Stick Your Landing (All In #3)

23. Zach

23

Zach

Volk laces my skates, each movement getting me closer to game ready.

Game days are my favorite days. I’m happy to be in the locker room today, preparing to return to the ice for the first time since Ward made me go splat. Matt drove me to the arena, because we live in the same house but also because he thinks I’m anxious. My foot tapping at breakfast had nothing to do with anxiety though; it was pure anticipation. Every nerve ending has been on fire since the moment I woke up, knowing today I’d play in a hockey game on my ice.

And it is mine. I belong on the Palmer City Wolves. I intend to remind management of it at every game for the rest of the season, all the way until I secure a deal to keep me in the place I consider home.

Volk deposits one leg on the floor before lifting the other to lace that skate. I should hate the way Volk and Matt coddle me, like I’m a helpless little kid, but I don’t mind it right now. All it does is reinforce they love me like a brother.

“Don’t get used to this,” Volk grumbles.

It’s freaky how well he reads my thoughts sometimes. I suppose living with someone helps with learning how they think. It’s how I know the tick in his jaw means something’s on his mind. During the dark time when Volk and Kennedy broke up for a few weeks, this dude ground his teeth so loudly, it woke me up from a nap on the plane.

“What’s up with you?”

He shakes his head, keeping his focus on my laces.

“You know I’ll badger it out of you. You should save yourself the headache.”

Volk sighs loudly. “You’re a pain in my ass.”

I roll my eyes. “You love me.”

“Like a puck to the face.”

“If you don’t want to tell me,” I reply, “Kennedy will.”

Volk stops what he’s doing, and my foot falls to the ground with a thud. “Do not tell Kennedy anything. You’ll ruin it.”

“Ruin what?”

He sucks in a breath. “I’m proposing to her. Tomorrow.”

“No shit! You are?” I shout loudly enough to draw the attention of several teammates.

Volk’s glare is murderous. He didn’t look this intense when I accidentally clipped his side mirror backing out of his driveway.

“Nothing to see here,” I try to cover. “Volk was telling me how he’s thinking of dying his hair blond. Platinum blond. I told him he should clear it with Kennedy since, you know, she’s the one who has to look at him, and he doesn’t want to piss her off because she’s got a temp—”

Volk taps me lightly on the side of my head to cut off the made-up explanation quickly spiraling out of control.

“ Dude . I just had a concussion.”

“You’re fine,” he says, not the least bit concerned.

I’m about to have my head rocked harder than that on the ice. If I can’t take a simple jab, I’m in trouble.

He picks up my skate again and resumes threading laces. “And you’ll remain fine as long as you keep your mouth shut.”

I mime zippering my lips. “Does anyone else know?”

“Gemma does. She’s taking Kennedy to the practice arena—”

“You’re proposing at the practice arena ?”

He lowers my leg to the ground, shifting to his locker to get ready for the game. “It’s significant for us… and no, I’m not telling you why.”

“Congrats, Volk. This is the best news.”

His jaw clenches again. “She hasn’t said yes yet.”

“You worried she’ll say no?”

Volk stares down at his skates, wringing his hands.

I smack the side of his arm. “I barely saw her when we lived together because she wanted to be with you. She’s at every game, wearing your jersey. You two are the next Matt and Gemma. Soon, you’ll have a little Zach running around.”

Volk barks out a laugh. “You think we’ll name our hypothetical kid after you?”

“Zachary Volkov,” I sing-song. If Volk needs me to be a jackass to get him out of his head, I’ll do it. Gladly. I love any excuse to be a brat. “It has a nice ring, doesn’t it?”

His response?

He exits the locker room, heading toward the tunnel.

“This conversation isn’t over,” I call playfully.

I’m excited for tonight’s game, so I’m not sure why I’m lingering here. Most of my teammates are already warming up on the ice. It’s not the injury holding me back—I’ve been hurt more times than I can count. I never don’t get back up.

This is the first time since coming into the league I’ve missed games because of injury. And this injury reminded me of everything I could lose.

But I’ll be damned if I let fear stop me.

I pull my black jersey over my head, take a deep breath, and sprint down the tunnel until my blades glide on ice. Jennings saucers a pass to me from center ice, and I take it on my stick, heading straight toward our empty net, where a handful of my teammates fire shots.

Jennings skates toward me, spraying ice in my direction. The old guys on our team like to complain we do it too much, but neither of us listens. “It’s good to fucking have you back, man.”

I hip-check him. “Aw, did you miss me, Princeton?”

“More like our record missed you.”

My eyes roll. The team’s done all right without me, currently second in the Metro division. The odds of us not making the playoffs are slim, and only people who hate our team would bet against us. Since Volk and I joined two years ago, we’ve made the playoffs every year—exiting round one the first year but making it to the second round last year. We’re building a Stanley Cup team in Palmer City, and every year we get that much closer.

I weave across the ice, stick-handling a puck against an invisible defender. When I reach the other side, I balance the hockey puck on my stick, tossing it in the air, then catching it over and over. Out of nowhere, another stick nabs it.

“Your girl coming tonight?” Jennings asks, balancing the puck on his stick.

I knock into him to send the puck to the ice. “Can you not announce it to the entire arena?”

“Holding her hands during family skate didn’t already do that?” he asks. “Cap didn’t warn you off?”

“Nope,” I reply. Matt didn’t say a damn word after Volk told me I’d attracted his attention and not in a good way. “Finley being into me is absurd. Can’t say I blame him.”

Jennings secures the puck before passing it to me. “Then he didn’t see her face. It’s obvious she’s into you.”

I catch the puck and make no move to send it back to him. “It is?” I eat up every confirmation like it’s the best damn dessert I’ve ever had.

“Yeah.” He motions around the arena. “So is she here?”

“She said she would be.”

“Better show out then, man,” he says, telling me something I already know. He knocks into me before heading to the bench.

When I line up on the ice before the national anthem fifteen minutes later, my gaze drifts to the location of Kennedy’s season tickets, about ten rows back from center ice and our bench. She’s there every game, wearing Volk’s jersey, screaming at the top of her lungs. The usual suspects sit beside her—Gemma on one side and Deandra Collins, our communications director, on the other.

The difference tonight? Finley Harris sits beside Gemma. Her lips quirk into a smile, and her sunshine hair flows past her shoulders. She’s wearing a Palmer City Wolves winter hat and jersey. Fuck, I hope it’s mine. I’ve never wanted to play a better game than this one—for myself but also to impress her.

Halo taps his stick against my skate. “You ready for me to make you look good?”

Volk groans beside me. Niko Halonen might be one of the best hockey players in the league, but Volk is perpetually exasperated by him. These two guys make sweet music together on the ice despite their clashing personalities. Halo’s little comments spark Volk’s hotheaded nature, and when that happens, opposing teams need to watch out.

“Let’s compare stats in ten games,” I reply. “I bet your points per game will go up playing with me.”

Halo scoffs but gives me a nod of approval. He wants to win, same as me.

When the national anthem finishes, I take my place outside the circle at center ice, waiting for Halo to win the face-off. Like usual, after the ref drops the puck, he slaps it my way, and the game I’ve been anticipating for weeks is underway.