Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

Knox

“No, no,” Joey says, after blowing her whistle. “I want you to make the cut sooner”—she taps her stick on the ice—“higher if you can, and then push hard with those crossovers to gain speed.”

I watch as the team’s other fiery redhead (albeit this one has piercing emerald eyes) demonstrates. She’s no less graceful than Ivy in the weight room, but there’s something magical about the way Josephine Banks, or Coach Joey, moves.

Liquid lightning on twin blades.

Grace and strength demonstrated through simplicity of movement.

“Got it?” she asks us and we all nod. “Good.” She lifts her whistle to her mouth, the next trill setting the drill into motion again.

Bear grumbles from next to me.

He’s a big fucker, tall and strong on the ice, but definitely not the epitome of grace, and he isn’t happy about the drill.

But when his turn comes, he executes what Coach Joey wants, though it’s definitely more through pure dint than any sense of grace.

Unlike Storm.

The young one has skating chops and impressive edge work.

I swear that I’ve never seen someone so accomplished on skates, and I do this shit for a living. It’s like they’re extensions of his feet. He never has to look down, hardly has to think. The kid’s running out here while the rest of us are playing baby Bambi.

Ridiculous.

I’m just glad that he’s on our side.

“Good, Stormy,” Joey calls. “Now try it again with more speed.”

He does and Bear grumbles next to me.

“You’re just jealous,” I say lightly.

“Damn right I am,” he mutters.

Tweet!

“Adler!”

“Good luck, fuck face,” Bear says, smacking the back of my legs with his stick.

I grin, start forward, and all but force my body through the unfamiliar motion. It feels strange, awkward, especially at first. But by the time I’ve made it my third rotation through, I’m starting to get the hang of it.

Of course, Storm is about three levels ahead of us, and I don’t miss the starstruck way he’s staring at Joey.

Or maybe love struck.

Smirking, I keep working until my legs and body cooperate, until it starts to feel natural.

Of course, by then practice is over and it’s time to hit the weight room.

Ivy’s here—why wouldn’t she be?

The truce had held the other night as we talked about Evie’s school—and the potential of changing it if this continues. It had held as she walked me out last night, pink on her cheeks, her hands still damp from the dishes.

Will it still hold this morning?

I brace against the impact of her, trying to play it cool.

But I want to wrap her ponytail around my hand, tug her head back and feast on her throat, get my mouth on her tits that are held tight and high in that sports bra and tank. I’ll peel the material free, bend her over the weight rack and?—

“Adler!”

I blink, shake myself, ignoring my dick and look over at her.

Her mouth tips up. “Get going.”

I nod, head over to the board and give the list of exercises a once over. When I look up in surprise, I find her smirking over at me.

She lifts a brow in question. “There a problem?”

“Nope,” I murmur, heading to the rack and setting up for my first set. But when she comes by to check on me before I start I can’t resist saying, “Did you forget that you didn’t want me doing this exercise?”

“I changed my mind.”

“Really,” I say dryly.

“Yeah,” she says quietly, adjusting the clips, making sure they’re secure. “Someone might have pointed out they can be beneficial, especially when paired with the rest of today’s exercises.”

“Someone who?”

“An annoying hockey player.” Her eyes narrow, but they’re filled with mischief and it’s fucking adorable. “But one who knows almost as much as I do about strength training.”

I open my mouth to reply, but I don’t get the chance.

She just winks and moves off, leaving me with a misbehaving dick and the knowledge that I’d give just about anything to experience that mischief while we’re both naked.

I heft the barbell onto my shoulders, get ready to roll, but before I start squatting, I catch Riggs staring a me.

He widens his eyes.

I just shrug and play dumb.

And then I get squatting.

Knowing that the truce is going to hold.

It has to hold.

“Where ya going?” I hear as I start to push out of the rink.

“My car,” I tell Evie, pausing to smile at her.

She’s holding a book, as usual, and her braids are courtesy of Ivy.

How can I tell?

Evie frustratedly shoves a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re going home?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.” There’s disappointment in her voice, and I feel like a jackass.

I should go before I find myself invited to dinner again, before I find myself in even deeper.

The truce is in place.

That should be enough.

But I know it’s not.

I know it won’t be.

Mine .

“What are you and your mom doing tonight?” I ask, stopping and leaning against the wall.

A shrug. “I don’t know.”

“No dance?”

She shakes her head. “That’s on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”

“Oh,” I say. “And no karate?”

“That’s Mondays and Wednesdays.”

It’s Friday. “Oh. Right.”

She runs her fingers over the edge of the book, fanning the pages.

“Do you miss school?” I ask quietly.

A shrug. “Yeah, I guess. I miss my friends. And math.”

“Math?”

She nods. “I like math.”

“And coloring.”

Another nod. “And coloring. And library time and art and PE and—” She breaks off, her face falling. “Music time with Mrs. Phillips. I really like when she plays the piano.” A sigh. “But I missed it this week.”

Dammit.

I’m an idiot for bringing up school in the first place.

“Hey,” I say, needing her not to be sad. “I’m not actually going straight home.”

Her face perks up. “You’re not?”

“Nope.”

“Then where are you going?”

‘You know,” I say, tapping my finger to my bottom lip. “It’s a secret.”

An exasperated sigh that reminds me of her mother. “Knox!”

“Well, I could tell you,” I begin. I tug at the loose lock of hair, tuck it behind her ear. “But then I might have to?—”

“Uh- hem .”

We turn to see Ivy standing in the hall, her arms crossed.

“I might have to…ask your mother for permission first,” I amend.

Ivy glares at me.

“For what?” Evie asks, her eyes lighting up and it’s almost as much of an assault on my heart as seeing the mischief in Ivy’s gaze earlier.

Two sets of deep brown eyes that hold too much pain and hurt and shadows.

Two sets of eyes I’ve changed.

A fist wraps around my heart, squeezes hard, and part of me wants to make an excuse and leave.

The rest…never wants to go.

“Yes, Knox,” Ivy begins, her tone threaded with ice. “What did you need to ask my permission for?”