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"He's not worth it," Riot says low in my ear. "We need you out here."
I force a deep breath, glaring murder at Thompson as he's escorted off the ice. Riot keeps a firm grip on me until I stop fighting his hold. As the fury recedes, I become aware of stick taps on helmets and approving shouts from my teammates around us.
"Hell yeah, Lancaster!" Tris yells. "About damn time someone shut Thompson up."
"Five minutes, white! Two minutes, red," the referee barks out our respective penalties. I allow Riot to tug me toward our bench, his hand warm on my back even through my pads. The contact grounds me, my pulse slowly settling.
Deck claps my shoulder as I sit. "That's how you stand up for your teammates. Proud of you, Lancaster."
I nod shortly, still vibrating with residual adrenaline. Coach passes me a towel for the blood trickling from my eyebrow and nose.
"Get cleaned up, son. Then make it count when you're back out there."
Through the mess of bodies and gear on the bench, I meet Riot's eyes. He nods once, gratitude in his stare. Knowing I put that fucker Thompson in his place is worth any penalty minutes tonight.
The rest of the second period flies by. When I'm back on the ice, I feel energized and dialed the fuck in. Thompson doesn't so much as glance my way, his bravado diminished.
Riot and I find our rhythm again, moving the puck seamlessly between us. Our earlier connection has magnified, senses attuned after my act of physical retaliation on his behalf. We put pressure on Stormbridge's defense for the first time all night.
By the third period, we've got control of the game's momentum. Tris buries a beauty cross-ice feed from me to put us up 4-3. The crowd is going ballistic, sensing the win within our grasp.
When the final buzzer sounds on our 5-3 victory, the entire stadium erupts. I'm crushed under the impact of my teammates' celebrating embrace, their cheers deafening. The thrill of this hard-fought win under the lights leaves us all high.
In the locker room, celebration is in full swing. Tris busts out a secret beer stash and everyone is feeling loose, reliving the highlights from the game. This is the first time I’ve really felt like part of the team.
Across the rowdy room packed with half-naked guys, I don’t even notice any of them until Riot catches my eye. He tips his beer at me in a silent toast, eyes gleaming. I grin and return the gesture. The heated memory of his hand at my back surfaces, and I glance away.
Deck calls for quiet, holding up his bottle. "Hells yes, boys. One of the toughest wins I can remember on this ice. Couldn't have done it without each and every one of you."
A roar goes up and bottles clink together. I swig my beer, savoring the bittersweet taste of victory. Deck's eyes meet mine across the steamy locker room.
"And let's hear it for Lancaster, who put his body on the line tonight to stand up for number twenty-nine!"
Another deafening cheer erupts as guys slap my back and shove more drinks into my hands. I knock bottles with Tris and the other forwards, their rowdy pride warming me from the inside.
The celebration eventually winds down as guys start peeling off toward the showers. Soon it's just me and Riot left sitting in companionable silence, nursing our beers.
He glances over at me finally, eyes roaming my features. "That shiner bruising up nice?"
I probe the tender skin around my eye and laugh. "I've had worse, trust me."
Riot's expression sobers. Slowly, he reaches out and takes my chin in his hand, angling my face into the light to examine the damage. His touch ignites a simmer in my gut.
"Does it hurt much?" he asks quietly, thumb ghosting over the broken skin with surprising gentleness. I'm trying to play it cool, but he’s so close I shiver.
"I've had worse," I repeat gruffly. Our faces are just inches apart, his scrutiny stripping me bare. I watch his Adam's apple bob as he swallows.
"Well, looks badass. Adds to your intimidation factor out there."
His murmured compliment sinks into me, his fingers still cradling my jaw. I wet my dry lips with my tongue and his heated stare tracks the movement.
"Riot..." I begin hoarsely.
He moves first, his mouth covering mine in a nuclear kiss. All the unsaid words and desires combust between us in this hidden corner of the locker room.
My fingers twist into the sweat-damp hair at the back of his neck as we devour each other breathlessly. The salt of his skin fills my senses. He kisses me fiercely, deeply, like he wants to crawl inside me. Like now that we've reached this point of no return, he intends to claim every inch of me.
I groan into his mouth as his tongue strokes mine. His hands grip almost painfully on my hips, hauling me closer until I'm nearly in his lap. Our gear is an unwieldy barrier between us that we're both desperate to rip away.
