Page 111 of Ice Queen

Pushing back onto the ice, my blades meet the freshly zambonied ice, gliding with ease to the bench. I freeze for a fraction of a second when I see Kaitlyn back in the row, but next to her sits my sister and Savannah Collins. All three of them glaring lasers into the back of Sterling’s head, which can only mean one thing: She told them, and they’re pissed.

I nudge Reed, who looks over his shoulder. His eyes widen when they land on Cecilia, he clears his throat, and turns to me. “I thought she didn’t like sitting down here.”

My head tilts to the side, confused as to how he’d know that. He looks over his shoulder once more, a deeper shade of pink traveling up his neck. One definitely not caused by exertion.

“What’s got you all flustered?” I ask, my eyes narrowing on my sister who is shielding her eyes with her hand, slinking down into her seat. “Is she hiding from you?”

“Man, now isn’t the time.”

“Uhh, that’s my sister, dude,” I hiss.

He shakes his head, but doesn’t get another word out before his line hits the ice. I turn to look over my shoulder one more time, and my sister is peeking through her fingers. When she meets my gaze, she sits up straighter and waves. What the hell is going on there?

Kaitlyn shifts in her seat, her fingers twirling in the fabric of the jersey sleeve, a tell I’ve memorized at this point. Her eyes are hard, mouth pulled down into a slight frown, but her eyes aren’t on me. They’re on Sterling, the same kind of focus I recognize in myself: Cataloguing, calculating, waiting. He feels it, and his gaze swings to her. The same predatory look he had at Sports Romance Night crosses his face. Suddenly, it clicks, it was her he was looking at that night. My hand tightens around my stick, but my girl doesn’t even flinch, just boldly holds his stare.

Atta girl.

“She looks damn good in my jersey, huh?” I say, desperate to get his attention off of her.

His head swings in my direction, brows pulled low over his eyes.

One corner of my lips pulls up into a smirk, my mouthguard dangling out the other side. My eyes hold his, and I pray to God that they’re sparkling, reflecting every ounce of love I have for my woman right back at him. I hope he knows how lucky he is to be out here instead of off the ice, where I can do and say the things I really want to.

The sound of skates sliding to a stop pulls me from our stare-off. I toss Kait a wink, loving the blush that creeps into her cheeks before getting back on the ice. I laugh all the way down the ice.

This asshole has no idea what he got himself into.

Two minutes left in the third period, two minutes until I get to hold that cup in the air, two minutes until I get to kiss my woman in front of everyone here. I’ll be spending every second of free time with the woman who currently has her hands laced together under her chin. Even from here, I can see the tears in her eyes. Whether that be because it’s too damn loud in here and she’s uncomfortable, damn it, I should have thought of that beforehand, or because she’s genuinely happy, I don’t know.

But in two minutes, she’ll be plastered to the front of me, my lips sealed over hers. And that feels like the better prize. The whistle blows, and I step out the door onto the ice, stick laid across my thighs as I set up at the circle.

“You’ve been playing a clean game, Samuels.” Their captain, Brad Mavens, hits the front of my skate with his stick.

“Mavens.” The ref warns.

He licks across the front of his mouthguard, shrugging when he lowers his stick. “Just saying, I’d be on my best behavior if I had a stunner like that in the front row for me.”

In through your nose. Out through your mouth. I repeat, dragging breaths in over and over for what feels like forever. The puck finally hits the ice, and I smack it away.

I’m not one to back away from a fight, but I have other things to handle right now. Win, get my girl, figure out what Sterling wants, and what his freaking motive is for all this. Like I don’t already know it's her. I just can’t figure out how he got here, and why I was the target. He was around for months before I ran into her again.

The quick hiss of ice sprays as I stop hard and change directions, the cold bites at my lungs, but it doesn’t pull me into a spiral, not anymore. The puck is going back and forth between Monroe, Wilder, and Hunt. They don’t have an opening yet. But I see one forming, and as soon as the clock hits thirty seconds, I yell, “Run it back.”

Monroe’s stick taps twice in rapid succession, letting me know he heard me.

They move fast, the puck zigzagging until it finds me in the center right before the red line. I haul ass down the middle, legs burning as I dodge a defender to my left. I wind up, selling the shot hard enough that he tries to block it, his weight shifts, and seconds before he shoves at my shoulders, Hunt slides in behind me and pulls the puck clean off my stick.

It flies into the bottom right corner, and for a second, everything is silent. The goal horn doesn’t even register before the crowd reacts. The wall of sound hits me like a physical thing, sound that months ago would have had me racing for the locker room, clawing at my gear.

My brain is half a second behind my body, which is already dropping my gloves and stick into the air at the same time my feet move, speeding into the huddle of my teammates in the corner.

We won. We freaking won.

I don’t even feel my helmet leave my head. Someone hits me from the side as more of our teammates join in. Soon there’s bodies everywhere, a dog pile of two-hundred-pound men screaming in each other's faces, and I’m in the middle laughing like a damn teenager with his first crush, all while pressed into someone's shoulder pad.

I don’t know how long we’re stuck in this pit, but when I surface, the first thing I find is her. That damn pull in my chest guiding me to her like I was always meant to be hers.

Kait’s hands are pressed over both ears, eyes wide, and then her smile breaks through. Real, stunning, and just for me. Something in my chest cracks clean open.