Twenty-One

Iam not looking forward to this away game. It's the second one we've had since I started pretending to be my brother. The first time, I shared a room with Whitten, Justice, and Bridger. I got lucky because none of them are super talkative guys. I was able to get through the night by complaining of a headache, putting in my earphones, and turning in early. If the sleeping arrangements stay the same, though, I risk them catching onto my ruse if I pull the same stunt. However, if the arrangements are different, I risk making a different set of guys suspicious.

Basically, every time I'm up close and personal with any of them, I run the risk that they'll figure out I'm not my brother. But I've done everything Joel has instructed me to do, even going so far as to mimic his expressions and routines. Still…there's always a chance I'm not doing enough. It takes an enormous amount of mental effort to suppress who I am in favor of being Joel.

Thankfully, we're nearing the end of what's supposed to be his recovery. Gwen says his range of motion is improving, but he still can't grip anything too hard or lift anything heavy. All I can do at this point is pray he doesn't injure himself further so he can return soon. We all need him to be at a hundred percent when he steps back on the ice.

And hope that no one suspects me in the meantime.

Hauling his giant bag full of gear, I walk on the bus with the rest of the guys. The game is three hours away, and according to Joel, he usually sleeps on the longer bus rides. At least I've got that going for me.

When Bridger sinks into the seat beside me, I breathe a sigh of relief. Knowing him, he'll keep to himself the majority of the drive. I slip my earphones into my ears, cross my arms, and lean against the side of the bus, forcing myself to relax.

Not only did I purchase a paperback of Chantelle's book, but I also got the audiobook. With as exhausted as I've been from keeping both mine and Joel's schedule, I haven't felt like reading. But listening to this before I go to sleep has been my nightly routine for a week. Every day, I go back to where I left off the night before.

In minutes, I'm drifting off to sleep and dreaming of the girl I'll get to see cheering for me in a few hours. Someone jostles me, followed by harsh laughter, and my eyes pop open. When I glance to my right, I startle. Aiden has replaced Bridger, and to my disappointment, there's an amused gleam in his eye.

"Hello there, lad," he says. I clear my throat and straighten. "Say, you look mighty pretty today. Did Gwen do your hair this mornin'?"

I run a hand over my head, only to have my fingers stopped by what feels like multiple tiny braids. Rolling my eyes, I tilt my head toward him. "Ha ha, very funny."

"It kind of was," Bridger says from across the aisle, smirking.

"It's a shame Gwen couldn't come on this little trip with us, eh?" Aiden adds, clearly still fighting back his amusement. "Though I wonder if she knows about your little…hobby." He raises an eyebrow as his lips spread into a feral grin.

I have no clue what he's talking about, but my pulse starts to race anyway. Did he discover something? Could I have given something away in my sleep? Does he suspect that I'm not Joel?

"I don't know what you're talking about," I murmur, swallowing the gravel in my throat.

He holds up one of my earphones and waggles his brows. "I'm talking about your latest reading material."

I pull my lips tight, wanting to bash my head against the seat in front of me for not realizing I could hear him just fine and that my earphones were missing.

I yank them away from him as he cackles. "Ah, but it was just getting to the good part!" Aiden presses a hand to his chest, then mimics a woman's voice. "Michael's hands clamped onto my thighs as he pulled me toward him and his lips—"

"It's a good book, okay?"

"Oh, I bet," Aiden taunts. "Is Gwen having you read this to study up for something?" Again, his eyebrows dance, and I want to punch the amused expression right off him.

"Something like that," I mumble before shoving the ear buds in my bag.

As far as the team knows, Gwen is staying to visit her family this weekend. In reality, she and Joel are heading to a cabin in the mountains somewhere for a last hurrah before he's back to playing full time again. But since she doesn't always go to away games anyway, no one seems suspicious.

I'd like to tell Aiden that my girlfriend is an extremely talented and successful artist who just so happens to write sweet, not steamy, romance novels, but there's no way that's happening. Let him think what he wants.

"All right, you've had your fun," Bridger says as he stands and slaps Aiden's shoulder. "Get up. I want my seat back."

Still laughing, Aiden moves back to his original spot, and Bridger sinks down beside me. "Coach says we should be there in another ten minutes."

My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I fish it out. Chantelle's name flashes on the screen, and I make it go dark, praying Bridger didn't see it. It would look super weird if she was calling Joel, since according to her, the only relationship they have consists of ragging on each other like brother and sister.

I sneak a glance at Bridger, but he's staring at his own phone, texting.

Leaning away, I open a text thread to Chantelle and rename her contact as Peanut.

Hey. Can't talk. On the bus.

Peanut

Oh, sorry. Just wanted to wish you good luck. I won't be able to see you before the game for obvious reasons. But just know that I'm rooting for you, Forshtay.

I can't help but smile. She has no idea what those simple words mean to me. And not because I need her to be on my side to keep my secret, but because I've never had anyone but my brother and parents rooting for me. When you're as dedicated to a sport as Joel and I are, outside relationships—even friendships—take a hit. But since he's had Gwen since high school and a team to fall back on, he's thrived over the years. But me? I'm no one special to anybody. Just a partner for Kenzie and a project for our coach.

