Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

HAYES

"Dude, can you fucking believe this?" Lawson marvels beside me, his eyes wide as he takes in the crowd.

Usually, during warmups, fans are still milling about the arena, most of the seats empty while everyone gets their snacks, souvenirs, and whatever else they need.

But not tonight. Tonight, it's hard to decipher just how many seats are still empty, if any. They're feeling it, and I'm glad. We're fucking feeling it too.

"I know." I drag my eyes through the crowd, taking it all in myself.

And fine, if I'm being honest, I'm looking for my own little cheering team—Quinn and Flora. I never noticed how much it weighed on me that I never had people in the stands just for me until I gave those tickets to that lady from the park. I hadn't given it much thought before then because it never really mattered. I was alone. Who the hell was I going to invite anyway? A one-night stand or flavor of the week? Not a chance.

That's not the case anymore. I have Flora now.

And I guess Quinn, too, though that's a lot more complicated. I spent a lot of time avoiding her after our kiss, doing everything in my power to make sure we were never alone for more than a few seconds. I didn't want to make the same mistake I did her first night. It was difficult at first, running away every time she was near, but the more distance I put between us, the clearer things became: she's Flora's nanny, and that's it. Nothing else.

It was easier after that. Sure, I almost slipped in the grocery store when she was being a brat about paying for groceries, but I didn't, and that's progress. Maybe I am growing up.

I slide my eyes to where I told Quinn to bring Flora for warmups, but the space is still empty even though we've been on the ice for five minutes now.

Where the hell are they? Did they get lost? Are they stuck in traffic? Were they in an accident? Is Flora okay?

Lawson grabs my shoulder, jostling me and pulling me from my panic spiral.

They're fine , I tell myself. They're probably just shopping or getting snacks .

"I'm just so fucking jazzed," he says. "I can't believe I—Wednesday!" He zooms across the ice without another word, not stopping until he's at the boards. He drops to his knees and starts stretching. It would look totally normal and not at all out of place if he wasn't looking over his shoulder the whole time at his girlfriend with a shit-eating grin on his face. Rory stands there, rolling her eyes at him. Her twin sister, Auden, is beside her, patting her shoulder like she's sorry Rory is dating the guy. I'm sorry for her too. I shake my head at his antics and continue my perusal.

Come on, Quinn, where are you?

I scan the rows, just in case they're in their seats instead of up at the glass, but I still come up empty. I?—

The air is sucked from my lungs. I figured Quinn would wear something Serpents related to the game, but I certainly wasn't expecting my breath to get caught in my throat at the sight of her in it.

It's fucking stupid is what it is. I've seen thousands of fans in jerseys before. This shouldn't affect me one bit, and I can't even put my finger on why it's affecting me. Is it Quinn specifically or is it just because I know her?

I tear my eyes from her before my mind really starts to wander and look to Flora, who is also wearing a Serpents jersey that's just a little too big for her. It's so damn adorable. They skip down the stairs. Well, it's more like Flora pulls Quinn down them. They stop once they hit the glass, Flora's little nose pressed against it as her eyes scan the ice. Quinn stands above her, doing the same.

They're looking for me.

Fuck, why do I love that they're looking for me?

I skate toward them, not missing it when Flora finally spots me and her blue eyes light up. She bangs on the glass with delight, and I can't help the pride that swells in my chest. Just like I can't help my gaze drifting to Quinn and her dark green, gold, and black Serpents jersey. There's no number on the sleeve. It's blank …and relief floods through me at the realization that she's not wearing some random number or name on her back. It shouldn't matter to me.

No—it doesn't matter to me. I'm just her boss. A boss who knows her lips taste sweet like butterscotch, but still her boss. She doesn't need to be wearing my number.

I push the thought aside and wave to Flora, who is beaming up at me with stars in her eyes.

"Uncle Adam! Look!" she yells, then spins around.

Quinn gathers her hair so I can read the jersey, but she doesn't need to. I know what it says.

Uncle Adam.

