Page 127 of Rookie Attraction

“I still don’t know how I’m going to handle this upcoming game,” he confesses.

“Yes you do,” I insist. “You’re Sel Kirkland. You’re resilient, one of the most talented guys in the league, and you won’t let those fuckers mess with your head. I’m gonna be right there with you. And you know everyone on our team has your back.”

Sel nods.

“Except Brady and St. Clare,” he mutters. “But who gives a shit about them.”

“Exactly,” I add. “We’re going to kick Chicago’s ass so bad they’ll be afraid to come back.”

Finally, he lets out a small smile.

“Does anyone else know this fierce side of you, Finn?”

I’m about to say, “Only the ones I love,” but I stop myself.

“Only a special few.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

SELWIN

Confessing to Finn about everything that happened in Chicago makes it feel like a thousand-pound weight has been lifted off my shoulders. He gives me another hug and heads back to the kitchen to grab breakfast. I don’t know if I’ll be able to eat the food he’s prepared, but then again, I need fuel. And Finn’s right; I can’t let what happened in Chicago screw up the new life I’m creating. I’ve trained for years in this sport, and I have a lot of hockey left to play.

Fuck them. Fuck all of them.

I sound brave, but I’ll need to keep reminding myself until the puck drops…

Finn moves around my kitchen like he’s at home, and it chases away my lingering fears. Not only is he a sweet and sensitive guy, but at twenty-two, he’s more in tune to people’s emotions than I am, and he’s not afraid to call me out either. I used to be the guy who avoided difficult conversations. I never took anything, except hockey, seriously. Not anymore.

“Are you sure you don’t want help?” I ask.

Finn shakes his head and opens the oven. He pulls out a tray of sizzling bacon, pours the hot grease into a pan and adds eight eggs. While those are cooking, he removes a huge stack of pancakes from the warmer and starts loading up each plate. The tantalizing smells make my stomach rumble.

“Do you want to eat over there?” he asks as he dishes up the fried eggs.

“Yeah.”

Finn sets two massive plates of breakfast on the coffee table, as well as butter.

“Oh, let me get the syrup.”

A quick dash and he’s back, plunking the bottle down.

“Glad you have real Vermont maple syrup and not the fake stuff.”

“I tease Damien about spending all his time eating cheese and maple syrup. Truthfully, I bought ten bottles when I was there this summer,” I admit. “Once you taste the real thing, there’s no going back.”

Finn stares at my lips intently. “You’re right.”

“Are we still talking about syrup?”

“Fuck no.”

I smile and shovel in a perfect bite of fluffy pancake, salty bacon, and crispy egg.

“Oh my God, Finn. This is so good,” I moan. “You do a lot of cooking?”

“Not so much now that I’m on my own. But back home, yeah. Everyone had to pitch in on everything—chores, cooking, cleaning. Farm life teaches you self-sufficiency at an early age.”