Scoring with the Wrong Twin (Ice Chronicles Hockey #2)

36. Savannah

36

Savannah

I wake to sunlight streaming through the cottage windows and Blaze's warmth pressed against my back. His arm drapes over my waist, protective even in sleep. The peaceful morning feels surreal after everything that's happened.

"Morning, city girl." Blaze's voice rumbles against my neck.

"Coffee first, conversation later." I stretch and slip from his embrace.

"Always so demanding." He follows me to the kitchen, his bare chest distracting as he reaches past me for mugs.

We move around each other with surprising ease as we get ready for the family meeting. I'm buttoning my blouse when a knock at the door announces the arrival of Jake, Blake, and Emma.

Pokey bounds in first, giving me an enthusiastic greeting before settling at Emma's feet. The energy shifts as Emma pulls her backpack off her shoulder with purpose.

"You just relax and watch, Sav, we've got this. It's going to be a masterclass." Emma's smirk catches me off guard as she sets up a speaker and laptop on the table.

"Masterclass in what?" I watch her fingers fly across the keyboard.

"I dug and found that one of the women who accused Bruiser was a Clara Smith," Emma explains, not looking up from her setup. "She claimed that Brody sent her to the hospital with a broken arm and ribs."

My stomach clenches at the memory. "I asked him about that, and he denied it, of course. Insisted she was trying to ruin his career out of jealousy." The shame of my past naivety burns. "And back then, I believed him."

Emma's grin turns predatory. "Well, you just watch and see whom you believe now—if everything goes as planned."

We all take seats around the table, the tension thick enough to cut.

The energy in the room crackles as Emma's fingers dance across her keyboard. Blaze shifts beside me, his warmth a steady presence as we gather around the laptop.

"How are we seeing this?" I lean forward, studying the crisp video feed showing Sean's podcast studio.

Emma's eyes gleam with mischief. "I may have installed a tiny camera in the corner of Sean's studio. For security purposes, of course." She winks. "I tapped into the studio's live video feed," Emma whispers. "Sean's studio is in his house here on the ranch—made it simple to piggyback on his system. Thought you'd want to see this up close, and the angle's perfect to catch everything."

"You sneaky little—" Blaze starts.

"Shh!" Jake cuts him off as Sean's voice fills the room.

"Welcome to Puck Talk , hockey fans!" Sean's trademark enthusiasm bursts through the speakers. On the screen, Sean adjusts his headset, a practiced motion, as his grin widens for his audience. "For those just joining our wild ride, I'm Sean Ice. Former center for the Chicago Big Cocks until my shoulder decided to retire early. These days, I'm living the dream—running this podcast, coaching tiny terrors on skates, playing cowboy at Ice Ranch, and chasing after my kid. Not exactly NHL glory, but hey—I'm happy."

Through the laptop speakers, Sean's voice continues with his signature charm. "Today's episode is going to be spicy, folks. We're diving into the age-old debate that's started more bar fights than 'who's buying the next round?' – hockey players versus football players. And who better to duke it out with than the legendary Brody 'Bruiser' Langstone himself?"

My fingers dig into my thighs at the mention of his name. Blaze's hand covers mine, steadying.

"For those living under a rock," Sean continues, "Bruiser here has been crushing it as defensive end for Chicago. Three-time Pro Bowl selection, two Super Bowl rings, and enough highlight reel tackles to make grown men cry. Welcome to the show, man."

"Good to be here." Brody's deep voice sends ice through my veins. It's the same smooth, controlled tone he used when apologizing after his rages. "I gotta say, comparing football to hockey? That's like comparing chess to checkers."

Sean's laugh carries a sharp edge. "Oh yeah? Last I checked—pun absolutely intended—chess players don't need to balance on razor blades while getting cross-checked at twenty miles per hour."

"Try having a 300-pound lineman use your spine as a landing pad," Brody counters. "Football's a warrior's game. Pure power, pure dominance." Even through the speakers, Brody's arrogance bleeds through, that self-important tone that makes me nauseous.

"Interesting choice of words there, Bruiser. Dominance."

"Let me school your listeners on why football players are the real athletes."

"Bold statement from someone who's never taken a hip check at full speed. But please, enlighten us."

"Gladly. Football requires pure power, strategy—" Brody's voice has that same condescending lilt I remember from countless arguments.

"Right, because hockey players just flail around on ice?" Sean's retort draws chuckles from our group. I catch Emma's eye and we share a knowing look.

"At least we don't need skates to move fast," Brody shoots back, his ego practically radiating through the laptop speakers.

"No, you just need timeouts every thirty seconds to catch your breath." I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing out loud at Sean's perfect delivery.

I glance at Emma, who's practically vibrating with anticipation as the debate continues, with Sean and Brody defending their respective sides. At one point, Sean announces, “Now we’ll take calls from fans and let you respond—game on.”

"Always ready. Bring it on, Ice. Your listeners are about to learn what a real athlete sounds like." Brody's smugness oozes through the speakers.

