Page 45 of The Assist
He’s up. Skating off like it’s nothing. But I see it; the stiff movement, the slight favouring of his left side. Not the shoulder again. Not now.
“Winters!” I call as he slides onto the bench. He hears me, glancing back with that same cocky half-smile, likedon’t worry, Clarke, I bounce, but it’s hollower than usual.
I beckon him over. He leans forward, resting his stick against the wall.
“You alright?”
“Peachy,” he says, but there’s a tightness in his jaw.
“Don’t lie to me.”
He doesn’t. Not right away, anyway. His eyes flick to Sophie, who’s now staring openly. “That your friend?”
I nod. “Try not to charm her. She bites.”
“Looks like she could bench press me.”
“She teaches a spin class and is currently assessing your glutes.”
He snorts. “Great.”
Sophie waves from behind the plexiglass, mouthing something that looks suspiciously likeHe’s hot.
I clear my throat, stepping into his space to check his shoulder. He stiffens but doesn’t pull away. My hands move over familiar territory; muscle, tendon, joint. The tension beneath his skin feels electric.
“You need to come see me after the game.”
He nods once. “You gonna kiss it better?”
My eyes snap to his, but he’s already turning back to the ice.
The rest of the game blurs. I watch, but I don’t see. My focus is narrowed to one thing, one person, and the irrational need to keep him in one piece.
When the final whistle blows, I exhale, blowing out the tension I’ve been holding for hours.
The team filters off the ice, adrenaline still running high. Sophie’s on her feet, clapping enthusiastically.
“Okay, I get it,” she says as I join her. “He’s all broodyand bleeding charisma. But also, maybe fix him first, and then climb him like a jungle gym?”
“Sophie.”
“What? I’m just saying, there’s tension. Anyone with eyes could see it.”
I open my mouth to argue, but Dylan appears, sweaty and flushed, helmet in one hand.
“This her?” he asks, nodding toward Sophie.
“Guilty,” she beams, offering her hand. “You’re shorter than I expected. But in a strong, capable kind of way.”
Dylan raises an eyebrow. “Uh. Thanks?”
Sophie shrugs. “Just keeping it honest. Mia’s a fan, but don’t get cocky.”
He glances at me, amused. “She always like this?”
“Worse, usually.”
“I like her.”
