Page 89 of Play Dirty

The guys came off the ice breathing hard, faces flushed, something different in their eyes. It wasn’t defeat, or even frustration.

It was more like momentum.

“We played them,” Caleb said, shaking his head. “We actually played them.”

“Yeah,” Asher added. “Without the refs, that’s a different game.”

Mercer didn’t argue. I put away my tablet and scanned the ice one last time. On the other side, I found Sebastian.

He stood near the crease, helmet off, staring down at the ice like he was trying to figure something out. Or fix something.

He didn’t look up, and hadn’t celebrated our late goal. Right now, he didn’t say a word.

Something tightened in my chest. Everyone else felt better. Everyone except him.

And I had a feeling…

… that mattered more than the score.

~ 30 ~

SEBASTIAN

“MOVE, SEB!”

“I’m moving!” I shot back, half-running across the parking lot with my gear bag slamming against my hip like it was trying to take me out before the team bus could.

Behind me, the arena doors burst open again — voices spilling out, loud and angry.

“Dude, they’re coming!”

“I KNOW!”

I hit the last stretch of pavement just as the bus door folded open with a hydraulic hiss. Zack leaned halfway out, waving both arms like I was landing a plane.

“GO! GO! GO!”

“I’ve got skates!” I barked, hauling myself up the steps. “I can’t exactly sprint!”

“You’re doing just great, princess,” Caleb called from inside.

I half-stumbled, half-fell onto the bus, breath fogging in the cold air as I dragged my gear in after me. The second both feet cleared the step, the door slammed shut behind me.

And the bus lurched forward.

“Jesus,” I muttered, grabbing the nearest seat to steady myself. Outside, I caught a glimpse of a couple of Ottawa guys, spilling into the lot, one of them pointing at the bus like he was making a note of it for later.

Good. Let them.

“Did you hear?” Asher said, leaning across the aisle. “Solomon’s probably got a cracked rib.”

“Good,” Zack said instantly.

Then, after a pause—

“…I mean, not good, but—”

“No, it’s good,” Dorian cut in. “Screw that guy.”