24. Lachlan

Icatch the look Emma shoots Keir before her eyes settle on me. It's not lost on me, the silent exchange, the slight tension tightening Keir's jaw when I slide in. If there's one thing I'm good at, it's reading my best friend and teammate—especially when he's about as subtle as a hockey puck to the face.

"If I'd known you were planning to hit the ice today, I would've come sooner," I murmur. She is being a bit cool. I wasn't sure which way this would swing, so I'm taking my cues from her. Does she want to forget last night ever happened and move on, or does she want more? Right now, I'd say I was a one-niter, and she wants nothing more to do with me.

That hits my heart and my ego in a big way, but I wouldn't be where I am today if I let the big hits keep me down.

No fucking way.

Emma quirks an eyebrow. "Oh? And here I thought you were tirelessly working on strategies for our upcoming games."

I chuckle, leaning in closer. "Nah, that's later." I glance at Keir again, spotting that flicker of irritation before he schools his features into a neutral expression.

"Speaking of the team," Keir pipes up, "we should probably let Emma go so we can do a bit of practice."

I nod, reluctantly releasing Emma from my grasp. "He's right. Wouldn't want to tire out our boss before she's had a chance to see us in action." The words have a double meaning that she definitely catches but ignores.

"Okay," she says, eyes on Keir. "Can you help me off the ice?"

"I've got you," I butt in, offering her my hand before Keir can even move.

Emma takes my hand with a hesitant smile, and I guide her towards the edge of the rink, my gaze flickering between her and Keir, whose lips are pressed into a thin line. I can tell he's itching to step in, but he's a tad too late.

She holds onto the barrier as she steps off the ice, a small laugh escaping her when she wobbles on solid ground. There's something about that laugh that gets me every time—like it's a goal scored in overtime.

"Thank you," she says, looking up at me with those bright blue eyes that seem to pierce right through my soul.

I nod, trying to keep it light. "Anytime." But I mean it—anytime, anywhere, for her.

She sits and unlaces her skates as I watch her. I can't stand it. I have to ask. "About last night?—"

"Nothing to be said," she says, her gaze shooting up to mine before she avoids it like the plague. "It was a bit of fun, and that's it, yeah?"

I don't answer her for a while because that's not what I want at all, but clearly, she has different ideas. "If that's what you want," I say quietly.

My tone makes her freeze. She stiffens up and then finishes putting her boots on. She stands up and forces herself to meet my eyes. "Is that not what you want? It was extremely unprofessional and will get things off to a rocky start for both of us. Better to forget it ever happened."

"Wow, I obviously didn't impress you if you can just forget it like that." I click my fingers, trying not to make it sound like an accusation—which it's not, but it also kind of is.

She purses her lips, annoyed by my jab. But what can I say? She fired a shot that stung, and I bit back.

"It's not about that," she murmurs, eyes lowering again. "I'm the new owner of this team, and let's call a spade a spade here… I'm not exactly qualified for the job. I need my reputation intact and not to be seen as some slutty groupie who gets with her entire team when she has a drink."

"Entire team? That wasn't even an option, sweetheart."

"You know what I mean," she snaps, getting pissed off with my cool attitude but try as I might. I can't fucking help but be defensive. She is killing me here.

Keir is watching this with an expression that reads he is stunned by the entire conversation.

I shrug, knowing I need to defuse this before it blows up into something we can't skate back from. "Fair enough," I say, hooking my thumbs into my trouser pockets and skating back. "We'll keep it professional."

Emma grimaces at me with such force that I think her face is going to crumple inwards. "Fair enough," she growls, her arms crossing over her chest like she's shielding herself from a body check.

I've hit a nerve somehow with those words, but there is no time to make it right as she stalks away, and we just watch her go.

"Well done," Keir drawls. "You know how to drive them away."

"Fuck you," I spit out, pissed off beyond belief that this conversation was in no way how I imagined it would go. "Let's just practice."

"Good idea," he grumbles, skating off the ice to grab the gear I hauled in. This is informal and just the two of us, but I feel like we may need a mediator. Keir is seriously pissed with me, and I'm seriously pissed with Emma. I know a one night stand with someone you've literally just met is bad form, but when she grabbed me and kissed me, there isn't an enforcer in the entire Highlands League that could've stopped me from taking it further. She consented. It was all above board. She wanted it, booze or not, she wanted me. And fuck, I wanted her. I want her.

Once we're geared up and back on the ice, the energy shifts. Keir sends me a pass that's sharper than usual, but I take it in my stride. We move through drills like a well-oiled machine, but everything is just off. Our mojo is skewed and it's because of Emma. Somehow, we need to make this right before the season starts or we are fucked and Taran fucking Fraser will swoop in and take everything from us.

I will not let that happen in a million years, so this needs to be confronted head on.

Apparently, Keir agrees with the confrontation part as he body slams me so fucking hard against the boards that I see stars. He's a beast on the ice, but this is beyond normal practice intensity. "What the hell, Keir?" I grunt, pushing myself upright.

"Getting your head in the game," he snaps, circling back to hover in front of me. His eyes are blazing green fires, and I know he's seriously pissed off with me.

I flip him the bird in response, brushing off the hit.

We skate another round in tense silence before Keir finally speaks up, voice echoing in the empty rink. "You really fucking like her," he states flatly, not a question but an observation.

I glance at him sharply while catching my breath. "No fucking shit, Captain Obvious."

He growls and turns his back on me before the rest of practice is a blur of slap shots and checking drills, all done with a ferocity that matches our moods. By the time we're unlacing our skates, we're both physically exhausted but mentally wired.

"We can't let personal shit interfere with what we do here," Keir says quietly, breaking the awkward silence. "Emma is off-limits for all of us now."

"Yeah," I mutter, knowing full well that my heart doesn't agree with my head. "I'm sorry."

He pauses but then carries on packing up his gear. "What for?"

"For not realising sooner how you felt about her. I wouldn't have gone in for the kill so soon if I'd known. Now, everything has been messed the fuck up."

"Wow," he says a moment later. "You actually know how to apologise. I'm gobsmacked."

"Fuck off," I snarl, but he's chuckling, and I know we're solid again. "So, mates?"

"Always," he says with a sigh. "But you have no idea how much I want her."

"I do, because I want her that much too."

"So, what are we going to do?"

"Fuck knows. it's all gone straight to hell."

"Now who is being Captain Obvious?"

We share a smile, but the mood is still subdued. Emma has laid down the law and there isn't a fucking thing either one of us can do about it.