18.

I blink once. Twice. Three times and then four times. Fucking anything to get the sting of the tears to go away. I don't know why it's doing me in. I don't know why any of this is doing me in. Why my chest feels tight and it's hard to breathe and my throat feels like I've been drinking sand all day. I've never had this kind of support before, and fuck, it's getting to me.

I skate away before I do something ridiculous like start crying, then I snatch up a puck with the end of my stick and bounce it up and down a few times before carrying it back to the glass. I point to Flora in a silent, Do you want this?

She nods, and I flip it over the glass. Quinn catches it easily, then hands it to Flora, who hugs it tightly like I've just given her a stuffed animal or something.

I laugh. I can't believe how far she's come in the last few weeks. Even though I was resistant to Quinn at first, I'm starting to think hiring her might have been one of the best things to ever happen to Flora, even if it does mean I'm having to work overtime to keep myself in check when it comes to her. To not succumb to my urges to touch her. Or kiss her again. Or look at her ass in those tiny sleep shorts she walks around in late at night when she thinks everyone else is asleep, though I can see her through the crack in my door.

I tap the glass with my stick, sending them a wave, and move on to my drills. I shoot pucks at Fox, then Dash, our other tendy, then run through my usual stretches before heading off the ice and back to the locker room.

"You boys fucking ready?" Lawson yells once we're all back in the circular room. "We're fucking winning this thing! No bars held or whatever the fuck the saying is."

"Holds barred," Keller provides with an exasperated eye roll. "Asswipe."

I look around the room, catching the eye of a few of the guys, almost all of them smirking because they know this is just what Lawson and Keller do—give each other endless shit.

"Aw, come on," Lawson says with a grin. "Don't be a Grumpy Gus just because you know you're riding the pine tonight, Kells."

"Fourth line, yet I'm still out there making better plays than you are."

"Not a chance."

"Bet I'll score before you do this season."

Lawson smirks. "I score more than you every night. Unless you count your two girlfriends getting handsy with you, that is." He lifts his palms into the air for show, as if we don't all understand what he's getting at.

Keller rises from his cubby, already marching toward him. "I swear to fuck, Lawsy, I?—"

"All right, all right, settle down," Coach Smith says, calming us like the children we are certainly acting like .

Keller retreats to his stall with a scowl, and Lawson plops down in his, still smiling because I guess he has a death wish or something.

Coach Smith stands at the top of the room, his hands on his hips as he quietly commands the attention of the room, and we give it to him. This time last year, we were sitting in this room with a different coach who was lackluster at best, and we had no confidence in this team, not really. This year is completely different. We're determined to take it all the way. We want that Cup, and we want it bad.

"First game of the season, boys," he says. "It might not seem like a big deal because we're staring down eighty-one more games after this, but the truth is, this game can set the tone for the rest of the season. I'm not saying we have to get out there and win. We all know that'd be amazing. I'm talking about the way you play tonight, win or lose. I'm talking about the plays you make or don't make. The way you back your teammates up. The grit you have. Your determination. How much you give the game. That's what I'm talking about. So are you ready?" He looks each of us in the eye. "Are you ready to get out there and play a game you can be proud of when you walk back off that ice? Can you do this? Because I sure as fuck believe you can."

It's a simple speech but effective because damn if my heart doesn't start to hammer in my chest with the anticipation of getting out there and proving to him that he's made the right decision to believe in us. I believe in us too.

"Let's get out there, then. Let's show that sellout crowd what we're made of. Yeah?"

"Heard!" the room says before clapping twice.

"Good. Hutchy, read it!"

Hutch stands and reads off the starting lineup.

"You ready?" Fox asks beside me once he's done.

"As I'm ever going to be," I tell him.

"You gonna stay out of the box this year?"

I laugh. "Going to give it hell."

"Good, because we're getting the Cup this year. I can feel it. Something about tonight feels different. I just know it."

He's right. Something about tonight does feel different.