For the first time in forever, it feels as if I matter to someone beyond just my family. And not just anyone, but a sassy, smart-mouthed petite little woman whose entire person fits perfectly with mine.

While Bridger is still engrossed with his own phone conversation, I quickly text Chantelle back.

Thanks. I'm kinda starting to like this whole girlfriend thing. Think we could meet up later?

A few seconds pass before she responds.

Peanut

Sounds risky. You sure you're up for that, blondie?

I start to text her back, but another one comes through before I finish.

Peanut

I dare you to text me after the game.

My blood heats as I let the screen go dark and shove the phone back into my pocket. I never thought hiding and sneaking around in a relationship would be so addicting, but I'm quickly coming to realize that everything is when it involves Chantelle. Pretty sure if she dared me to marry her right now, I'd jump to meet the challenge.

The rink is full of screaming Seaville fans as the team skates onto the ice to a strobe light display and music pumping through the arena. When their opener is finished and the applause dies down, we take to the ice and get into position.

I've already mapped out Chantelle's position in the stands where she's sitting next to Ronnie and Archer's daughter, though I do my best not to stare in her direction. Every game, she alternates wearing a different guy's jersey to support all the players on the Dragons. But tonight, she's wearing my name. It may be Joel's number and position she's supporting, but she's here to watch me.

Knowing that makes the challenge of seeing her later that much sweeter.

Unfortunately, Lex Jones has marked her position, too. It takes an enormous amount of effort not to glare at him, especially when he looks her way with a wink and a smile. I swear, if the guy thinks he's going to blow her a kiss tonight like he did at the last game, I might rip his arms off.

My only consolation is that he seems equally offended by me. He's no doubt still salty about me breaking up his pathetic attempt to convince Chantelle to go crawling back to him. Even the thought of him still texting her has crazy thoughts running through my head. Thoughts like me slamming him up against the wall as soon as possible and following through on that limb-ripping stuff.

The first slap of the puck has the guys racing down the ice toward our opponents' end, where I know Turner is about to hand it off to me. But as soon he does, I'm hit from behind so hard my teeth rattle. I go down with a groan. As soon as I'm on my feet, I catch sight of Jones skating away from me.

He's not getting away with that.

The Scorchers score their first goal, then we're back on offense. I shout the play to Gray, who meets my eyes briefly and sends me the puck. Two guys are on me, but I put my skills to good use and do a half axel away before they have a chance to steal it. When I'm clear, I make a slapshot toward their goal. Their goalie slides to the side to catch it but fails.

The Dragons erupt in shouts as Turner and Gray jump all over me, slapping my back. "Nice, Joely!"

I don't miss the glare Jones aims at me, nor do I shy away from it. If he wants a fight tonight, I'm ready.

The Dragons skate off the ice at Coach Pratt's call for a timeout. He congratulates us on the point but tells us where we need to tighten things up.

"It's no secret these guys are a little ruthless," he says, looking each of us in the eye. "I expect our defense to hit hard so our left and right wings can do their jobs. Keep up the good work, boys."

As soon as the puck is back in play, we get a taste of our opponents' ruthlessness when Gray gets slammed on his back by Jones. I set my sights on him as he races toward the goal with the puck. He's fast, but I'm faster. Before he even reaches Bridger, I close in on him, ramming my shoulder into his and knocking him up against the glass.

He falls back on the ice. Then he's up, charging for me and ripping off his gloves. I do the same, refusing to back down from him. In a split-second move, my gaze flicks to Chantelle in the stands. Her hands cover her mouth, eyes full of horror.

I'm probably an idiot for provoking Jones, but I'm tired of his games with her. Forget his aggressiveness and jerky behavior. I don't like the way he looks at my girl.

Jones takes the first swing, and I counter until we're a tangle of limbs and pads, blocking each other's blows while trying to get our own in. I stumble back, and he pins me on the ice, hitting my jaw with enough force to make me see stars. For minutes—seconds, maybe—I struggle to get him off me while he lands another punch to my face.

Finally, he's pulled off me and I can breathe again. I spit a string of blood onto the ice and wipe my jaw, praying I didn't lose a tooth. Joel's footing the bill if I did.

With Bridger and Aiden's help, I'm carted off the ice as Lex spews a string of obscenities my way.

"At least you got one good hit in," Bridger murmurs just as we reach the wall. Expecting to endure a tongue-lashing from Coach Pratt when I reach the bench, I'm surprised to find him silent. His crossed arms and tight jaw give me the impression he's fuming, but at least he's not ripping me a new one for getting into it with Jones.

We go on to score two more goals to the Scorchers' one and take the win. I purposely avoid letting my eyes wander to where Chantelle is seated, not wanting to see her disappointment. We both know my fight with Jones had to do with her. I just hope I didn't mess things up too badly before we've really even begun.