Maxim (Carolina Reapers 10)

Maybe she’d be ready for something like the gala. My attendance at the charity event was mandatory, but I didn’t want to go without her. That was part of being in a relationship, right? But was this really a relationship?

“Hey,” Brogan snapped his fingers in front of my face. “You here?”

I jolted. “Guess I was a little lost in my thoughts.” And yet somehow I’d already pulled on my shin pads and breezers.

“Well, pay attention,” he nodded to where Coach McPherson was speaking, reminding us of the weaknesses in the Florida defense.

Fuck, I really must have been distracted to block out Coach.

“You have a woman, don’t you?” Dad’s accusations from the other week blared through my head. “That’s what has you so unfocused. I thought we talked about this in the off-season. I thought we agreed that you’d focus on the game and only the game this year.”

He was wrong. Evie didn't have me unfocused. She was the best kind of good luck charm, and my favorite part of coming home. But I couldn’t deny that I was distracted, especially with Brogan side-eying me like I’d lost my mind.

Coach finished up his pregame pep talk, and I got the rest of my gear on, finishing by tugging my jersey over my head and shoulder pads.

“This is game five, gentlemen,” Coach said with a grin. “And it’s up to you if there’s a game six. Personally, I’d like to take tomorrow night off.”

There was a round of cheers as we agreed with him.

Twenty minutes later, we were on the ice, lined up across from Florida. I rolled my shoulders as the arena spotlights whirled over the darkened ice, where the tech crew had projected a giant reaper swinging a scythe.

One by one, the announcers called out the starting lineup.

A surge of pride flew through my veins when they called Sterling’s name and he skated up to the line in his goalie pads.

I glanced to the right, the seats right behind the bench that my father had bought out for the season, and noticed his begrudging clapping. My stomach tangled and gravity shifted beneath my skates as he arched a brow at me, as if to remind me that he’d be watching every move. Every play.

Like I don’t already fucking know.

“At six-foot-two, your starting center, Carolina Reaper, Maxim Zolotov!” The announcement fired up the crowd to a fever pitch and I skated forward in the spotlight, stopping at the red line twenty feet from my brother.

He nodded at me, and I nodded back while they announced Cannon, and for just that second, it was just us on that line, two guys who had forged a bond to spite our shared genetics and the separate houses we’d been raised in.

My gaze swung to the family section, but the stands were dark, making it hard to make out Evie’s face among the crowd.

Then the announcements finished, the lights came up, and there she was, right next to Fiona. Evie smiled, and gravity adjusted. She didn’t care if I missed a shot, or blew a play. She didn’t care if we won or lost this game other than its effect on my happiness. She didn’t care about the number on my jersey, just the guy in it, and that knowledge had me grinning ear to ear.

She waved. I waved back.

Then she turned, giving me her back, and smiled over her shoulder.

There it was, my name stretching across her shoulder blades in one of my jerseys, not her usual hoodie. Some of the other girls had their guys’ jerseys tailored. They sexied them up or sized them down for a closer fit, but not my girl. She didn’t need a single alteration for me to know exactly what she was working with under that jersey. And everything was mine.

So fucking hot. I mouthed the words to her and swore I could see her blush, even from here. I loved that she hadn’t changed it, just like she never pushed to change me. She was the only person I’d ever met who accepted me exactly as I was, even in my worst moods.

“Zolotov!” Coach yelled from the bench.

Shit! The entire team was back at the bench, huddled before the first play.

I took off and covered the distance in a few strides, stopping at the edge of the huddle.

“Nice of you to join us,” Sterling teased. “See something in the audience you liked?”

“Shut up.” I shoulder-bumped him hard enough that he had to catch his balance as Coach continued the quick words of wisdom he was known for.

Then I made the mistake of glancing just above his head, to the glass behind the bench, where my father glared down at me, his arms folded across his chest. The look on his face said he would have come through the glass if this game had been at any other level.