Stick Your Landing (All In #3)

11. Zach

11

Zach

The way I spent the last two weeks with Finley complicates my feelings when I see Matt walk through the front door.

“Hey, jackass,” he greets, dropping enormous bags onto the floor like they weigh nothing. His mussed blond hair—I can’t help but notice it mirrors Finley’s shade—looks as it always does when he steps off the plane after a road trip. “What are you still doing up?”

Matt’s seen my odd sleeping patterns on the road, but many players struggle to sleep normal hours because of the constant travel.

“Making up for a lost week of gaming.” I sink deeper into the couch cushion and prop my socked feet on the coffee table. “I can only play hockey in video games.”

I pause the game and suck in a breath. I need to pretend Finley isn’t his sister. It’s what I’ve done for two weeks as I stared at her, flirted with her, followed her around like a damn puppy. Finley didn’t stop me. I’m trying not to let hope sink its claws into me, but every time she blushes at a comment I make, flirts back, or gives me her radiant smile, it becomes harder.

Matt plops down on the couch beside me. “How’s the noggin?”

“No red flags,” I parrot what the team doctor said. My head throbbing if I try to listen to music or getting hit with nausea if I stand up too quickly apparently causes no concern. It’s good news, of course, but I need the other symptoms to end so I can play hockey again.

The downside of recovery will be losing my reason to hang out with Finley, but I’ll invent another one. With my reputation, no one would bat an eye if I accidentally burn my apartment down and need a place to stay.

Matt props his right leg over his left. “How long ’til you’re back?”

“Sometime in the next month, if I’m lucky.”

He places a hand on my shoulder. “Shit. Man, that sucks.”

“Yeah. You guys are on a heater. I wish I was playing.”

After finishing my screen ban, I watched highlights from all the games I missed, including Volk hooking off on Justin fucking Ward, which was highly satisfying. I’m flattered by the aggressiveness with which Volk whaled on Justin until blood streamed down his face and spattered the ice. It’s not only because of the hit. They’d been rivals for years, even before Volk dated Kennedy, Justin Ward’s ex.

“By the way, how’s Finley?”

The question drop-kicks my stomach. I peek at him for any sign he knows about us, but his face is relaxed. Why would he worry I crossed an unspoken line when I’m me and she’s her ?

“Why are you asking me?”

“Because you can make conversation with a wall. You’ve been living in the same house with her for two weeks, so unless she told you to fuck off”—he huffs a laugh—“which wouldn’t surprise me, I figured you’d be talking her ear off.”

I shift in my seat, sidestepping the implied question about how much I’ve been talking to his sister. “She’s fine, I think.”

I keep to myself my confusion about what happened between us during his wedding reception two years ago. I want to ask her, but I’m not prepared for the fallout. If she knows I still think about the night that was probably only a blip on her radar, it might freak her out enough to run the other way.

I like her too damn much for that to happen.

“That’s good,” Matt says with a nod. He picks up the controller, twirling it in the air. “Care for a game before I go to bed?”

I pick up my controller. “You’re fucking on.”

The doorbell rings as I’m stepping out of the shower. I hear voices as I rush back to my room, a towel slung around my waist. I’m here alone since Gemma’s at her new bakery and Finley went to class after practice this morning.

“Briggsy?" Matt croons from the floor below. “You’ve got gentleman callers!”

I roll my eyes and slam the door in response. I dress quickly, and when I reach the top step, Jennings comes into view at the bottom, leaning against the banister. He’s reading his phone so intently, he doesn’t immediately see me. His blond hair sticks out under his baseball cap.

He turns and flashes a broad smile, blue eyes gleaming. “You look better than the last time I saw you.” He holds out a hand for me to slap.

I smack it when I reach the bottom of the staircase. “I still looked better than you ever do, asshole.”

Jennings is a pretty boy, and it couldn’t be farther from the truth. The combination of smart and good-looking makes him popular with our female fans but he’s unfazed by it.

