Page 13 of Flashback for the Forward

Jagger clapped back with “Nah, that’s my dick size.”

Crew’s head dropped back as laughter rolled up his throat. “Dude, we’ve all seen your dick. That thing ain’t eleven inches.”

Affronted, his D-partner chuffed, “I’m a grower, not a shower.”

“That’s one hell of a grow. You’re telling me that it more than doubles when you get hard?” My twin arched a doubtful eyebrow.

“Hell yeah, it does.”

Crew crossed his arms. “Gonna need to see some proof before I believe it.”

Shoving to his feet, Jagger began untying the strings at the waist of his hockey pants. “I’ll show you right now.”

“Sit your ass back down, Barclay,” Coach snapped.

Jagger’s eyes went comically large, like he’d forgotten while in the middle of his pissing contest with my brother that Davenport was present, and he quickly obeyed. Leaning over to Levi, he spoke out of the side of his mouth. “Were you seriously going to let me whip my dick out and start cranking it to get hard in front of Coach?”

Levi lifted a shoulder. “I was just as curious as everyone else to see if you could back up your claim.” He let out a low whistle. “Eleven inches could do some serious damage.”

“As I was saying,” Coach interrupted. “This number represents the number of wins the Surf had all of last season. The first five were earned between October and January. The final six came in the two and a half months after I took over as head coach. It’s nothing to write home about, but it shows improvement. And that’s where we’re going to direct our focus moving forward. How we measure success in this locker room will be different from other teams in the league. Our priority needs to be on fundamentals and teamwork. If we can nail that down, the wins will follow. We won’t go from last in the league to clinching a playoff spot in a single season, but we can make progress, maybe turn the heads of players entering free agency, and keep building on the foundation we have now. The road to a championship is long and hard, but it starts with the work you put in today.”

Determination was etched on the face of every man in the room after that speech. Because there wasn’t one among us who didn’t dream of hoisting that fabled silver trophy above their head before having their name etched into it for all time, to become immortalized as one of the greats.

Coach clapped his hands. “Finish getting dressed and meet me on the ice. It’s time to show the world what the Surf are made of.”

My eyes darted toward the memorial stall, where Russ’s jersey hung, his number thirteen retired without ever having suited up for the Surf.

The weight of his absence sat so heavily on my chest that it was hard to breathe. If life weren’t so fucking unfair, he’d be right there beside me, cracking jokes with the rest of us and fighting like hell to dig this franchise out of the hole it had found itself in.

But since he wasn’t, I would work twice as hard to make him proud.

Chapter 4

Bridget

“Do I need to remind you how important this brunch is?” Aiden didn’t take his eyes off the road as he steered us through the gates of an exclusive country club.

Twisting my hands in my lap, I shook my head. “No.”

“Well, I’m going to do it again because we can’t afford any fuckups.” His fingers flexed on the wheel. “Captain Phillips only invites those he’s considering promoting to join him at the club. With the recent retirement of Sergeant Cruz, there’s an opening for me to move up within the department. We are talking about a leadership role, Bridget.”

Knowing he loved having his ego constantly stroked, I murmured, “He’d be a fool not to offer you the job.”

Aiden grunted. “Damn straight.”

We pulled up to a valet drop-off area, and he handed his keys to the attendant. My door was pulled open, and without looking, I slid my palm against the hand extended to help me exit the vehicle. Only to realize my mistake when a loud growl sounded before a barked “Get your hands off my woman.”

The man held up two hands in surrender. “I-I’m sorry, sir. I was just offering my assistance to the lady.”

Getting right up in his face, Aiden gritted out, “You think I can’t do that myself?”

There was an audible gulp from the country club employee. “N-no. Of course not.”

The guy scurried away as fast as his feet would carry him, and then Aiden turned his murderous glare on me. There wasn’t time to open my mouth in an attempt to placate him before his firm grip locked around my wrist so tightly that I yelped.

Dragged through the doors to the club, I stumbled while trying to keep up with his brisk pace. Several people had stopped what they were doing to stare at my public humiliation.

“Aiden,” I kept my voice low. “You’re making a scene.”