And I think a lot of it has to do with a certain two girls in the stands tonight.

"Hustle, hustle!" Keller yells from the bench. "Move, Hayes! Wheels!"

Not wanting to let my teammate down, I pump my legs harder and catch up with the Vegas player, bodychecking him into the boards. We're down two goals halfway through the third. We have a lot of hockey left to play still, but right now, it doesn't feel like it. Our ship is sinking fast, and we need a lifeline soon, or we're going home with zero points.

"Attaboy!" Keller shouts as I knock the puck away from our opponents.

"Motherfucker," the Vegas player mutters.

I laugh.

"Think that's fucking funny?" he snarls.

I laugh harder, and he crosschecks my chest. Now I'm definitely not laughing. I crosscheck him back, and I see the ref's arm go up.

Good. Give us both penalties. I don't care.

He blows the whistle, jabbing his finger in my direction.

"18, Seattle!" the ref yells, and I wait for him to make a call on the Vegas player too, but he never does.

"What the fuck!" I scream. "You've gotta be shitting me! He got me first!"

"Don't care, didn't see it. Box!" the ref responds, pointing to the penalty box I am all too familiar with.

"We were right in front of you! How did you not see it? What a fucking joke!" I holler back as I'm escorted to the open door, not giving a crap if the mic picks it up or not .

It's a bullshit call, and judging by my teammates shouting from the bench, I'm not alone in my feelings. I slam my stick down, fuming. Why is it I'm always the one getting the shit end of the deal? I didn't do anything that asshole didn't do first.

They call for a TV timeout, and I let my eyes wander to the stands, past the opposing fans taunting me beside me, to where Flora and Quinn are, only to find Flora standing, her little thumb pointed down as she boos the ref.

I laugh. Quinn catches my eye and shrugs, and I shake my head with a grin.

Play resumes, and I'm forced to watch as my teammates battle off a power play. They're doing well, blocking shots left and right and keeping them from getting into position. Coach Smith throws Lawson out there with Locke and Hutch at the end of the kill, and I know exactly what he's looking for.

"Come on, come on," I mutter as I stand, watching the last seconds tick by.

"Go, go, go," the penalty box attendant says when my time is up.

I race out of the box, the puck landing right on my stick, and I pump my legs, driving the net hard. I see my opening the second the Vegas goalie goes down just a few seconds too early. I drag the stick back and shoot.

The puck goes off the pipe and in .

"Fuck yes!" Lawson says, running me into the boards as he hugs me. "That's what we need, baby!"

"Way to redeem yourself," Hutch says, smacking my helmet.

But I don't care about their praise. My eyes go right to the stands, where I find Flora jumping up and down on her chair, clapping wildly as she grins bigger than I've seen her grin before. Quinn stands beside her, fingers in her mouth as she whistles, her hazel eyes shining with pride. Seeing them happy is infinitely better than anything these assholes on the ice are saying.

I push them off me. "Got work to do still."

I skate by the bench, bumping fists, then get settled back into position. We battle hard for the next several minutes, getting a few good looks but no lucky bounces. We're so fucking close, and I can feel it. We just need one thing to go our way, and we have a chance at winning this.

The fourth line hits the ice to give the top guys a break before the final two minutes, during which we'll undoubtedly pull Fox if it comes to that. Keller fights for his position in the front of the net, being the pest we all know he loves to be, and Jobe takes the shot.

The next thing I know, the place is louder than I've ever heard before, and the puck is sitting in the back of the net. Keller tipped it, and we're fucking tied .

"Fuck yes!" Lawson grabs my shoulders, shaking me hard as he bounces on his skates.

The whole bench is cheering and yelling, and we're feeling it now. Even Fox is celebrating on the other end of the ice.

"Told you I'd score before you," Keller says to Lawson as he skates by, and Lawsy doesn't even have a response for him. He's too damn jazzed about the goal to care about the chirp.

"Hey, hey, settle down," Coach Smith yells behind us. "We still have time left. Let's get reset and go again. Top, let's go."

