Secret Obsession: A Dark Hockey Romance (Hockey Gods)

Violet, Aspen, and I had a sleepover on the couch. Which is good, because I’m pretty sure I would’ve just started crying again if I had to go back to my bedroom.

In the morning, we take turns showering and doing our makeup, blow drying our hair. The temperature has dropped again, and wet hair would freeze in minutes if we left it. I’ve had enough freezing hair for one lifetime. Once we’re ready, we pile back in Violet’s car.

Aspen and I sit with the heat blasting while Violet dusts off the new layer of snow. It seems like they’ve both decided to do everything possible to not let silences build up. Sure, they did when we were on the cusp of sleep. But I’m almost positive they both kept talking so I wouldn’t sink back into my stupid thoughts.

It didn’t really work, but whatever.

I spent a lot of the night on my back, staring at the almost-dark ceiling. Part of me wondered if Miles was going to come here after the game and steal me away. Or yell at me for leaving. You know, prove a point or something.

But I haven’t heard from him.

It doesn’t help that I have both of our phones and he doesn’t have a vehicle.

I let Aspen take the front seat, and I’ve got a blanket wrapped around me in the back. I’m not in the idle chitchat mood and don’t really feel like depriving Aspen and Violet of conversation with each other. Which they do, their voices low and blurred under the blast of the heat.

When Violet gets in and turns toward the highway, I sit up straighter.

“Wait,” I call as she goes by the sign for the northbound side. “You’re going the wrong way.”

“I’m going the right way,” Violet says lightly, brushing me off. “We’re just taking a detour. We saw construction on the highway going the other way, don’t you remember?”

No, I definitely don’t remember that. But the detour part of her explanation jumps out, and I lean forward even farther. “Detour for coffee?”

“Sure,” Violet agrees.

I narrow my eyes at her and open my mouth to reply, but Aspen cranks the music.

Oh, great.

They’re up to something. And since there’s nothing I can do about it right this moment, I sit back and… well, try to enjoy the ride.

That is, until we detour so hard, we’re turning onto the street with the very familiar arena and hotel that I had hoped to never see again.

I shove between the seats and pause the music. “Tell me what’s going on.” The team left already, I’m sure of it. The bus would’ve been gone by eleven, like every other away game.

Violet and Aspen trade glances, but neither answer me.

“Seriously?” I snap.

“Willow.” Aspen glances back. “Do you trust your best friend in the whole wide world?”

I cross my arms and huff. “I mean, at this present moment? Not in the slightest.”

Violet rolls her eyes. I catch it in the rearview mirror and stick my tongue out at her in response. Childish, maybe, but come on. What are we doing here?

She parks and cranes around. “You don’t want to be here, then? Is that it?”

I stare at her. “Um… yeah, that’s it. I want to go back to Crown Point and—”

“And stay at my house, pretending Miles doesn’t exist?” Violet interrupts. “Okay, fine. If you don’t want to see what we’re doing here, get out of the car.”

“Fine, I will.” I yank on the door handle, but it doesn’t budge. I glare at her. “Unlock it.”

“Yes, ma’am,” she replies, hitting the button.

I see it unlock, and yet, the door still doesn’t fucking open.

“Oh, you do want to find out?” Violet turns back around in her seat. “Great.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. Did you put the child lock on it or something?” I shove at the door, then try for the window. It doesn’t freaking go down either.

Violet drives around the arena and flicks her blinker on at a random time. There aren’t any side streets here.

I finally stop jerking on the handle and face forward, watching her turn toward a huge garage door. She honks twice, and it slowly rolls up. We wait in silence, and I let my confusion show on my face.

I mean, who the hell does she know who will let her drive into the arena?

She parks in what seems to be a garage with an interior loading dock and a few Zambonis along the wall, facing another opening that is slanted upward.

“Violet,” I murmur.

“Hush. Do me a favor, Willow, and just… don’t think too much.” She shuts off the car and climbs out, slamming her door.

Aspen follows suit.

I wait for them to open my door, but neither do. Instead, they meet at the back of the car and walk away. Keys in hand.

She’s got to be kidding me.

The garage door closes around them, and I’m left in the dark.

“What the fuck, guys?” I yell.

