Page 129 of Secrets on Ice

“Fuck,” he groans against my neck.

It’s the last night of the off-season, and we both know it. He fucks me hard and deep, one hand braced beside my head, the other gripping my thigh and keeping me open for him. Every thrust is rough, deliberate, the sound of skin meeting skin filling the room. I dig my nails into his back and meet him stroke for stroke, chasing the edge.

“You feel so fucking good,” he rasps, voice low and filthy. “Taking me like this, like you need it as bad as I do.”

“I do,” I moan my confession.

I come first like I always do, hard, clenching around him with a broken cry of his name. He follows a few strokes later, burying himself deep with a low, guttural groan against my neck as he comes.

We stay like that for a long moment, breathing hard, his forehead pressed to mine.

Neither of us says what we’re both thinking.

Tomorrow everything changes.

34

EMBER

Opening night of the season and the arena is electric. The lights are brighter, the music louder, the crowd already on its feet even though warm-ups have barely started. The family box is packed with moms, girlfriends, and friends. Everyone who matters is here. Harper is still home with Bastien, but she’s on FaceTime with Issy to get updates. Jo is down with the medical staff near the players, and Collette is running around with the social media girls.

Cassidy and I walk in wearing our jerseys supporting our brothers, nobody blinks twice.

Except Sully.

I feel his eyes on me the second he skates out for warm-ups. Even from up here in the box, I can see the way his jaw tightens. What is that all about? He does a full circle of the ice, stick tapping against the boards, and every time he passes our section, his gaze finds me again. Like he can’t help it. I force myself to look away and focus on the ice, on the rest of the team, on anything that isn’t the way Sully’s shoulders stay rigid every time he glances at the box.

The game starts, and the crowd explodes. We are up on our feet cheering before the first shift is even over. Emmett wins the opening face-off, and the puck goes straight back to Sully. He carries it over the blue line, fakes left, then threads a perfect pass to Fish who one-times it. The goalie gets a pad on it, but the rebound kicks out, and Pierre is there, burying it top shelf. The horn blares and the arena loses its mind.

1–0 Mavericks thirty-seven seconds in.

The rest of the period is pure chaos in the best way. Bouch throws a massive hit that has the entire box screaming. Nelly blocks a shot with his ankle and somehow stays on his feet. Sully is everywhere, killing penalties, quarterbacking the power play, throwing his body in front of everything. Every time he’s on the ice, I feel him glance up at the box, just for a second, like he’s looking for someone. Is it me?

Second period, the other team pushes back hard. They score twice in under three minutes, and suddenly we’re down 2–1. The mood in the box tightens. Then Emmett takes a pass from Evan at the point, walks in, and rips a laser past the goalie’s glove. Tie game. The crowd is so loud I can feel it in my chest.

Third period is war.

Sully scores the go-ahead goal on a breakaway, decking the goalie so hard the poor guy ends up on his ass. Fish adds an empty-netter with forty seconds left.

Final score 4–2 Mavericks.

The horn sounds and the boys pour onto the ice. The screams filling the arena are deafening.

We win.

What a great start to the season.

After the game, the boys all head to Murphy’s to celebrate the win. The place is packed, fans, staff, and half the team is already there by the time we arrive. And of course, the puck bunnies are out in force. A group of them is already circling Bouch and Nelly near the bar. Two more have claimed the seats on either side of Fish until Collette shows up and they scatter like smoke. One particularly determined blonde makes a beeline for Sully the second he walks in. I watch her put a hand on his arm and laugh at something he didn’t say. He gives her the polite, distant smile he uses on a woman he isn’t interested in.

He’s single, he can do what he likes, I tell myself.

When I look over to my bestie, I notice something has caught her attention. When I follow her line of sight, she is looking at a puck bunny and Nelly flirting.

I elbow her. “You’re staring.”

“No, I’m not,” she bites back.

“Yeah, you are. Are you okay?” I ask her.