“Okay, bye.”
“Bye, baby,” he says and then the line goes dead. Laying my phone against my chest, I know I should be completely freaked out. I should be running for the hills.
But instead, I think I just f
ell even more for Jace Sinclair.
Shit.
I love the ice in the Bullies’ arena.
I’m not really sure what it is about this ice, but I love it. It’s my favorite out of every surface of ice I’ve ever played on. I’ve played on a lot, too, even had my own little rink at home growing up, but nothing compares to this ice. It catches my skates perfectly, my stick glides effortlessly on it, there a banner on the wall for the most goals scored in a season with my name on it, and I just feel good when I’m on this ice.
I think it’s because Jude and Jayden both played on this ice and went to the NHL afterward. It’s my stepping-stone to the goal I’ve worked for all my life, and that thought is overwhelming. My brothers owned this ice, led the players on it to victory, and taught me key plays on it. I’ll never forget the countless hours I spent here with Jude and Jayden when I was in high school. They’d drive me up here for a little stick and play, just to keep me fresh between tournaments. Those are some of my favorite memories. Just me and my brothers, tearing up the ice.
Then last year, Jayden worked me to the bone to make me better. When Jude was in town, he’d come play too. It was great and those are moments I hold in my heart. Even with Jude considered better than us because he had made it already, he never threw that in our faces. He pushed us… Yeah, he teased us, but his goal was to motivate us. He did and then Jayden joined him out there. As much as I want what they have right now, my time is coming because of their love, their support. It is something I’ll never forget. Nor will I forget when I would score on them, or when the roles were reversed and I’d show them a new trick. Those are the kinds of things that stick with me. The long talks in the locker room, the brotherly teasing, and the promise of a future of us three in the NHL together. That’s my end goal, and it’s coming.
All because of them. Because they are my best friends.
So yeah, this is my favorite place on earth.
And it’s my year to follow in their footsteps. It’s my time. It’s my turn to lead this group of guys to the championship and beyond. To be a strong presence on the ice, to show the scouts what they need, to go first. To be the best. To be just like Jude and Jayden Sinclair. I know I’m ready to be in the big leagues with my brothers; I’m ready to make my mom proud. To make Jude and Jayden proud.
But even with all that, and knowing that I’m home, I wish like hell I was with Avery.
I know, insane, but I can’t stop thinking about her. She has the sexiest voice I have ever heard. I love when she sings, I do. But when that girl talks, all low and with purpose, it makes my cock rock hard and my world spin. She is something, that’s for sure, and I can’t wait to be done here so I can see her again.
When the whistle blows, it pulls me from thinking of Avery and on to what Coach Moore is saying. I still can’t look him in the eye, though. All I see is him touching or kissing my mom, and soon, I’m gagging. It’s weird, like, really weird. But he’s my coach so I try to pay attention, while trying not to make eye contact. It’s tough because Coach Moore is a look-into-your-soul kind of guy when he talks. Even when it’s only about plays, you know he means business just by the way he looks at you.
So, needless to say, I’m dying.
“Sinclair, Reeves, and Gordon, line one,” he says and Markus fist-pumps me, a grin on his face.
“One-way ticket into the draft.”
I nod, returning his grin. He’s right. Gordon is a senior and a damn good player. He has bypassed the draft for three years now because he doesn’t want it. He wants to be a lawyer but enjoys playing, and he’s awesome. I can’t hate on him either for not wanting to go into the draft. Different strokes for different folks. Also means more space for Markus and me. As long as all three of us stay healthy, we are in. No doubt about it.
“You know it, one and two right here.”
Markus scoffs at that. “I’m one, you’re two.”
“Come on, dude. You know the truth,” I tease back and he laughs.
“Whatever, and since you’re in full girl-mode now, don’t cry when I beat you.”
Dick. I glare. “Bring it, Reeves.”
He taps his shin when the whistle blows, and we all get into position, waiting for the whistle to blow again for the start of the play. When it comes, I’m at ease and at home as we run the play like it’s meant to be run. I’ve been doing this my whole life; it’s automatic to me, and man, I love it. This is where I want to be. This is my life. But then Avery is there, smiling at me in my head, and I have no clue why.
I shouldn’t be thinking of her. I should be playing. But instead, I’m thinking of the way her hair felt in my hands and how she nuzzled my neck as she slept. Jesus, that girl could be a big disturbance in my life. She could break me. I know this, but there is no other way of going about this. I have to see where this is heading because I’m pretty sure it’s going to be somewhere awesome. Where life is damn good. That’s what I want. Her words from before come crashing into me—that we are two different people on two different paths, but I don’t care. I think I want to merge our roads, and I feel we can. Usually, when I feel something, I’m right.
Hell, I’m always right.
When practice is over, I’m exhausted. Stumbling back to the Bullies’ house, I crash into bed but only after I set my clock to wake me for Avery’s gig tonight. Shit, what time was that? Opening a text, I type her name and then text her.
Me: What time do I need to be there?
Avery: My time slot is 8-9.