Page 97 of Ice Queen

Okay?!

That’s it? That’s all I get?

“Samuels!” Sterling's voice pierces through the room. I roll my eyes. I forgot he was here.

“What?” I mumble.

He grabs my phone from my hand, and I still. The air in the room gets ten degrees colder as I raise my head to look at him. One deep breath, my nostrils flaring as I try to keep from doing something I’d regret. But then it lights up, and his eyes begin to move from mine to my phone, and I strike before I can think better of it. Consequences be damned, that’s a line you don’t cross. What if she’d sent me a picture? Even an innocent one of her and Maggie or something. He doesn’t get access to that part of my life. To her.

My fist makes contact with his bicep, and he hisses, the phone falling from his hand immediately. My skates add an extra three inches, making me almost a foot taller than him right now. I arch over him. “You want to talk about respecting your authority? You ever grab my phone or any of my teammates' personal belongings again, you won’t have a working arm.”

Reed bends behind him and picks my phone up, tossing it back in my bag.

“You have some nerve, Sterling. There’s a line, and you’ve been crossing it since you got here. You are entitled to my time on the ice, that’s it. It’d do you well to remember that.” I seethe, the muscles in my back tense to the point of pain.

I don’t trust this guy as far as I can throw him. Tell me to put it away, sure. Make me skate laps for pulling it out in the first place, I’ll take it for an extra few seconds with my woman. But to grab it in front of an entire locker room of hockey players who already don’t like you? He’s either got balls of steel, is dumber than a box of rocks, or isn’t used to being held accountable for his actions.

Mr. Collins said Savannah was coming to the finals if we make it there, and that’ll be my only question for her. Because honestly, what the hell?

“Careful, Samuels,” he spits. “A man who has something to lose plays a very different game.” Then he turns on his heel and walks out of the locker room, leaving me reeling.

What the hell does that even mean? Something to lose. My contract? My team? Kait? Each one would be a catastrophic blow. My jaw clenches so tight it pops. I’m only pulled back to the present when a whistle from one of the rookies pulls me from my internal spiral.

Monroe’s brow furrows as he looks down at his own phone, then back at me. “Anyone else's women ask if we’d still like them if they were some ridiculous animal?”

Wilder rushes to grab his phone out of his bag, fingers flying as he unlocks it. His head falls to the side before he lets out a groan. “Dozer, would you still love me if I were an earthworm who wore a knitted sweater?” he reads.

“Goldie, would you still think I’m pretty if I turned into a thumb thumb?” Monroe adds.

I don’t even have to look at my phone to remember Kait's text. “Would you still like me if I woke up as a talking llama?”

“Oh, we’re at liking now?” Monroe rubs his hands together. My eyes roll. We’re well past that, but I won’t admit that to him right now.

They toss their phones back in their bags, and then we make our way into the arena. Who would have thought that the three of us would be smiling as we step on the ice because our women are all safe, together, and absolutely ridiculous?

The Knights showed up tonight. The last three games were relatively easy. I don’t know how they made it this far playing like that, but tonight? Yeah, they’re giving us a run for our money. Sweat drips from me, heat cutting through the nip of the cold.

I had a therapy session over the phone with Dr. Williams yesterday after I had yet another nightmare where Millie’s face faded in and out, replacing itself with Kait’s every few seconds. My question was, is she sending me some warning signal from beyond the grave? Is something coming after Kait, and I just don’t see it?

But the good doctor explained that sometimes, when people come into our lives, and we’re still working through past baggage, we can project it onto them. Which I understand, but the thing I don’t understand is why I only have them when I’m not with her. And why is it that I never used to be able to fall asleep after one, but the second I hear her voice now, the monsters in my head fall silent, allowing me to drift off to sleep.

It’s become our thing. I have a nightmare, I go to the bathroom, and we talk until my heart rate returns to normal. Then I’ll put my headphones in, and she’ll pull out whatever book she’s reading and read it to me, not shying away from the spicy parts. They’ve proven to just add more fuel to our fire when I come back home. And eventually, we both fall asleep.

Wilder hops up, and I follow, swinging my leg over the boards as we switch lines. We move into the Knights' territory in tandem, we’re up by one, and there’s only four minutes left in the third period. If we win this game, we get a bit of a break before we play in the finals. A freaking dream of mine, only made more of one because I want to win it all with Kait in the stands, my name in bold across her back.

Wilder hits the puck, sliding it along the curve of the boards, the hollow thunk as it hits has my focus lasered in. I skate around a defender, faking a pass to my left, only for Kingston to skate behind me and pick it up. Taking it to the goal, he winds up and lets it fly. The goalie blocks it, but Wilder’s there with the rebound and drops it in over his left shoulder. It’s fast and flawlessly executed.

“Hell yeah, brother!” I yell as we skate into the corner, smacking our helmets together.

Sliding down the bench, Coach Stevens gives us both a nod. High praise in his book. We watch with bated breath as the clock winds down, we get on the ice two more times before the buzzer rings, and we’re riding high back into the locker room.

“We did it, boys!” Monroe hollers, throwing his gloves into the air. “Stanley Cup, here we come!” He laughs, only stopping when his phone lights up in his bag.

“Hey, Lettie Girl,” he tries to say, but we’re met with ear-piercing screams that are almost as loud as the entire team was seconds before.

“You did it, Goldie!” Lettie cries. “You really freaking did it.”

Pulling my jersey over my head, I hang it on the hook on the wall. The noise falls away as I take my gear off piece by piece. When I get down to my boxers, I grab my towel and wrap it around my waist before taking them off and tossing them on top of my bag.