Jennings places his hand on my forearm. “Seriously, dude, that hit was nasty. You doing okay?”

I shrug. “Better than when I was flat on my ass on the ice.”

He flashes me a Be serious look, the first of many for the day, I’m sure. I ignore it and head toward the noise. I’m not ready to talk about my feelings, to dissect my fears about missing so many games that I lose my chance for a long-term contract with the Wolves.

People view me as loose-lipped and easygoing, sharing my innermost thoughts without thinking. They aren’t exactly wrong; I let my thoughts flow out easily, but only the surface-level ones. Anything deeper remains locked down. No one pushes further than the surface, because they assume nothing else exists. Until Finley.

Volk stands from the couch and comes to me when I enter the room. “Good to see you on your fucking feet, Briggsy.” He claps me on the back, his version of a hug.

I put a hand on his face, and he immediately swats it away. Faint cuts are still healing beneath his left eye. “Thanks for sacrificing your looks for my honor.”

He runs his hand over the scruff on his chin. “Kennedy likes scars.”

What would it be like to have confidence in another person’s feelings about you? Knowing the parts of you some people consider damaged, they treasure?

Matt rests his hands behind his head. “They do look badass.”

“Like he needed anything else to help him cultivate that look,” I say, perching on the arm of the couch.

The front door swings open, the security-system chime echoing through the house. I recognize the familiar sounds of Finley’s arrival—the rattle of the door, the drop of each shoe hitting the ceramic floor, the jangle of car keys on the metal hook. My heart beats faster with each additional sound, with the anticipation of seeing her.

Volk grips the sides of his collar and pops it out. “Some people just have it .” He tosses us his signature shit-eating grin, the one fans associate with Volk after he scores a goal or wins a fight.

“Besides Volk getting an even bigger head, whatddya all been up to?”

Matt jerks a thumb at Volk. “We got him to come out for an hour before going back to his room to talk to Kennedy. Princeton, here, had a game-winner against Seattle. And I was the first star in LA.”

“Sounds like a great trip.” Finley comes into the room, sucking every ounce of air from my lungs.

“I hear you were good while I was gone,” Matt says to her.

My stomach tenses at the implication I reported on her. Somehow, he interpreted She’s fine, I think as insight into his sister’s well-being. Finley’s gaze meets mine, and I keep my expression carefully neutral. I don’t want her to think I’m sharing anything about us with Matt.

“Don’t worry, brother, I’m still in school.” Her tone remains light, but she crosses her arms over her chest, giving away how much his comment bothers her. “Submitted all my homework on time. Made my bed. Went to sleep before midnight. Didn’t kiss a single boy.”

I’m damn happy to hear the last one.

Matt lets out a chuckle. “All right. I get it.”

“Get what? That you’re overbearing?”

Matt stops laughing at Finley’s words.

“Imagine having him as your captain,” I remark. Finley’s eyes snap to me, full of the scary intensity I’ve seen when she prepares to run toward the vault. “I have to listen to him.”

“That’s rough sledding.”

That’s my phrase .

And of course Matt, who spends more time with me than most people, notices.

“I don’t like the way you’re rubbing off on my sister,” he tells me.

Jesus Christ . I avert my gaze so Matt can’t see the heat in my cheeks.

“Why don’t you want him to rub off on me?” Finley asks, her voice sugary sweet. Does she want him to suspect us? Or is she mocking my obvious crush on her? When Matt doesn’t answer, she adds, “He’s your teammate.”

Matt doesn’t pick up on the innuendo. Thank fuck.

Instead, he lets out a deep-bellied laugh, lurching forward as his body vibrates with laughter. “I don’t want you to be like any of these jokers.”

Finley flips her ponytail over her shoulder. “Then I guess I better leave.”

Her gaze catches mine, and our brief eye contact detonates a bomb in my belly. The room remains silent until Finley’s steps cease on the stairs.