I jump the boards with Lawson, Locke, and Hutch behind me, and we take our positions, all business now. I win the draw, sending the puck back, and Locke takes it, dragging it back to get set. He passes it to Hutch, who passes it back to him. I get into position, smacking my stick against the ice, letting him know I have an opening. Smartly, he goes to Lawson, who has an even better one.

Lawson zooms up the ice with the puck and into the zone, and we all chase after him. He rims it around the boards to me, and I shoot it back to him. He tries on the goalie's weak side, but the goalie gets over too fast. It doesn't matter. He leaves Lawsy a juicy rebound, and he capitalizes on it .

The goal horn goes off with just seconds to spare, and we win our first game of the season.

"Yeah, fucking suck it, Kells!" Lawson yells as we crowd around him.

"Yeah, yeah. I still scored first!" the perpetual grump hollers back as he skates onto the ice to celebrate, but even I can see the hint of a smile at the corner of his lips.

Me? All I can focus on are the two girls in the crowd. They look happier than anyone else in this arena, and damn if that doesn't feel good.

I finally walk into the house at nearly midnight, having had to do far too many post-game pressers, if you ask me. It's quiet and dark save for the soft under-cabinet lights in the kitchen. I have no doubt Flora is already in bed, and Quinn likely is too.

I toe off the dress shoes I hate wearing and head straight to the kitchen. I pull out an electrolyte drink from the fridge and down half of it in one go while I work to get my heart rate down, still running high from the adrenaline from the game.

I'm always like this afterward. It usually takes me a few hours to calm down properly so I can relax and get some rest. It's a blessing because it gives me time to go over the game and see where I can improve, but it's a curse for the exact same reason.

Tonight is even worse with how heightened my emotions were having Quinn and Flora there. The look on the kid's face when I scored, Quinn looking at me like she wanted to rip my clothes off right there…I don't know which one affected me more.

I finish the drink and toss it in the recycling before shutting off the lights and making my way to my room. I have my hand on the door, ready to turn in for the night when I hear a soft noise coming from just down the hall.

I sneak close to Flora's room and press my ear against the door. Maybe she's getting up for pickles again? Or maybe she's sneaking more chapters of her book? But there's nothing.

Hmm . It must be coming from Quinn's room, then. Curious, I inch closer, and it's clear that the sound is definitely coming from her room. I can't make out what it is. It's like a soft buzz, almost like a phone against a bedside table. Or like a?—

Oh fuck.

No. There's no way it's what I think it is. Is there?

I hear it, and it's unmistakable.

A moan. Her moan. It's the sweetest sound I've ever heard, and I immediately want to hear it again. I shuffle closer. Apparently too close because my foot hits the door and it slowly creaks open.

Fuck!

I scramble away, pressing my back against the wall next to the door, holding my breath as I wait for the buzzing to stop and Quinn to burst out of her room and lay into me as I deserve.

But it never happens. The buzzing continues, and I swear I hear Quinn moan again. My cock, already stirring against my slacks, stiffens at the sound, and fuck me , I want to see. I want to see her so badly I can't stand it. Just a tiny peek. A glimpse. That's all I want. I?—

"Oh, Hayes. Yes, right there," she whispers, and it's my official undoing.

I don't know what possesses me to do it. Maybe it's the lingering rush from the game, or maybe it's just because I really fucking want to. I push the door open, the light spilling across her face.

She doesn't freak out. She doesn't stop.

No. Quinn stares right at me, her lips parting as her chest heaves, her hand still under the blanket, the toy still buzzing, the sound much louder now that I'm closer. I step inside the dark room and close the door behind me with a soft click . I wait. For her to tell me to get the fuck out. To scream. To give any indication at all that I'm not welcome here .

She does nothing.

My eyes adjust to the dark, and I use the moonlight spilling in through the window to guide me closer, not stopping until I'm at the edge of the bed and standing over her. I pause again, waiting once more for her to object, but still, she doesn't.

