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.
I move forward so I’m next to her, not cowering behind my woman like a fucking bitch.
“He was watching you skate like a fucking stalker, Madeline,” Jace takes a step toward me, and she blocks him again.
“Jesus, Jace. A stalker? Really?” Her cheeks flame as she gets in his face. “Are you kidding me? I’ve dealt with a stalker, and that’s not Easton.” She shoves him again. “I’m a figure skater, Jace. People watch me skate. It kinda goes with the job, genius.”
“He doesn’t get to watch,” he shouts with a finger pointed in my face. “He shouldn’t even be here. He doesn’t deserve to breathe the same fucking air as you after what he did,” Jace yells back right in her face, and I see red.
I move in front of Lindy and wrap my arm around her, keeping her behind me. “I don’t care who the fuck you are. You don’t talk to her like that.”
“Oh yeah, asshole?” He lowers his voice. “Why? Because she’s your wife? What a joke.”
“No, jerkoff. Because she’s your sister, and she deserves more respect than that. If I wanted to defend her because she’s my wife, you’d already be on your ass with a broken fucking nose. Because unlike you, I don’t hit like a pussy. Then she’d be pissed at me too.” Lindy squeezes the hand I have resting on her hip and drops her head to the middle of my back.
I don’t move until she does.
When I drop my hand, she steps around me and stops directly in front of her brother. “Back off, Jace,” she tells him more calmly this time. “And you might as well spread the word while you’re at it. By the time you were my age, you had Cohen, and you and India were married. India, who, if I remember correctly, you were ready to marry after only knowing for a month. I’ve known Easton for half my life, you hypocrite.”
“But—” he tries to jump in, but she shuts him right down with one look, and fuck me, but my dick gets hard as steel.