“ That’s your sister?” Jennings’s gaze lingers in the direction Finley went. My blood thrums faster beneath my skin as I imagine Sawyer with Finley. For the first time since I met him, I want to deck my friend.

“Watch it, Princeton.” Matt jabs a finger in the air toward him. “If you’re as smart as you want us all to think, you’ll keep your hands to yourself.” He pauses a moment before adding, “You too, Volk.”

It’s an obvious joke, but Volk gives him the finger. “Fuck off, Harry.”

Matt doesn’t threaten me. I try not to let it chafe, but I’m stung by this reminder I don’t have a legitimate shot with Finley. Her overprotective brother finds the idea so absurd, he doesn’t think to warn me off.

Jennings shakes his head, silky blond hair reflecting sunlight from the window behind us. “No, that’s not…” His skin flushes darker than the red line, either from embarrassment over saying his thoughts out loud or because he’s worried about getting on our six-foot-four captain's bad side. “That’s not what I meant.”

It’s definitely what he meant. I shouldn’t resent him for noticing Finley’s beauty, but I do. So fucking much.

I’ve never had one bad thought about the guy. He’d help you move, pick you up from jail, and keep his mouth shut about a secret you told him. He’s the teammate you’d trust to date your little sister. He’s impossible not to like with his snow-bright smile, vibrant blue eyes, and the aw-shucks way he carries himself.

I don’t begrudge it when women approach him in a bar instead of me. But the thought he’s a better match for Finley and could charm her if he wanted?It makes me want to drop-kick him.

Jennings suddenly slams a hand down on the arm of the couch, his mouth parted in surprise. “I don’t know why I didn’t put it together before. She’s Finley Harris , the gymnast. My sister watches all the meets. Finley was her favorite. She wouldn’t stop winking after seeing Finley do it at the end of her routines.”

Finley winking ? It’s so ridiculous, I audibly snort. All heads turn my way.

“Be honest. Was it really your sister watching?”

They’re the only words I can think of to cover my reaction. The girl who tilts her head and quirks her brow, whose lips rarely rise in a grin. The hardworking gymnast who needs me to teach her how to have fun. She winked when she competed?

Jennings chucks a pillow at the side of my head. “Shut up, dude. I’m serious.” He focuses on Matt, waiting for confirmation.

Matt’s biceps pulse with tension, his eyes glazing over, unfocused. Finley hasn’t shared why she’s hiding gymnastics from her family, but by the look on Matt’s face, it’s serious enough he wouldn't think he can trust me—the guy without a serious bone in his body—with it.

“Matt?” Jennings prompts.

“Yep, she was a gymnast. And now she’s a college student.” Matt’s hand clenches in a fist. “Princeton, you will not hit on my sister. She’s in no place to date.”

He salutes Matt, and there’s something sarcastic in the gesture. “Calm down, Cap. You got a beer?”

“Yeah.” Matt grits the word. “I’ll come with you.” He trails Jennings out of the room.

Volk clears his throat. “You need to watch yourself.”

The sentence feels menacing in the deep rumble of his accented voice.

“What?” I pretend not to know what he means.

Volk’s jaw ticks. “Knock it off, Briggs.” His use of my last name instead of my nickname highlights his seriousness. “With your new roommate .”

I force out a laugh. “Have you seen her? Or are you blind to anyone not named Kennedy?”

Volk scowls; he never likes Kennedy’s name to venture too near a dig, joke, or critique.

“There’s no way she’d be interested in me.”

Volk leans forward, elbows resting on his knees. “Why not? It’s not like you’re a shlub.”

I rub my fists into my cheeks and flutter my eyelashes. “Volk, are you saying you think I’m pretty ?”

Volk punches my shoulder, and I jostle backward.

“Hey! I have a head injury.”

“Can you take something seriously for once ?”

This common refrain from my teammates, who tire of my boundless high energy, bothers me. I stand, exhausted by this conversation, intending to retreat to my room.

“Don’t worry, Volky. It’s not like I stand a chance.”