I Want You Back (Want You #1)(98)

I raised my arms in victory.

She waited in the face-off circle and smacked her blade on the ice.

“One, zip, North Dakota,” I crowed.

“Quit yapping, Gopher, and drop the puck.”

I dropped it, she got it and she showcased her stickhandling skills as she played keep-away, a one-on-one training drill I recognized, trying to mesmerize me into watching the puck.

Nice try, girlie. It won’t work.

When I brought my stick out, I might’ve hooked her skate and sent her sprawling.

And when she caught me on the backside of the net, she might’ve high-sticked me.

The demon in her eyes said, No refs, no rules, no regrets.

She was a helluva player, but I tricked her with a deke and scored goal number two.

We skated side by side to the players’ bench where we’d left our water bottles. Once we could hold a conversation, she said, “Wanna go best three out of five?”

I laughed. “Glutton for punishment today?”

She smacked me on the arm. “Now I’m warmed up, old man.”

That’s when I heard a commotion and turned around to see a group of guys moving into the spectator seats. I squinted at them, but I sure as hell wasn’t hallucinating.

My brother and my cousins Walker, Brady and Ash plopped down like they were here to watch a game.

When Gabi said, “Who are they?” I knew she had nothing to do with them being here.

Then that tall Swede, known as the Hammer, also known as my cousin Annika’s husband, skated onto the ice. And the cocky bastard wore his goddamned Wild uniform.

The jerk sprayed us with ice as he came to a stop.

He granted me a smirking once-over—I was in all-black practice clothes, wearing none of my team’s logo—and said, “No team pride? Sad day, dude.”

“What are you doing here?”

He skated away, leaving me no choice but to follow him.

Gabi trailed behind.

I looked at Nolan and each of my cousins. “You’re a little late for an intervention. It’s been over three years since I’ve had a drop.”

“Yeah, if we would’ve known then what we know went down now, we would’ve intervened a lot fucking sooner,” Walker said.

Nolan elbowed him. Hard. “Shut it.”

“Why are you here?”

Axl spoke up. “Because his wife”—he pointed at Brady—“is making the PR department work at LI on a Saturday. There’s no game tonight, today’s practice was for pussies, and my wife isn’t home. I’ve got a lot of pent-up energy to get rid of. I heard you were here, skating around lost and alone, so I thought I’d kill time and show you up.” He grinned. “Win-win for me, loser.”

“You’re on.” I looked at Nolan. “Mom called you?”

Brady said, “No. Aunt Edie called Lucy to tell her that she and Uncle Archer had Mimi overnight. She mentioned you were here, Annika and Lennox overheard and they passed it on to us.”

“We’re here for the bloodbath,” Ash said, rubbing his hands together. “So get to it.”

I looked at Axl. “You won’t get in trouble for this?”

“Not if no one knows.”

All eyes zoomed to the one unknown: Gabi.

“My lips are sealed, but dude, there is no way I’m missing Hammer versus Stonewall.”

“What are you doing here anyway?” Nolan demanded. “I thought Jax was playing alone?”

Gabi looked at me. “Is Mr. Fancy Pants ever not a rude asshole?”

Everyone laughed. Nolan was the least assholish guy of all of us.

I shrugged. Then I looked at Axl. “Full out?”

He grinned. “Ain’t no other way to play, old-timer. Let’s do this.”

Gabi volunteered to drop the puck, and she reminded us of the one-on-one rules—which varied from club to club, but it was basically don’t be an asshole and take the long shot every time.

We skated to the center ice face-off circle, and I happened to look over at my family.

“What the hell, Walker? Are you wearing a . . . Hammerquist jersey?”

“Yep.” Walker pointed at Brady, who also wore one. “Gotta support our sister’s man.”

“Annika made you wear them, didn’t she?”

Brady said, “Yeah. She’s scary as shit when she’s in hockey-wife mode. Oh, and Jensen said to tell you if he was here he’d be wearing a Detroit jersey to show he’s neutral.”

“He’s an idiot if he’s a Detroit fan,” Gabi sneered.

I held my glove out for a fist bump.

Then I saw Nolan and Ash were both wearing my old jersey. They each gave me a cheesy thumbs-up.

“We gonna stand around or is the ass-kicking gonna start?” Axl demanded.

“Start it.”

In my pro years, once I was on the ice or on the bench, everything outside of the game ceased to exist. I was singularly focused. That competitive spirit hadn’t left me, but it had mellowed. I could’ve knocked Axl on his ass several times and I didn’t. Dick move to prove I still could, and I wouldn’t take the chance on injuring him no matter how full out we were playing.

But ultimately his defensive skills kept me from scoring—lucky fucker got in two shots—and playing him, a guy in his prime damn near a decade younger than me, just reminded me why I’d retired.