The Keeper (Playing to Win #1)(18)
Max takes a step forward, looking like he’s ready to swing. “Watch it. I’ve been taking care of Lindy her whole goddamn life, asshole.”
Coach slams his hand down on his desk. “Get out of here, Hayes. Practice is in an hour at the facility in Kroydon Hills. Don’t be late.”
“Coach—” I start, but he cuts me off.
“Go before Max kills you. I don’t need my GM in jail and my goalie out of commission. Jesus Christ.”
“Yes, Coach.” I reach out and shake his hand over his desk, right next to Max, who doesn’t move. “I’m looking forward to playing for you.”
Fitz shakes his head. “Then get the hell out while you still can.”
I nod once and walk out, without looking back.
Not exactly the welcome to the Revolution I was expecting.
Easton
I may have just pissed your brother off.
Lindy
Which one? I have a few.
Easton
The one who kinda owns me now.
Lindy
Max? Oh shit. He never gets mad. What did you do?
Easton
Why do you assume I did something?
Lindy
Well . . . ?
Easton
Okay. Fine. I married you. Apparently that was enough.
Lindy
Told you the family was furious.
Easton
Becks isn’t.
Lindy
He isn’t?
Easton
Nope. He trusts our judgment.
Lindy
Pretty sure he’s the only one.
Easton
Ever thought about standing up for yourself to your family?
Lindy
Ever thought about minding your own business?
Easton
You are my business, wife.
Lindy
Don’t you have practice or something, hockey boy?
Easton
How do you know that?
Lindy
Lucky guess. Good luck.
The Revolution’s practice facility is state-of-the-art. It was built a few years after the Kingstons bought the team, and from the looks of it, they spared no expense. The locker room is expansive. Wall-to-wall stalls are set up with our names above each one. It takes me a minute to find mine, and when I do, I run my finger over HAYES and close my eyes, knowing this was a long time coming.
Before I joined the Vipers, I bled red, white, and blue.
The Revolution was my hometown team, and I loved them.
When I was little, my mom used to wake up at the asscrack of dawn to drive me to practice before school. She’d never turn the radio on in the car. She liked to talk during our drives instead. We’d talk about everything, from whether I did my homework to what new show I was watching or what team I was playing that weekend. And we’d always talk about the day I’d play for the Philadelphia Revolution.
She was convinced it would happen.
Pretty sure it was her dream as much as it was mine.
I wish she were here to share it with me now.
She’d love this. The team and Lindy.
I drop my bag in my stall and change into my skates before the rest of the team gets here. I want to get a feel for the ice while it’s still empty. I’ve already made a shit impression on my coach, but maybe I can do better with my teammates.
When I walk through the tunnel, I stop dead in my tracks. Looks like I’m not the only one who wanted a few minutes alone on the ice. Lindy is flying around the rink with Taylor Swift’s “Wildest Dreams” playing.
She’s fucking beautiful. She always is. But damn, when she skates, she takes my breath away. Her long blonde hair whips behind her with each new move, and as the song speeds up, so does she. She’s gonna jump. Shit.
My breath catches in my throat as I watch her launch herself into the air. She gets three full rotations before she lands it, and her entire face lights up. Her arms go out, and she transitions into her next move and works through the rest of the routine, ending in a spin that gets tighter and faster until finally she picks up a skate and stabs it into the ice, stopping with gorgeous precision.
She’s incredible. And she’s mine.
She told me so, even if she can’t remember it yet.
“You fucking stalking her now too, asshole? Gonna get her drunk, again?”
I turn when I hear Jace Kingston’s pissed-off accusation but not fast enough to block the right hook he throws.
Fuck.
I stagger back a step, then right myself just as Lindy flies across the ice over to us.
“What the hell, Jace?” She shoves him back with both palms to his chest as she steps between him and me.