He’d met that jump.
Met it and matched it.
Until we’d both been left partially satisfied but wanting more.
But wanting more, expecting more from anyone…I wasn’t used to that.
And it scared the hell out of me.
11
Sawyer
“This is so awesome.” Zimmerman was practically humming with excited energy as we walked off the ice after morning skate.
“Don’t get too used to it, kid,” Thurston growled, pushing past us both to head into the locker room.
“Give him some space.” I put my hand on Zimmerman’s chest, stopping us toward the side of the hallway. “Don’t take that personally,” I told Zimmerman once Thurston was out of earshot. They’d called the kid back to be a backup just in case Thurston couldn’t hack it during playoffs, which so far, he had. I stripped off my helmet and guzzled water to make sure I’d hack it, too.
We were up three games to one against Detroit, and if we won tomorrow, we’d move on. The goalie luck seemed to have switched though—the two games we’d won, I’d been in net. Thurston had played the night we lost. The guy was hurting, and the fact that he even put the pads on was impressive, but I couldn’t help but worry that it would cost us in the long run.
“What, the fact that he doesn’t want me here?” Zimmerman seethed, showing all twenty years of his maturity.
“No one wants to be replaced,” Connell said as he came up from behind us. “Has nothing to do with who you are, and everything to do with how old you are.”
“Some guys just don’t know when to give it up.” Zimmerman took off his helmet, still glaring at Thurston’s back. “He’s past his prime.”
“Well, it’s a good thing we don’t let jackass kids who haven’t even reached their prime make decisions like that,” Cannon said slowly as he approached, giving the kid a once-over and shaking his head.
Zimmerman paled, and blinked quickly. “You’re Cannon Price.”
“Yep.”
The kid swallowed. “It’s really nice to meet you. Hey, is that the new Bauer stick? I didn’t think they were out. Can I see it? I heard the flex is crazy.”
This was not going to go well. Cannon loved that fucking stick.
“It is. They’re not. And no. Don’t even think about touching it. Or me.”
I almost felt bad for Zimmerman. Almost.
“What are you guys doing?” Axel asked, pausing his own trek to the locker room.
“Trying to give Thurston some space,” I told the giant Swede. “He’s pretty sour on the kid.”
Axel glanced at Zimmerman, and then toward Thurston’s back as it disappeared into the locker room. “Good idea,” he told me, pounding his fist on my shoulder pad twice. “Stop running your mouth, Zimmerman, or I’ll make sure you’re never called up from the farm team. We’re a family here, and just like every family has its Uncle Bjorn that no one likes—”
“No one has an Uncle Bjorn here,” Lukas interrupted, elbowing his best friend.
“You get the damned point,” Axel said to Zimmerman. “Thurston is family.”
“Then what am I?” the kid challenged. “I have a Reaper contract, too.”
“For the farm team,” Connell muttered, and I wondered how long it would take the kid to become a victim of one of his pranks.
“You’re the annoying boyfriend who’s trying to get Daddy’s approval by belittling Uncle Bjorn,” Lukas said with a shrug.
“You guys are assholes,” Zimmerman snapped. “Thurston’s just going to have to get used to me in the locker room.” He pushed away from us and strode to the locker room.
“Is it wrong that I hope it smacks him in the face?” Connell asked with a grin.
“Nope,” Lukas answered.
“Is he going to be a problem?” Axel asked me.
“I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “I get it, I do. Getting a shot like we did and landing contracts—farm team or not—it’s the dream. The one-in-a-million shot. The kid is going to be a great goalie. Hell, he’s almost there, but the humility could use some work.”
Axel sighed and stared as Zimmerman pushed into the locker room. “Just don’t get hurt on me.” He glanced back at me.
“Doing my best.”
I heard the rapid click of heels from the hallway just ahead about a millisecond before a woman turned the corner, hit the rubberized path, and tripped.
Cannon shot forward and caught her just before she would have face-planted and lifted her to her feet carefully.
“Are you all right, lass?” Connell asked.
The woman swept a mass of blond hair away from her face and gave a shaky smile. Talk about fairytale princess Barbie. This girl came with wide blue eyes, hair that belonged in a tower, a sundress with an actual cardigan buttoned at the top, and she couldn’t have stood more than five three. Next to Cannon, she looked...breakable.
“I’m just a bit embarrassed, but I’m okay,” she admitted with a sweet southern drawl. Then she looked up...and up at Cannon. “Thank you so much for catching me—” her words died and her eyes flared as she realized who he was.