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He follows me, shadowing my movements. When I shift toward the net, he blocks me. His reach is longer, and he knocks the puck away.
I frown and retrieve it, then come at him again. This time, I’m ready for him. I slip the puck between his feet and dart around him, taking a wrist shot at the net.
Top shelf.
I grin at him. “Takethat.”
“That was your one allowance.”
I shake my head. “You’re a concrete cupcake, babe. A five-year-old could’ve got by you.”
“Doesn’t say much about your skill then, huh, Sunny?”
We go again. And again. And again.
While I ignore how easily I’m getting winded, the net fills with pucks. Eventually, Knox waves me off and heads to clear them.
I hop up onto the boards and swing one leg over on the bench side, then unhook my helmet. I lie backward and stare at the rafters. A not-so-perfect, cookie-cutter wedding… but it’s okay. I got to do my favorite thing, perhaps for the last time. Judging by the way my heart pounds, I’d say it’s an accurate guess.
“Sunny?” Knox’s face fills my vision. “What’re you doing?”
“Just breathing,” I murmur.
“Keep doing that,” he advises.
“Okay.” My eyes close.
“Sunny?”
I groan. “Shh.”
“What are you doing now?”
I crack my eye open. “Usually it’s the younger brother who’s the annoying one.”
He shrugs. “Miles took the quiet solemn route, so I had to pick up the slack. Thought you knew that about me, sunshine.”
Well, yeah.
“Okay,” I finally sigh, swinging my leg back over and sitting up. The rink tips. I lurch and grab his shoulder. “Whoa.”
He grips my wrist. “What?”
“Just dizzy. Sat up too fast.” I force a smile. “It’s fine. Let’s go.”
He gives me his back. “Up ya go.”
“Knox.”
“Get on my back, Sunny.”
I groan. But then I do, inching forward and wrapping my arms around his shoulders. He grabs my knees and hoists me up higher. Once I’m secure, my skates safely out of the way and his grip on my thighs solid, he pushes off.
Instead of going for the door, though, he takes a lap.
Without the helmet, my hair picks up and blows out behind me. The rush of going fast—he’s quicker than me, with longer legs, I’ll give him that much—is an adrenaline rush. But not so much that my chest might explode. And definitely better than trying to attempt this myself.
“Put your arms out,” Knox calls.
