Rush the Edge: A Brother’s Best Friend Hockey Romance (Blue Devils Hockey Book 3)

I’m on edge.

My leg shakes up and down as I sit on the bench in the locker room. I glance at my stick, checking out my handiwork. I count the fifteen loops and make sure the black tape is smoothed as best as it can be. I’ve done all my crazy lucky rituals, and yet, I still have a knot in my stomach.

We get the go-ahead from Coach and stand up to take the ice. The closer I get to the arena, the more my muscles tense. What the fuck is wrong with me? I’m never like this when it comes to a game. Hockey is a salve to me. It’s my calm, even with how chaotic and aggressive it can become.

Daisy pops into my head, and I grit my teeth. I shove the thought of her bouncing breasts from her pitiful jumping jacks clear out of my mind and continue down the line. There’s a stack of pucks on the ledge right beside the bench, and as soon as I take the ice—left skate first, obviously—I swipe at them. The tower crumbles to the icy floor, and the crowd roars.

Cool air brushes against my face as I zip around. The calm finally begins to settle over me, and I come back down to earth.

Until I see her.

It takes everything in me not to come to a complete halt.

I can tell that it’s Daisy in the mascot costume, because she’s way smaller than the previous person. Her skates peeking out from beneath the Blue Devil legs are tiny, and she barely comes to Lar’s shoulder.

If he doesn’t get the hell away from her…

I shouldn’t be jealous, but I am.

If anyone asks, I’ll blame it on being protective.

If she asks, I’ll deny the fuck out of it.

My stick is light in my grip, and I play around with a puck at my feet. I wind backward and send it flying at Lars, purposefully coming close to our little mascot too.

They both look at me, and honestly, it’s hard not to laugh knowing that Daisy is inside that thing, even if I am irritated.

Lars rolls his eyes, but I catch the half-smirk on his face as he skates toward me.

“Will you relax?” He does a half-turn while a puck bounces against his stick. “We’re on the same team, ya know.”

“Stop pissing me off, and I will relax,” I say matter-of-factly.

He dips down to the ice and begins to stretch. I flick my gaze to our mascot and send her a scathing glare when I see that she’s staring at both of us. As if she’s caught, she spins and skates off to center ice and raises her hands, which makes the crowd yell even louder.

“I’m not trying to piss you off,” Lars adds mid-stretch. “I was making sure she was okay, because you sent those pucks flying, and she nearly fell.”noveldrama

It’s not his responsibility to make sure she’s okay. It’s mine.

My nostrils flare with the thought.

It’s not my responsibility.

I skate in the opposite direction of Daisy with anger trailing me. It’s fucking with my head that she’s on the ice, in my space.

I just need to pretend it isn’t her. It’s simple. She’s dressed in a ridiculous devil’s costume; I can’t even see her.

I glance to center ice again. It doesn’t matter if I can’t see her. I can feel her.

I’m cagey at the thought of her sharing the ice with me. It’s fucking with my game-day mentality, and I really don’t like it.

I’m unfocused, and I’m never unfocused.

Skating quickly, I pull up beside her and send ice flying in between us.

“Get off the ice,” I demand quietly.

Even with my gritty tone, I know she heard me.

“What?” Her voice is muffled, but it’s still as sweet as a melody.

Acting as if I’m not standing here talking to the damn mascot, I play around with the puck and send it into the net past Emory. He glares at me. Mid-turn, I repeat myself. “I said get off the ice.”

If she could, I bet she’d stomp her foot at me.

“I’m doing my job. The one you got me!” she shouts.

Mistakes were made.

I should have never set her up for that interview.

“Get off,” I growl. “Or I’ll make you.”

Ah, fuck. That was the wrong thing to say.If I lifted her mask, I bet she’d be smiling like a real devil.

“You’ll make me?” she repeats.

My shoulders tense. I grip my stick with so much strength I’m afraid it’ll snap.

“We’ll see about that.” She skates away from me, but I only let myself linger for a few seconds before trying to get my shit straight to play a game that we need to win for playoff points.

Focus, Kane. Fucking focus.

The game couldn’t have gone worse.

For me, I mean. The team did great. They’re the reason we won.

I didn’t play as well as I typically do, and I know everyone can tell. Most of them will keep their thoughts to themselves, except for a few, like Rhodes and Emory. Rhodes, the veteran of the team, will probably grunt out an insult that’ll piss me off, but I’ll remain quiet because it’ll be true.

“You good? Drink too much last night?” Malaki asks.

I glare at him. “I don’t drink the night before a game anymore, which you know because you live with me.”

He shrugs. “I don’t know what you do when I’m not there.”

Malaki’s lucky not to be a part of my rituals, unlike Daisy.

“So, you just get wasted every other night then?” someone mutters.

Malaki starts to untie his skates without making eye contact with me. “Your game was off, so I’m just speculating over here.”

Lars chuckles. “I know what’s got the hothead all twisted.”

I bare my teeth at him. He’s getting on my last fucking nerve.

“If you don’t shut the fuck up, I will knock your teeth out,” I snap.

Emory sighs. “Same team, brother. Quit it.”

I grimace at him while he sheds his goalie gear. He’s just as testy as I am, only he got himself a pretty little wife, so now he’s all sunshine and rainbows.

Malaki perks up with excitement. He turns toward Lars. “Oh, there’s tea? Do tell.”

“The mascot…”

They converse as if I’m not here, and if I don’t block them out, I may actually do something I’ll regret.

I fucked myself getting Daisy this job.

It’s messing with my head, and it’s putting a wedge between me and the game—something that is simply unacceptable.

Hockey is all I have left.

I’ll be damned if I let anyone take it from me.

Even her.

I pop up from the bench, in need of a shower, but there’s no time for that. The need to get shit straightened out before the next game is more important than the sweat drying on my skin.

“Where is he going?” someone asks.

“Hopefully to fuck the ma⁠—”

I slam the door because I know the next thing out of their mouths is going to send me into a full rage.

I’ll be foaming at the mouth before it’s all said and done.