My jaw drops as I watch Blake grab his phone first, catching the subtle nod from Emma as she presses something on her laptop. The studio feed goes silent just as Blake's call connects.

"Brody, my man! This is Hugh Johnson, calling from Alabama. Huge fan. Football's the best. Hockey players wouldn't last a day on the field."

Through Emma's video feed, I watch Brody settle back in his chair, his grin widening. "Finally, someone who gets it. Football's where the real athletes shine. The discipline, the power—that's what separates us from the rest."

"And off the field? Bet you've got some great stories," Blake adds, his voice casual but practiced.

Brody laughs smugly, adjusting his posture. "Let's just say I never lose—in any arena." He launches into a story about a game-winning tackle.

Sean smoothly transitions, "Thanks for calling, Hugh. Let's see who's our next caller."

I look around at the Ice family, wondering what game they're playing. They're all wearing identical expressions of controlled anticipation, like predators waiting to strike.

Jake picks up his phone next, and Emma adjusts some settings. "Hi, Adam Potts from sunny Miami. Bruiser, you're a legend, dude. What's your secret to dominating everywhere—on the field and with the ladies?"

Brody chuckles, clearly loving the attention. "Confidence, control, and knowing how to lead. Women love a man who's in charge."

"Thanks, Adam," Sean says, pressing buttons on his console. "Next caller?"

My heart races as Emma grabs her phone, her expression hardening. "Lisa Smith here. You said control? Like when you broke my sister Clara's ribs?"

Through the video feed, I watch Brody freeze, his shoulders stiffening.His smug grin falters for a brief moment before he leans toward the mic. "That's a lie. Women like that just want attention. Can't handle rejection."

"Alright, let's take a quick break," Sean cuts in smoothly, though I can see the tension in his jaw through the feed. "We'll be right back with more from football superstar, Brody 'Bruiser' Langstone."

My heart pounds as I watch Sean maintain his easy-going facade. He leans forward, his elbows resting on the desk. "That last caller was intense, man." He adjusts his headset, dragging a hand down his face to mask any reaction. "What's the real story with that woman's sister? Help me handle calls like this one when we're back on air."

Brody's laugh makes my skin crawl. "Clara? She found out I was seeing someone else. Bitch went through my phone."

"So you were dating multiple chicks?" Sean's tone carries just the right amount of admiration, making my stomach turn.

"Hell yeah." Brody's smirk spreads across his face. "Nobody owns the Bruiser. Why settle for one dish when there's a buffet?"

Their shared laughter echoes through the speakers, though I notice Sean's knuckles whitening as he presses his palms flat against the desk.

"And those accusations about the injuries?" Sean keeps his voice steady despite his rigid posture.

"She needed a reminder of who's in charge." Brody waves dismissively. "Just a couple broken bones—nothing she didn't deserve."

His smirk spreads across his face. "Bitches are weak, dude. I mean, we players get broken bones all the time and don't complain, right? Part of the game. That's life."

Playing along and containing his disgust beautifully as he mirrors Brody's language, Sean fake laughs, "Yeah, they need to know who the real strong sex is, bro. What would they do without us, right?"

"Exactly. They'd be good for nothing. Plus, if I'd let her just walk away, that bitch would've tried to squeeze millions out of me. Women love to play victim. And when you're rich, all you get is gold diggers. Don't get me wrong—no complaints here, as long as I can fuck them good. Gold diggers are the ones who give the best head, you know what I mean?"

"Oh, I know what you mean, believe me" Sean replies. "Ok, got it. I'll spin it your way if it comes up again, man." Sean maintains his composure even as I can see he'd love to punch Brody—or break a couple of his bones.

I grip the edge of the table, feeling nausea. The narcissism, the cruelty—it's worse than I'd imagined.

Blaze's fists tighten beside me, while Jake and Blake look ready to explode.

Emma sits back in her chair, a cat-who-ate-the-canary smile playing across her face. She taps her nails against the laptop keyboard in a victory rhythm, her blue eyes sparkling with satisfaction. She hits a key with dramatic flair, as she explains she's silencing the feed though her laptop will continue recording. She throws her hands up in celebration, and the tension in the room breaks.

"So this was live?" I ask, still processing what just happened.

Emma shakes her head, her grin widening. "Not even close. I intercepted the feed. Brody thinks it aired, but it's just us."

I raise an eyebrow, impressed.

"Basic stuff—intercepting a feed isn't rocket science when you know how the streaming software works. Sean's studio uses an outdated system." She rolls her eyes at mentioning her brother. "A few lines of code, and voilà, I had full access."

"This is all we need to take him down," Blaze says, his voice steady and determined.

I squeeze his hand, "Karma has a way of working things out—but sometimes it needs a little push in the right direction."

"Or a big push," Emma adds with a mischievous grin.

Everyone laughs, exchanging high-fives and hugs, their energy infectious. My throat tightens as I watch them celebrate.

"You all did this—for me?"

Blaze pulls me into a hug, his warmth enveloping me. "You're part of the Ice Team now. We've got you, Princess."