14. Tyler

It was game day, and I felt good.

The dust had settled between Hunter and me, and we entered a period of silent understanding as we faced the challenge ahead. I hadn't had the chance to give Hunter a heads-up about Colton, but as the days clicked by, whatever had possessed Colton in the locker room seemed to have faded. He went around to each team member—including Hunter—patting them on the back and giving them private pep talks. The tension radiating off him that day became nothing more than a blip on the radar.

I tried to convince myself that it was just that—a blip. The fact that he went back to his normal self made it easier. Perhaps Hunter and I staying out of each other's way played a role in all of it

"All right, boys! We've been working hard. I'm glad you've been trying some new skills but today I need your best. Don't try anything new if you're not sure it'll work. We need to show the Yale boys we don't waver, right?"

I got a strong feeling that he was talking about me. The hit felt so targeted I damn near flinched. I looked up and noticed he wasn't looking at me. Did I just imagine that?

Clearly not. I felt a couple of glances my way as if they were seeking out guidance. I ducked my head to avoid their eyes—I wasn't captain. I'd be lying if I said it didn't leave me irritated. In a show of silent support, Hunter's knee nudged mine, but I didn't dare look up. I didn't need the distraction. However, that didn't stop him from lingering in the darkest parts of my mind.

Colton didn't continue speaking until he received a chorus of confused murmurs in response. "Good—keep that shit in practice. Every single one of you has the qualities to do this. Do what you know and go out there and kick some ass! Let's hear it!"

A cacophony of noises broke out around me. I simply hit my stick against the floor, making noise despite my blood boiling over the obvious blow.

I shook off the insecurity and headed onto the ice. I paused as I crashed right into a large hand. I turned to face the towering mass that was Hunter Graves.

"Don't read too much into what he said. If those men know what's good for them they'll use the pointers you gave them as their best weapon. What's the point of leveling up and not using the skill upgrade, right?"

I smiled despite myself. "Thank you."

Much like the last thank-you I gave him, I watched something settle in those golden orbs. They softened as those beautiful green flecks came through. "Get out there and show them how an Aussie does it." He leaned in, whispering his next words in my ear. "I'll always have your back, baby."

His voice was a low purr that had my dick straining against my cup. I scowled and hit him with my stick. "No pet names."

Hunter simply laughed. "You will always be my baby."

"Cut it." I gave him a full shove that time. I skated out to start my warmups. I totally didn't watch him walk onto the ice and my stomach definitely didn't flip at the smile he flashed my way.

The anxiety that Colton attempted to plant in my mind dissipated. I hadn't realized the panic building in my chest. Despite a few shaky moments when calves and ankles protested the changes in angles, I truly believed my guidance was making a positive impact. It seemed like the team's overall speed had increased, and some of the guys were genuinely improving their forechecking techniques.

That flirty remark from Hunter had taken away every ounce of doubt. Suddenly, my mind stopped, and a stirring sensation down below signaled that my focus had shifted. A new fire ignited within me, a new surge of energy that needed an outlet.

Whatever works, right?

The game was lightning fast. Yale came at us with a burning desire to shatter our winning streak. They had fire in their skates, and they weren't holding back. Just to prove a point, I drew from the skills that somehow rubbed Colton the wrong way. I battled it out with our defense against Yale's lightning-quick forward: Justin Chisnech. I managed to dance with him, corral the puck, and hustle it back to the neutral zone, aiming straight for the goal.

On my wing, Hunter rode shotgun. He was hot on my left, ready to throw down or snatch that puck away—a true bodyguard on blades. The plays unfolded seamlessly and Yale's defense tried their best to steamroll me. Quick thinking led to a pass to Colton behind me on the right, the sound of the puck meeting the stick signaling his next move.

Scouting Yale's goalie, I spotted a chink in his armor. His left shoulder lagged, lacking the reflexes and reach of the right. The top left corner was screaming for attention and I needed to hit it fast. Signaling Colton, I saw his eyes on the goal, but two defenders were itching to pin him against the boards. The only way out was a pass, and Colton had to make his move.

There was a glance, a brief hesitation, and then Colton unleashed the puck in my direction. I could sense Chisnech closing in, and Colton's puck-hogging tendencies threatened to throw a wrench in my play. The goalie braced himself on the right, but the left was my ticket to glory. I faked right then flicked left, bracing for the hit that never came.

Cheers erupted.

I looked around. Hunter had leveled Chisnech, giving me a clear shot. Chisnech was fuming, confronting Hunter, who shot back with a cocky grin and a mock surrender. "Clean hit, man. Handle it. My forward just taught you a lesson."

A chuckle escaped me as we regrouped at center ice. As we skated back, I couldn't ignore Hunter's whispered words in my ear. "Told you I'd always have your back, baby."