Breeding My Stepsister on the Ice novel · Chapter 9 of 32

Chapter 9: On the Ice

Nobody stood up.

The captain dried his hands on Gemma's dish towel, slowly, one finger at a time.

"Go ahead, Doug," he said. "Waive your captain a week before the trade deadline. Call the owner tonight and tell her why."

Doug's smile stayed where it was.

The goalie set a bowl on the top shelf.

"Waive your starting goalie too," he said. "I'll wait."

The winger and the young defenseman looked at each other.

Then the winger sat down on the couch, and the young defenseman sat down next to him.

Gemma leaned on the open door.

"I've got more cornbread," she said to Doug. "You can't have any."

Doug looked at Tate.

"You're letting your stepsister run your locker room now, son?"

"She's not running anything," Tate said. "She told the truth and you showed up."

"She's playing nurse. Don't confuse that with something else."

"Get out of her apartment, Dad."

Doug held his son's eyes for a long second.

Then he turned and went down the stairs.

We heard the front door of the building close.

Nobody moved until his headlights swung across the ceiling and were gone.

The young defenseman wiped his forehead.

"Did that just happen?"

"Pots," Gemma said. "Nobody's done."

They finished the dishes.

At midnight they put their shoes back on in a row and hugged Gemma one by one at the door.

The captain kissed her on the cheek. She turned bright red and pushed him down the stairs.

Tate was last.

He stood on the landing in his coat with snow melting in his hair.

"You up?" he said.

"It's midnight."

"I know. You up?"

"For what?"

"I want to show you something."

Gemma, behind me, said, "Go. Oh my God. Go."

He drove us downtown with the radio low. Neither of us had touched the captain's wine.

The arena sat dark on the river.

He badged us through a side door by the loading dock. A night guard in a parka looked up from his phone, saw Tate, and looked back down.

"Alternate captain," Tate said. "Comes with keys."

He led me down the tunnel where Dunne had shot his shoulder.

He flipped a breaker, and the work lights came on over the ice in long white rows.

The building was enormous and empty.

Twenty thousand empty seats. The family box dark up above the blue line.

The ice was smooth as glass.

He found me a pair of skates in the equipment room, a size too big, and laced them for me one-handed while I sat on the bench.

"I can lace my own skates."

"I know. Let me."

He stepped onto the ice in his own skates, easy as walking.

I stepped on and grabbed the boards.

"I'm from Milwaukee," I said. "I can skate. Forward."

"Forward's for forwards." He held out his left hand. "Backward. Come on."

"I'm going to fall."

"Then fall into me."

He skated backward in front of me, slow, his hand on my waist.

"Toes in. Push out. Like you're drawing a lemon."

"A lemon?"

"It's what I tell the twins."

I drew a lemon. I went backward about a foot.

He grinned.

I drew another one. Two feet.

By the time we reached the far blue line I was going backward on my own, wobbling, laughing, his hand hovering at my hip.

"Look at you," he said. "Future Dr. Molloy, defenseman."

"Don't let go."

"I'm not letting go."

I caught an edge.

I went down and took him with me, and he twisted so he landed on his good side with me on top of him.

We lay on the ice at center, breathing hard.

His face was under mine, flushed from the cold. He was laughing.

Then he stopped.

The work lights hummed.

"Lainey," he said.

"I know."

"The rule."

"I know."

"Dad came to your door tonight. He's going to say this is why you're fighting whether it's true or not."

"Then let him."

He looked at me for a long time.

"Say it out loud," he said. "So I know it's you and not the night."

"I'm stone sober and I'm not confused. I want you. I've wanted you since you kissed me on your couch with a fever."

His hand came up and cupped my cold cheek.

"I want you so much I can't think about anything else," he said. "Not the shots. Not my dad. You."

"Then we're breaking it."

"We're breaking it," he said, and pulled my mouth down to his.

His mouth opened under mine.

I tasted the cold and the want.

My knees slid on the slick nylon of the parka, and his left hand came up into my hair.

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