Page 184 of Play Dirty

Sebastian, standing tall, holding a napkin against his forehead.

And him.

Ares, lifting a table in one hand and a chair in the other. Trying to figure out which went where.

And him.

The realization was stark and immediate, and hit me like a surprise punch to the face.

At the same time, it also wasn’t a surprise at all.

You’re fucked, Haven.

Yeah. Yeah, I really was.

But when we got on the ice, and the puck finally dropped?

The Sentinels were fucked too.

They just didn’t know it yet.

~ 53 ~

HAVEN

The next day was light practice. Loose ends. Finding things that needed to be fixed, and making sure everything was buttoned up and buckled down.

Offense. Defense. All of it was in perfect lockstep.

There was nothing left to do.

Nothing but win.

When we broke in the afternoon, I didn’t go back to the house right away. I took some time to myself. I ran some errands. Scored some food. Sat down with a really good coffee, then treated myself to another after that.

By the time I rolled into the driveway, it was well after dark. I climbed the steps, avoided the porch’s deathtrap floorboards, and stepped inside.

There was no noise from the kitchen. No shouting from the hallway. No Zack complaining about something that absolutely didn’t matter.

I walked toward the living room, letting the silence settle around me.

“Hello?” I called out.

No answer.

Weird.

I kicked off my shoes, stepped into the living room, and stopped cold.

They were all there.

Grayson. Ares. Sebastian.

Sitting on the couch, watching even more hockey footage. Of course they were.

None of them noticed me at first, which… never happened. They were too focused on the action. Too wrapped up with whatever was on the television screen.

And then I realized—