Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

Riggs

"Did you think about what I said?" Knox asks.

I freeze just outside the door to our home arena. In a second, we'll walk through, the blast of cool air clinging to my skin. The smell of the Zamboni, the bite of the muscle cream our trainer, Samantha, uses on us, the scent of the showers as the guys clean up after their pregame workouts—helping them stay warm and loose—the hint of arena food in the air mingling with the faint funk of hockey equipment and sweaty dudes will override my senses.

The door is one of transition—from simple man to professional athlete.

We'll walk through and shove the outside world down, our focus on hockey and solely hockey. The rest of it—asshole fathers, subpar game play, exasperating women and brothers trying to play matchmaker…all the shit that sticks in my head and rolls through again and again on repeat in the dark hours of night—will be tucked away.

It all comes down to winning. To snagging those two points. To finding a way to triumph over each and every one of the small battles…and sometimes still losing the war in the end.

But knowing, throughout it all, that I've done my best—even if my dad doesn't think so.

My dad.

Christ.

I'm done thinking about him and his text messages, his angry words and heavy criticisms.

I'm done thinking about the past.

Post-game will come soon enough, and I know I'll get a fresh dose of this man I barely recognize as my father.

It's enough that his sharp voice had accompanied me on the bus to the airport and on the flight home. Enough that it had stayed by my side all through my day off yesterday.

Hockey.

Winning.

Not good enough?—

Stop.

Stop thinking about my dad.

Stop thinking about the way Ella's hand felt wrapped tightly around my cock.

Stop—

A hand claps down onto my shoulder—albeit not the one I want touching me. "Riggs," Knox says, drawing me to a halt. "I asked if you thought about what I said?"

My temple pulses with pain—not an uncommon phenomenon to experience when it comes to the stubborn-as-shit Adlers.

"Dude," I mutter, shoving him off. "Please tell me you're not actually serious about this shit." I shake my head. "Telling me to go after your sister?"

"Not go after ," he says. "I'm telling you to get a handle on her."

I snort. "Ella's the last woman on the planet who needs someone handling her."

"Look—" He steps in front of me, and it's his sister's eyes that are holding mine, deep pools of blue that I can get lost in—because I never know if they were going to flash with mischief or wicked humor or a deep sense of empathy.

Thankfully, I've only seen Ella's darken to navy, desire clinging to those irises.

"I'm just saying that Ella needs someone to look after her, and you already do that, man." He tilts his head toward the door.

I have no choice but to follow.

Because we literally have the same hockey game to play in.

"I'm not a complete idiot," he says, pausing to scan his badge and bumping his shoulder against mine. "I've seen you watch her. Seen you look at her like she's the fucking last slice of cheesecake."

His favorite.

"You and fucking cheesecake," I mutter, going for light, going for anything that will make this conversation end. "You just want a break from looking out for Ella because she's as much of a menace as you are"—I brush by him and reach for the handle—"but, news flash, asshole, your sister can take care of herself."

"I know that." Knox sighs. "I'm just…" The seriousness in his words has me halting next to him. "You're a good guy, yeah? And Ella's a great person. If you two wanted to…I don't know…figure your shit out and have something meaningful?—"

I lift my brows because this is coming from the man who never takes anything serious.

"Hey," he says, probably reading that in my expression and holding up his hands, palms out. "Just because I'm not into commitment doesn't mean I don't want my sister to find something like what Nova and Lake have."

My heart spasms.

Because it may be sappy as shit, but seeing my captain and his woman together fills me with such intense jealousy that sometimes it's hard to breathe around them.

Because they're intensely happy, two halves to the same soul.

Because I want that.

The person who has my back, who likes me for me, who doesn't see all of my failures each and every time they look at me.

My temple throbs again.

Fucking Adlers.

Making me think in circles.

"Enough, man," I mutter, "I need less conversations about commitment and cheesecake and your fucking sister, and more focus on hockey."

He purses his lips together then sighs and shakes his head. "Fine," he says, starting forward again, "we'll focus on hockey, but"—a knowing look in my direction, mischief in blue depths—"I'm just saying …"

I groan.

He chuckles, but thankfully—fucking finally —drops the subject to focus on our game tonight against the Oakland Eagles. "What do you think about Rome Dawson? With the strength and speed he's been bringing to his games we're going to have a hard time stopping him tonight."

"The kid just parks his ass in front of the net," I say, grasping onto that conversational shift like the lifeline it is, "and goes for the tip."

Rome smirks over at me, waggles his brows. "Good thing you're excellent at clearing the crease."

"Goddamn, asshole," I grumble, shoving him to the side and walking down the hall. "You can make anything sound dirty."

He pushes past me . "It's a gift."

"It's a goddamned curse," I mutter, but he doesn't hear.

Because he's moved into the locker room and officially switched into Hockey Mode.

And I've got no choice but to do the same.

Hockey Mode has no power against the Adlers.

Specifically, a certain female Adler who's currently sitting on the other side of the glass from me, surrounded by snacks and kids who are begging her to do their hair. And, even though I know she worked a full day—because she always works full days—she ensures that everyone who wants their hair braided or ponytailed and doused with glitter in the Sierra's colors gets their chance. And all the while, she and Nova are smiling and laughing, two beautiful souls highlighted in the bright lights of the arena.

Lake approaches his woman and they grin and wave at him, helping him distribute the pucks he tosses over the glass, making sure all the littles get a free souvenir.

Nova snaps a couple of pictures, mouths something to her man, and then Lake is skating away, disappearing down the hall, slipping back into Hockey Mode, prepping to beat the Eagles.

Knox wraps up a few more warm-up exercises before joining him.

And then I'm mostly alone on the ice—a couple of skaters from the Eagles playing straggler like I am.

"Enough," I mutter, turning for the bench, for the locker room.

I need to focus on the game, snap into that Hockey Mode my teammates have adopted.

But then I see the Sharpie.

And the pile of pucks.

And remember Lake tossing them over the glass to Ella and Nova.

And…fuck me sideways, but Knox's words slide through my brain.

Ella smiles again, mischief and brightness evident even from all the way across the ice.

A hand on my thigh, breasts brushing against my arm, the soft scent of woman in my nose.

My cock twitches in my cup—not comfortable in the least. But it's a reminder of what I've felt from the moment I saw this woman—need, desire, a thread linking me to her.

It's that thread that has me picking up the marker.

And a puck.

And skating across the ice.