Page 70 of Her Rugged Guardian

“You’re off your game, Riley, and you know it.”

He rubbed his gloved hand across his nose, looking away from me as he shook his head. “Like I said, Jake. Why don’t you come down here and give me some pointers? Huh? Are you too afraid I’ll show you up?”

Maybe I’d egged on the moment, but the nastiness in his tone was enough to spur me on. I’d come here to skate. That’s what I planned on doing.

“Don’t have my twig with me.” Even though the hockey sticks were no longer made of wood, a lot of players still used the term.

“Hey, Bruno. Sit this one out so my bro here can use your stick. Will ya?”

Bruno skated closer, the true grinder of the Sabers glaring at me as he’d done from the day he’d stepped foot on the ice. “Sure thing. I’ll like to see if the old man can still play.” Bruno all but threw the stick in my direction, daring me to catch it.

Which I did.

I grinned in response before moving to one of the benches, yanking the skates closer, still able to feel the heat of my brother’s intense gaze. I fingered the stick, the ache of missing the sport more intense than I’d thought it would be after all this time.

“Aren’t you going to change?” Riley asked as he watched me shove my feet into the skates.

I was wearing jeans while the others were wearing sweats, the constriction of denim not uniform material. “Not necessary.”

“You’ve got a chip on that shoulder of yours larger than a boulder. You know that?”

There was no reason to answer. When I didn’t, he pushed away from the fence, returning to the ice. But not before cursing under his breath. I took my sweet time, which likely pissed him off even more, before grabbing the stick and heading for the ice. I wasn’t stupid enough to think the guys would take it easy on me.

Just getting my feet back on the ice was strange, enough so that I was stiffer than I thought I’d be. It had been a while since I’d worked out but I was still in decent shape. At least according tomy Cinnamon Girl. The name sure fit her and as had been the case for the last few days, it was tough to get her out of my mind.

I took a few turns around the ice, getting used to the feeling. I could tell all six guys were watching me intently, Bruno from the side as he leaned against the fence. When one of them slapped a puck in my direction, I could tell the player didn’t think my reflexes would be quick enough to snap it back in his direction. There was nothing wrong with my reaction times or the anger behind the shot, which ended up being a bardown that shocked the hell out of every man, especially my brother. The shot was one of those that oohed and ahhed the audience because the puck hit the crossbar, immediately going right into the net.

I spun around in a full circle, grinning when I came to a quick stop only a couple of feet in front of my brother, ice from the deep cuts of my skate’s sharp edges flying in his face.

While he grinned, the other boys teased him relentlessly.

“Whoa, dude. Your brother might be a better player than you.”

“Watch out, Widow Maker. Your days are numbered.” The nickname was one my brother had been gifted with after knocking an opposing team’s player out cold with a hard shot. The coach had insisted on the Intimidator, which had stuck in the press.

Riley wiped ice from his face, giving me a playful look in deference to my actions. “Game on, buddy. You better bring it or I’m going to beat your ass.”

“You got it. Bring it on.” I spun around again, immediately able to snag the puck. The glorious feeling of skating freely was something that couldn’t be described to anyone but those who’d stepped foot in the rink competitively. Whether speed skating,ice skating, or playing hockey, the high was something few people ever got a chance to experience.

The effect was just as powerful as it had been all those years ago, maybe even more so given my time spent off the ice. Only then I’d been the risk taker, landing my ass in the penalty box more times than I could count. My brother had fallen into my footsteps whether he wanted to believe it or not. The golden boy of hockey wasn’t going to be able to wear the halo for long. That was the way of things.

But for now, this was nothing but a friendly practice game.

Except we were all brutal with our shocks, which including more body checking than would ever be allowed in a real game. Bruno refused to stay on the sidelines, ripping the hockey stick out of another player’s hands. When he interrupted the game, stealing the puck, I could tell Riley was afraid I’d retaliate.

Instead, I continued playing the game. Hard. Within seconds, my over-exerted muscles ached. Even my lungs burned given I wasn’t used to this much exercise. Swinging a hammer was physical, but nothing like this. I’d need a shot of scotch and a handful of Tylenol, but I continued to push harder. That was the kind of man I’d become, nothing more than a machine.

The players grunted every time I managed to out flank them, several swearing me up and down for managing to show them up.

Minutes ticked into almost an hour, and I was sweating my ass off but the truth was I hadn’t enjoyed something this much in a long time.

I was dumped on my ass twice, which amused Riley and his buddies. To hell with them. That only made me work evenharder, pushing my body in ways it hadn’t been driven in far too long. I knew I’d be sore in the morning, but I honestly didn’t give a shit.

When I managed to make another score, the puck going between Bruno’s legs, he was immediately knocked down by one of the other players on purpose.

“Hey! That shit doesn’t fly in here,” I yelled before being forced to get in the middle of three guys.

Seconds later, they were laughing, ready to head off the ice. Bruno hesitated before heading in my direction. Without saying anything, he threw out his hand. I glanced down at the gesture before accepting it. But I didn’t stop there, punching the man hard in the face.

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