Page 117 of These Wicked Hearts

Landon is the Otters’ backup goalie. It’s not that Grey hates him. It’s just that when Grey brought his sister around, he made it clear we were all supposed to fuck off. Landon did not fuck off. In fact, he fucked on. It’s taken Grey a while to trust him, and with what they dealt with from their father and then Alyssa’s deadbeat ex who left her and their brand-new baby when she was sixteen, Grey’s trust isn’t given out easily. Especially when it comes to her.

“He’s not the worst.” He rolls his eyes. “They’re getting married after the season’s over.”

A knock on the door interrupts us.

A guy stands there with brown hair and a short beard, wearing shorts and a tank top. “Sorry, I didn’t know you had company.”

“You’re good,” Grey says. “What are you doing here?”

“Working out,” he says. “Some practice before I head home.” His eyes keep passing to me before darting back to my friend.

Grey sighs. “Russo, this is my best friend⁠—”

“Atlas Sgarbossa,” he says immediately. “Yeah, I know. Wow. Oh wow.”

“Don’t fawn over him, his ego can’t handle it,” Grey mutters.

“No, please.” I grin. “Fawn away. Want me to do a spin for you?”

Grey groans.

The guy laughs. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too.”

“This is Hunter Russo. He’s our captain.”

“Oh, nice! How is he as a coach? A pain in the ass probably.” Grey shoves me playfully. “Want me to sign something?”

“Can you not?” Grey shakes his head.

Hunter laughs. “What are you doing here on the weekend?”

I hold up the jersey. “New jerseys.”

“Oh shit, these are much better. They gave us baby-blue ones. We had to return them and wear practice jerseys instead at our last game.”

“Don’t push yourself too hard. I want you fresh for next week.”

“You got it, Coach.” He looks between us and I laugh, grabbing a marker off Grey’s desk.

“What do you have?”

Hunter drops his drawstring bag, grabbing an old puck.

“What’s this?”

“I got it at an Otters game when I was thirteen. I take it everywhere for good luck,” he says.

I take the puck and look at my friend. “You haven’t signed it?” I uncap the marker with my teeth, shaking my head and signing my name. The silver sharpie pops against the black. I hand the puck to Grey, who’s glowering at me. “He’s no fun, right? Must be a hard-ass.” Then I hand him the marker and he reluctantly signs it.

“For your information, I didn’t sign anything because he never asked.” He grabs the cap from me and places the marker back on the desk. “I’m their coach. I’m not some superstar.”

“See, no fun.”

Hunter bites back a laugh.

“Alright. Go, have a good weekend.”