Green eyes that sparkled under the bright lights of the arena. Long, curly red hair pulled back in a French braid. Curves for days and days and fucking days. I couldn’t look away.
Beside me, Cole had gone utterly still, his jaw clenched tight. Did he know her? My eyes darted between him and Eva, a sense of unease building in my chest. His reaction was a sharp contrast to the warmth he’d shown me earlier, and it left me off balance.
“Free play,” Coach finally said. “Get warmed up.” A male student dumped a bucket of pucks on the ice, and the crowd scattered. Most of the student support staff made their way to the bench area. My eyes stayed glued to Eva, sure and confident as she took her place beside Dr. Parker, the head athletic physician.
Coach’s sharp whistle cut through the noise. “You! Jason! Your grip is sloppy—fix it!” he barked. One of the newer players flinched and scrambled to adjust. Coach turned his gaze on another player. “And you! Stop dragging your stick like a goddamned mop. Move!”
I couldn’t take my eyes off the new medical assistant. She was stunning, but it wasn’t just her looks that hooked me. It was the way she held herself, like she’d built walls so high no one dared approach. Her green eyes flicked over the ice, sharp and assessing, perfectly composed. I wanted to know everything about her.
Christ, look at her.Mine.The thought hit me like a slapshot to the chest. I didn’t know anything about her except her name, but every instinct I had was screaming that she belonged with me.
“Yo! Eyes on the puck,” Rami barked, firing one my way and jerking my attention from the striking woman in the stands. “Cute girls are a dime a dozen, remember? But this is your year, right?”
Rami was the team’s other starting winger, and like Cole, he’d already been drafted. He’d come in from a junior league and was bigger than just about anyone else on the team.
