Rookie (Seattle Sharks 4)

One I had to somehow figure out without ruining both our careers.

So many things stacked against us.

So many things screaming at us to stop what was between us.

And yet, as he reached for my hand, I let him take it.

Because he lit up my insides, set me ablaze with a simple look, and made me feel so much like myself I hadn’t realized I’d lost who I was in the years we’d been separated.

“I like your problems.” He smirked. “Let me help you with them.”

And, damn him, it would be so easy to let him.

Tell him the truth and have him shoulder some of this weight.

But it would hurt him.

Because I knew if I told him how horrible my ex was, he wouldn’t hesitate to crush him when they played Ontario.

And that would cause a whole other set of problems.

God, I’d made such a mess of my life, and now I was putting Bentley’s livelihood at risk.

It wasn’t fair—the way my heart begged for him.

It would be so much easier for us both if we couldn’t stand each other. If our childhood love had simply been that—sweet and forgettable.

But it wasn’t.

It was soul-altering.

He’d branded himself on me long ago.

And it was impossible to shake. Especially when he looked down at me like he was now.

“Fine,” he said, a sigh on his lips. “Let me in when you choose to.” He smiled at me, grazing his thumb down my cheek. A warmth chased away the cold threatening to consume me. “For now, show me what you’ve got.”

The man was fire on the ice, skating so fast and hard my heart stuttered. Being so damn graceful and lethal at the same time . . .

It was beautiful.

I skated after him, matching him stride for stride, in perfect sync.

As we’d always been.

My heart beats for yours.

And I felt it then, that all-consuming love that shattered my world so long ago.

Felt it racing through me as we laughed and skated and bantered.

As he immersed himself into my techniques, my pointers, fully supporting my distraction.

Pulling me out of myself, bit by bit, until I couldn’t see the reasons we shouldn’t chase this happiness.

Until I could almost taste the hope spilling from us both.

Until I was certain I’d find a way to make this all work.

Make everything right again.

Because if I couldn’t . . .

It would turn us to nothing but a pile of ash on the ice.

Chapter 13

Bentley

I shredded the ice, my eyes only for my target.

My quads burned, the breath hot in my lungs as I tracked him across the ice.

Smack!

I rushed him, throwing my shoulder into his chest, checking him against the boards.

He fumbled on his skates, the wind knocked out of him.

The momentary delay allowed Warren to shoot the puck in for a goal.

And just like that, we’d won our first game.

I helped the guy up to his feet, only now realizing he’d fallen on his ass after the hit.

“Good hit, asshole,” the guy said, breathless.

“Almost didn’t catch you, dick,” I said, back, releasing him.

We tapped gloves before heading to our separate boxes.

An hour later—after interviews and some photos and Coach’s postgame locker room chat—we hit the showers. Each Shark riding high off the opening win.

Me especially, since Coach put me in for an entire period toward the end when it became clear Gage was favoring his shoulder more than usual. And while I never wanted him to reinjure himself, I was more than happy for the extra ice time.

More especially because Chloe had been watching from the box, right next to Coach.

Cheering me on . . . cheering us all on.

After successfully scrubbing the sweat and grime from the game, I dressed in a fresh pair of jeans and a blue Henley, the sleeves pushed up to my elbows.

“Hey, man, you good?” I asked Gage, who still hadn’t slipped his shirt over his head. The fabric hung between his hands as he stared at the floor, completely somewhere else.

His eyes snapped up to mine, clearing of their fog, and he nodded. Moving to slip the shirt on, he winced slightly before tugging it over his head. “You did good, Rookie.”

“Thanks,” I said, both me and Rory now tracking his movements like either of us could stop the shoulder from crumbling.

“I’m all right,” he said more gruffly when Warren stopped packing his bag to watch, too. “God, you guys are a bunch of mother hens.”

I snorted. “I’m not. I’m secretly hoping you’ve destroyed it so I can take your spot.”

Gage snapped his fingers at me, a smirk on his lips. “We both know that isn’t true, kid.”

I shrugged, but my laugh betrayed me. “I’m twenty-seven, dick,” I said.

They used to think that about me.

That I was just a cocky-kid who only wanted was Gage’s position—just because I’d walked on the team with something to prove.

But they knew better now—as did I.

They taught me more than Coach ever had. More than the practices or training.

They had experience I couldn’t touch—despite only a six-year difference in our ages.

“Still a kid,” Gage said, shaking the water from his black hair. He arched a brow at me. “But if we’re in the mood for low-blow jokes . . .” He walked toward me, and I instinctively covered my sack, fearing physical repercussions for running my mouth. “My shoulder is kind of stinging.”

My shoulders relaxed, and I dropped my hands from my junk. “That’s not a joke.”

He smirked. “Think maybe I need to go visit Chloe. Ask her to rub some salve on it or something.”

A growl ripped from my lips, unavoidable with the image he painted.

Not that it would ever mean anything—Bailey was Gage’s world.

He burst out laughing, Rory and Warren joining in at my expense.

I uncurled my fingers, which had flexed into fists.

“Shit,” I said, raking my fingers through my still-damp hair. “I need to get a fucking grip.”

Rory clapped me on the back. “Yeah. Good luck with that.”

“We all know what it’s like to be there,” Warren added.

Gage stretched his shoulder. “But for real,” he continued. “I may actually have to go see her. Don’t rip my head off, okay?”

I rolled my eyes. “I won’t, man. That’s her job. And I don’t really want you hurt. You know that.”

“I know, Rookie,” he said, dropping his arm. “I know.”

“Anything you’d like to spill about that,” Rory said, eyeing me.

“About Gage’s shoulder?” I asked, being the smartass they knew me for.

“Ha, ha,” he said. “The PT. Some pretty heated looks happening there. Plus, Gage here walked in on something—”

Gage smacked him in the chest, and I laughed.

“Fucking gossip worse than old women.” I shook my head, crossing my arms over my chest. “He didn’t walk in on anything. I asked for a lesson after practice.”

Rory raised his eyebrows.

Warren snorted.

“Did she give it to you?” Rory asked, his tone overly suggestive.

Fuck, these guys probably already knew everything.

Could likely read it on my fucking face every time I looked at her.

And if they could see it . . .

“Rogers,” Coach yelled from his office, and I actually flinched.

“What the fuck?” I whispered, my eyes flashing wide at the guys.

Gage shrugged.

Warren shook his head.

Rory narrowed his gaze. “Fuck, dude what did you do?”

“Nothing,” I hissed.

Except sneak around with the PT for the

Sharks.

The one that was totally off-limits.

The one who’d owned my heart since I was eleven years old.

“Rogers,” Coach yelled again. “Get in here.”

Gage nudged me when I couldn’t get my feet to move.

I tossed a panicked look over my shoulder, only blowing out a breath when Gage offered a supportive nod.

“Coach?” I asked, hating that my voice cracked as I hovered in the opened doorway of his office. Like if I stepped all the way inside I’d disintegrate.

“Have a seat,” he said, gesturing to the chair before his desk.

I sank into it, mentally preparing my argument.

I’ve loved her my whole life.

We aren’t hurting anyone.

It’s not her fault.

This doesn’t interfere with our professional positions.

My muscles locked and tensed, the flight or fight instinct kicking in so much I felt like I could take on an extra game.

In the moments he stared at me, sized me up, something clicked into place.

I wasn’t scared for my job.

I was terrified for Chloe’s.