Page 122 of Offside

The plates were in the sink and Ryan was rinsing them and I was watching him, arms crossed, having arrived at what seemed like the obvious conclusion on the walk between the table and the kitchen. I was Griffin’s sister. I knew the exact frequency of his anger, how to move through it, when to let it land and when to redirect. I could manage this for him. Take the brunt of the ire he was sure to receive. The silence stretched, or at least it felt like it did.

“I can help you keep the peace. He’s my brother.” My stomach tightened at the thought of not being there when the cat was let out of the bag we’d kept it in.

Ryan turned the water off and set the plate in the rack. “No.” The expression on his face made it evident he had more to say on the topic, but I tried to interrupt anyway. He dried his hands on a dish towel then gave me his full attention.

“Listen to me, solsken.” He leaned back against the kitchen island across from me, arms loose at his sides. Not defensive, just settled. “Griffin and I are on that ice together every night. We travel together. We eat together. We have history too. We have to trust each other in situations where trust is the difference between a goal and a breakdown in the team dynamic and our careers depend on that trust. That’s not like a regular friendship. Which we also have. He’s been my friend for over a decade. What I did goes beyond the personal. I looked my teammate in the eye, over and over, and I lied. That’s mine to answer for. Not yours. I owe him more than that.”

I opened my mouth.

“You’re his sister,” Ryan said, holding his hand up again so he could finish. “He’ll forgive you because that’s what family does. Especially a family like yours. But me—” His expression broke, briefly. “What he feels about me when this comes out is going to depend on how it comes out. If you tell him, it’s a kindness. If I tell him, it’s respect. And right now, after everything, I owe him respect more than kindness.”

I studied him for a long moment. The logic of it was sound. I hated it for that reason.

“This week?” I asked, knowing I would have to prepare myself for whatever fallout was to come.

“This week.” He let out a breath and then smiled. “I don’t think it can wait anymore.”

I uncrossed my arms. “Okay.”

“Okay?” He raised an eyebrow at me and pressed his body against mine.

“I don’t want to wait either, Ryan. I’m scared. But I agree with you. It’s time. And what we have…it isn’t nothing.” It wasn’t totally okay with me, but his points were valid in the world of bromance and I meant what I said. I knew what we had was real and Ryan showed me every day he felt the same.

“Come here, solsken.” He gripped me under my ass and lifted me onto the kitchen island like I was light as a feather, then kissed me. “It’s going to be fine. And then you’re going to be mine, and everyone will know.”

I squealed for one second, then he began nipping and licking at my neck. Oh my god. He positioned himself between my legs and kissed me deeply, causing a moan to escape from my lips. God, his kisses made me want to do unholy things with him. His hands moved down my sides and settled on my thighs.

In a low, gravelly tone, he said, “Open your legs for me, solsken. I need second breakfast.” I gasped as he pushed my legs wide apart and leaned back to watch him. Then I was sprawled out on the kitchen island like an all you can eat buffet while he devoured his second breakfast.

I was at the arena that evening. Not working, just there for the game, wearing Ryan’s jersey. Now, even if I had a night off, I wanted to watch my team. My guys. Nobody even noticed what jersey I was wearing except Ryan of course.

I was two rows up from the bench, in the section reserved for staff to watch who didn’t really fit on the bench for the entire game.

The sound of a fall was distinct in a hockey arena. The different quality of a body going down wrong, the silence that followed before the whistle. But the sound when a goalie was injured? That was something else entirely. I was already standing when I identified the weight of what happened, and the crowd reacted too.

Griffin.

Not a collision. A stop, a pivot, and then his knee buckling on the cut. I watched him go down and my stomach dropped while my professional brain engaged simultaneously.

I was down the stairs and through the gate before anyone had noticed.

He was being helped up by teammates when I got to the tunnel. I fell into step without asking. The team physician was already there. I caught his eye and he gave me the small nod that meant it’s yours if he comes off the ice, the understanding we’d developed over months of working together.

Griffin played the next eleven minutes of the second period.

He shouldn’t have. I knew it the moment he pushed off the boards to get back in net, the slight hitch in his push-off that nobody else would clock from the stands. I clocked it from where I was standing.

With four minutes left in the period, Griffin made a save. Clean stop on a wrist shot from the right circle, covered it, whistle blew. Routine. Dead puck, players clearing the crease.

Except one of them didn’t clear.

I saw it before I understood what was happening—a Dallas forward, number eighteen, coming in late, well after the whistle, and driving his shoulder into Griffin’s back while he was still down on the ice covering the puck. Not incidental. Not a momentum thing. Deliberate, late, and aimed directly at a goalie who was already hurt and who everyone in that building could see was already hurt.

The arena went quiet for exactly one second.

Then Eli Kovac dropped his gloves.

He was across the crease before number eighteen had fully straightened up, and he didn’t say anything first, didn’t posture, didn’t give the guy a chance to explain himself. He grabbed him by the collar and hit him twice, clean and hard, and the bench erupted. Ryan was over the boards and then back, held by two teammates, the captain instinct warring with every other instinct he had. Cole was already in the secondary scrum that had broken out along the boards, two Dallas players and Kasperi tangled together, Cole in the middle of it with his jersey getting pulled over his head.