She swallows harshly as she watches me, and I get it. I feel the same way. Like I gulped down that electrolyte drink hours ago instead of minutes. I fist the sheet, tugging it down to reveal just what it is she's doing under the blanket, and holy fuck is it a beautiful sight. She's wearing nothing but her Serpents jersey, her pink cunt shrouded by black curls on full display, and a pink toy is pressed between her spread legs.

Now it's me who swallows roughly, watching as she drags the toy in soft circles, the moonbeam catching her wetness with every stroke as she stares up at me with hooded eyes.

It's fucking gorgeous. She's fucking gorgeous.

I can't help myself when I reach out, my fingers coasting over her soft thighs. Her breath stutters at the contact, her skin instantly breaking out into goose bumps. I trace my fingertips over them, her movements never ceasing. I palm my aching cock with my other hand, trying to quell the pressure that's building. I've never been so fucking close to coming just by watching someone, but I swear I could do this all day, standing here as Quinn plays with her pretty pussy.

I could. But I really don't want to. I want to touch her more. I need to touch her more.

I drag my fingertips closer to where the toy is pressed against her, and her breaths pick up. Her chest now resembles that of someone who has just run a marathon.

"Do it," she whispers hoarsely into the dark room. "Touch me, Hayes. Please. "

The last word is my ruin.

Knee on the bed, I lean over her, and it feels eerily like the last time we were in her room together. I hover over her, my lips just inches from hers, only this time it's different, especially when I slide my hand between her legs, covering her hand with mine and taking control of the buzzing toy, her slickness already coating my fingers as she spreads her legs even wider. She groans deliciously when I move it to just the right spot, her head lolling back, her eyes closing.

"Don't you dare close your eyes, Quinn. Look at me when I make you come," I command, moving it away from the spot she loves just because I can.

She whimpers softly but snaps her hazy gaze to me, her lips parted, and her breaths shallow. Even though I know this is so wrong for so many reasons, she looks fucking gorgeous like this, completely out of control and at my mercy. I want more of it. I want more of her.

"Hayes…" she moans. "I'm so close. I'm…"

But she doesn't finish, and I understand why. It's too much for me too. My cock feels so fucking heavy I wish I could pull it out and paint her with my cum.

I can't. I shouldn't. Hell, I shouldn't even be doing this .

But I am. We are. And I want nothing more than to hear her call my name as she falls apart.

"Let go, Quinn," I tell her, moving the toy back to that spot she loves so much. "Come for me."

She nods, sinking her teeth into her lower lip, her eyes never once leaving mine as she relaxes, and it's not even ten seconds before the levee breaks. Her back arches up, her legs shaking so violently I can feel the bed quake.

But that's not what gets me.

It's the single word she whispers as she comes.

" Adam. "

It takes every ounce of willpower I have not to come in my pants like some sex-deprived teenager. Instead, I focus all my attention on her as she comes down from her high, her body melting into the mattress as I drag the toy away from her greedy cunt and flip it off, tossing it aside.

The room is quiet save for Quinn's choppy breaths, and the reality of what just happened starts to crawl into the corners of the silence, finding a home and rearing its ugly head. I just helped Quinn masturbate. I just got her off. She just said my name as she came. I want to do it again. And more than that…I think she'd let me.

"Hayes, I?—"

But I don't let her finish. I press my lips to hers in a hard, harsh kiss, nothing like the kind of kiss I want to give her. It's over far too soon, and when I wrench my mouth from hers, her eyes are wide, and she's panting as she tries to catch her breath.

"Next time you come to my game, you wear my number, understood?"

She nods.

I rise from the bed and march from the room, darting back down the hall to the safety of my own bedroom. I march straight to my bathroom and strip off my suit, not even bothering to toss it into the hamper before I step into the shower, my cock in my hand before I've even stepped under the hot water. It takes three strokes before I'm coming in a rush, my seed spilling all over the stall wall, and when I do, there's only one thing I say.

" Quinn. "