I fall back against the seat and stare out the front windshield. Part of me is in shock. Another part is intrigued. Because my best friend isn’t inherently mean, not to me. She wouldn’t just abandon me here for the sake of a laugh.

She’s definitely getting the biggest surprise party of her life—her least favorite thing—in retaliation, though.

“Just breathe,” I murmur to myself.

I’m not going anywhere.

The very rational side of me insists I could climb into the front seat and go out that way, but the curious side just wants to wait it out.

And sure enough, moments later, someone holding a swinging flashlight comes down the ramp and directly toward the car. I raise my hand and squint when the light is shined at my window, hitting my face.

The door opens, allowing a rush of cool air into the warm car, and my ‘savior’ leans down into the open space.

My breath catches.

Miles holds his hand out. His hair is combed and neat, although a curl still falls down his forehead. His eyes are guarded and unsure—like I’m feral. And trapped.

Both things may be true.

“Wild girl.” He reads my mind. “Will you come with me?”

I resist the urge to snap at him, and instead, I say nothing at all. All the emotions I don’t want to feel come bubbling up in my chest, and it takes a mountain of effort to shove them back down. My seemingly infinite distrust of him, and probably men in general. My desire to just throw myself into his arms because another part of me thinks he’d catch me. My terror at feeling the pain and humiliation his brother put me through again.

It’s all overwhelming, but I don’t have a hint of a coping mechanism besides pretending none of those feelings exist.

So, will I go with him? My choices are limited.

I have a sneaking suspicion Violet and Aspen won’t come back until whatever allotted time with Miles expires. Which means, if I refuse, he could just slam the door and leave me in here.

Then you’d go through the front, you dummy.

My other choice is to go with it.

To stop thinking about my choices, and where they could lead, and just do it for once.

Violet told me not to think—so that’s what I do. I shove away the dark thoughts that tell me Miles will leave me high and dry just like his brother, that I should protect my heart ten times harder from him, and take his hand.

And I swear, the relief on his face makes my eyes burn.

His fingers curl around mine, and he shifts out of the way. He helps me from the car. Once standing, I straighten slowly. I clear my throat before I can talk. My words jam in my throat.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

“Asking you on a date.”

I tilt my head. “A date?”

“I should’ve done it sooner, but there was too much in the way.” He shakes his head. He’s still holding my hand. “That’s a bullshit excuse. The real reason is, I don’t think I could’ve stomached it if you refused.”

“You don’t think I’m going to refuse now?”

He lifts his shoulder. His gaze, though, sears into mine. With it, he’s pulling me apart to examine my soul, and I shudder at the rawness of it.

I find myself wanting to give him what he wants.

I agree without prompting, “No, I’m not going to refuse you now.”

His smile is earth-shattering.

“Good. Let’s go.” He tugs me back the way he came.

“Wait.” I duck back into the car and rummage through my purse, finding his phone. “You probably want this back.”

He grins and pockets it. “Okay. Let’s go for real.”

“Wait,” I repeat, trying to slow him down. “Go where?”

“On our date.”

“You mean right now?”

He grins. “Yeah, I didn’t mean three weeks from now, wild girl. Right now, before you lose your nerve.”

I frown at that but let him guide me along more easily. Up the ramp, into the main hallway that goes to the locker rooms and wraps under the public hallways above. This one is for players and staff, and it immediately feels a bit like we’re not supposed to be here.

But when have I let that stop me?

I throw my shoulders back. We go to the locker room, where I balk. Again. He ignores it and pulls harder, practically dragging me through the door. He doesn’t stop until he reaches the horseshoe-shaped arrangement of lockers and benches. They’re all empty except for one.

“Miles…?”

“Sit,” he urges, releasing me and pointing to the bench beside the bag.

He drops to his knees in front of me, and my damn heart skips.

“You say you don’t love me.” His tone is conversational as he tugs at the laces of my boots. “But do you like me?”

My brows furrow.

He removes one boot, his hand sliding around my ankle and cupping it. His palm is warm through my sock, and it moves up to my calf for a moment. Then he pulls a skate out of the bag and slides it on my foot. The laces are almost all the way undone, making it easy. He sets it down and repeats the steps with my other foot, taking care on each step.

