Page 144 of Wild Card 13

“You knew,” Kendrick said quietly.

Fraser’s jaw tightened. “I knew someone might come.”

“Ty know?” Thane asked.

“Whittaker told him there could be interest.”

Marion turned toward them. “Interest from whom?”

Nobody responded. That was answer enough.

Then the Northbend tunnel doors opened fully. The team exploded onto the ice.

The student section began screaming before the first skate touched the surface. The band launched into the fight song again. Players streamed around the rink in navy-and-white jerseys, pucks scattering ahead of them while the arena lights flashed across the glass.

I found number thirteen instantly. Ty accelerated out of the tunnel with his head tucked low beneath his helmet and his jersey already coming loose at one hip. He circled behind the net, collected a puck without breaking stride, and snapped it off the crossbar hard enough to send the sound ringing through the building.

Mase shouted something at him.

Ty laughed and shot another puck.

He looked exactly the same as he had at every other game.

Messy.

Fast.

Entirely certain the ice belonged to him.

Except he was not a kid anymore.

And I was not the girl who had kissed him at the edge of a frozen lake without knowing what his hands felt like against bare skin.

My gaze dropped involuntarily to those hands now. Dark gloves. White tape wrapped firmly around his wrists. Fingers flexing around his stick as he cut through the neutral zone.

Memory moved through me in one sharp, intimate rush. Those hands holding my hips. Those fingers trembling against my back afterward. The careful way he had touched my face when everything was over, as though tenderness required even more courage than wanting me had.

For several seconds, Ty skated through warmups without looking toward the stands. I told myself that was good. He needed to focus.

This was the biggest game of his life so far, and three men near center ice were watching every edge, every pass, every decision he made without the puck.

Then Ty crossed the blue line and lifted his head. His gazemoved over the crowd. He found our section on the third sweep. Something opened across his face. Not the wide grin he gave the student section. Not the cocky smile he aimed at opposing players when they tried to intimidate him.

Ty curved toward the boards beneath us. He slowed just enough to turn his left wrist outward.

A small black letter had been written across the white tape.

L

My breath caught.

His gloved hand touched the glass once. A single soft knock nearly lost beneath thousands of voices. Then his eyes lifted to mine. Ty winked. And pushed away before anyone else could understand that for one second, in the loudest building either of us had ever entered, he had made the entire game belong only to us.

CHAPTER 18

BUZZ

THEN