I’m biting my lip hard by the time he’s done.

“Ice skating?” I try to laugh off. “Do you remember the last time we went—”

“I refuse to believe that counts,” he interrupts. “You weren’t wearing skates. And you were jumping down, which is hard to do in street shoes, let alone for someone who has never been on ice before.”

I don’t tell him I have been on the ice—in skates—before. Indie went through a phase where she wanted to be a professional figure skater, and my parents made me take her to the local rink on the public skate nights. Most of the time, they had run out of figure skates in my size, so I was stuck with the hockey skates. No toe picks, which always seemed to scare Indie. Not me, though. I got used to it pretty fast.

But why ruin that surprise?

He laces me up fast and tight, and it’s actually kind of hot how quick he does it. Way better than any time I had to do my own.

He pats the side of the skate. “Good?”

“Yep.”

He sits beside me and pulls out his own skates, quickly lacing them up and hopping to his feet. “Ready?”

“Yeah.”

I let him help me to my feet, and he doesn’t release one of my hands on the way out of the locker room and down the rubber-matted hall to the rink. The door is already open and waiting for us, the lights illuminating it.

“How is this allowed?”

“I bribed someone to give us an hour alone.” He steps out and skates in a wide circle, coming back to me. “Don’t be afraid to fall. That’s the hardest lesson to learn.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “I’m not.”

“That’s not what I heard.”

“Oh, someone’s going around and talking about my so-called fear of falling?”

He glides closer. I’m on the lip above the ice, holding on to the half wall on either side, and it puts us eye to eye.

His eye contact is unnerving. “Never said you didn’t want to, Willow. Just that you’re chicken shit.”

My jaw drops. “I’m not.”

“Prove it, then.” There’s a new glimmer of challenge in his eyes.

One I can’t resist.

Maybe that’s why I was drawn to Knox. I relished the competitive spirit—although it did get exhausting after a while. This little flash is the first sign I’ve seen of it in Miles. Although, to be fair, I’ve been focusing on other things.

Or maybe it’s more correct to say I haven’t been focusing at all.

I put my hands on his shoulders, and he leans in—as if to help me, maybe? Or he could just want to get closer.

Either way, when I push him back, away he goes.

I step out after him, my muscles tensing. My skating knowledge could’ve gone out the window, and I wobble for the briefest second. But then my blade steadies in the ice, and I push off. Muscle memory takes over, and I skate in a wide arc around Miles.

He watches me with the weirdest look on his face. I pick up speed, enjoying the rush of wind against my face. And then laughter booms behind me, and a grin splits me open.

“Better run,” he calls.

I squeak and pour on the speed. The sound of him behind me douses me in adrenaline. I lean into my turn, following the curve of the wall and round the goal. But Miles is there waiting for me, and I skid to a halt. My blades create a shower of ice that hits his skates, his legs.

Whoops.

His gaze is hot. “You aren’t one of those girls who totter around and can’t figure out how to pick their feet up off the ice.”

“No.”

He smiles—then stops. “Did my brother teach you?”

I make a face. “He never took me out on the ice.”

“His loss.”

He glides toward me and captures my waist before I can skate away. I’m still at the same height disadvantage as when we’re in regular shoes, and I watch his expression.

“Did you want to teach me how to skate, Whiteshaw?” I tease. I loop my fingers in his belt and tug him even closer. Until his body is pressed to mine. “Or do you like knowing that there’s some things you don’t have to teach me?”

“I can think of a few things you still haven’t learned,” he muses.

I shiver, my brow rising. “Like what?”

“I don’t think you’re ready for your final lesson, Ms. Reed.” He guides me backward. “But you do need to be punished.”

My jaw drops, and my hands fall to his wrists. “For what?”

“Sassing.”

He reaches behind me and pushes open a door. I glance over my shoulder, and my cheeks heat when he lifts me into the penalty box.

I fight my smile. “How long is your power play?”

Miles closes us in, crowding me back against the glass. “Hmmm… until you scream my name so loud, it echoes around the arena.”

My breath catches. “And why would I do that?”

“Because I’m going to take my time eating your magic cunt, and you’ll be crying to your god—me.”

“Oh.”

He smirks. “Yeah. Oh.”