Third period. Game five of the first round. We were on home ice and a penalty kill since Porter had another minute twenty left in the box for roughing.

Not the guy from Calgary hadn’t deserved it for that shit move he’d pulled on Lukas. We were lucky the ref had only slapped him with a minor since Porter had only gotten one shot off before Gage interfered. Otherwise, we’d no doubt be dealing with a major penalty for fighting, and with the scoreboard showing us tied with four minutes left in the game, we couldn’t afford to be down the man, not if we wanted to shut the door on this series and move on to the next round.

My body rocked on its own accord as I sat on the bench, sweat dripping down my neck, adrenaline flowing, anticipating the line change. I glanced back to where the doc ran concussion protocol on Lukas, making sure that cheap shot the refs had turned a blind eye to hadn’t rattled Lukas’s brain.

“I’m fine,” he growled.

“Sit your ass there and finish the exam!” Coach snapped.

I gave Porter the nod through the glass, letting him know I wasn’t the least bit pissed about where we were.

Sure, there was something to be said for keeping your temper in check, but a little bit of retribution was satisfying in a way that turning the other cheek never would be. Plus, Porter had sent a message: he may have been recently traded from our number one rival: Ontario, but he was here now and ready to bleed Shark blood.

The crowd roared as Warren sent the puck sailing out of our zone and into Calgary’s. Coach called for a line change, and I was on the ice in seconds.

I flew toward the Calgary forwards, noting that Gage did the same on the right. He was the one you wanted on the ice when seconds and experience mattered. I was the one needed when it was time to put it on the scoreboard, and it was time to get to work.

The crowd counted down the last five seconds of Porter’s penalty as I knocked the puck loose from the Calgary player, sending it toward Gage.

He crossed the blue line before Calgary hit him with a two on one and stole the puck, racing into our zone.

Fucking penalty kills.

“FULL STRENGTH!” the crowd yelled along with the announcer.

Porter bolted from the penalty box and joined Noble on defense just as I reached the zone.

Noble cut across the goal—the guy was a rookie, but he always had Eric’s back—to take on the opposing forward as I ripped right to shake the opposing defender currently riding my ass. Noble was the best offensive defenseman to come out of last year’s draft, and all he needed was a break—

Which he got, as Porter checked the Calgary skater into the boards with a satisfying crunch.

Within milliseconds, Noble had the puck, deftly evading the opposition as he brought it up dead center. As another white jersey came at him from the left, Noble shot the puck forward.

It made contact with my stick.

My world narrowed to the feel of the ice under my feet, the pressure of the puck against my stick, the sound of my own breath in my ears, and the two hulking defenders who knew just as well as I did that there were less than two minutes left on the clock.

If I didn’t want to play a game six against these guys, now was the moment.

The defensemen split, one coming up at me.

Big mistake.

I outskated him, leaving him struggling, and failing, to keep up as I faced the last defender.

Mirsky. The giant Russian defenseman whose entire job was to shut me down. He came at me, and I moved away from the boards.

Not today, asshole.

We made impact on my terms, my momentum meeting his with greater force and speed. Mirsky spun, slamming into the boards. I felt the pressure of the puck on my stick and almost smiled.

Damn, it was fun to be good.

I assessed the goalie’s stance in the span of two heartbeats and watched for the one tell this guy had as I skated close enough to make out the flame design on his helmet.

There.

He lunged, assuming I’d go stick-side as my setup indicated.

I hit him with a backhand instead, and the puck sailed through the small opening between his shoulder and the rail, hitting the net.

The noise of the crowd broke through my concentration as the lamp lit, and I turned, meeting Gage’s open arms in the process.

He tapped his meaty fist on my helmet.

“Fuck yes!” he shouted over the noise.

Joy ripped through me, clean and pure and I fist-bumped Noble, then Porter and Lindgren as I made my way back to the bench.

This moment was why I loved hockey. It wasn’t the money—sure that didn’t hurt—but it was the moment I went up against the best of the best and proved that a broke ass kid who had paid his PeeWee hockey dues by sweeping up the rink at night could best them.

One minute and seven seconds later, the buzzer sounded.

I was mid-dogpile when it hit me, nearly knocking me to my knees.

We were moving on to the next round in the Stanley Cup playoffs. We’d made it to the final eight.

My field of vision cleared as my teammates dispersed, and my head swung toward the family section, needing to see Hannah’s reaction.

I skated over quickly, and she hopped down the step that separated us, waving as she jumped up and down, the giant Bridgerton jersey nearly swallowing her whole. Her smile was big, bright, and so fucking contagious.

My cheeks hurt from grinning so wide, and I pointed to her, tapping my chest, stick in hand, with my other. She mimicked the motion, somehow amplifying the joy I was sure couldn’t possibly grow in my heart.

She threw a look over her shoulder, and Ivy appeared, wrapping her arms around Hannah just like I wanted to. She smiled over at me and mine slipped.

She floored me. She was heart-stoppingly beautiful, her hair woven into the same side-braid she’d done for Hannah. God, it wasn’t just her face, or that fuck-me-now body. It was the happiness she openly radiated as she squeezed Hannah, the way her eyes looked at me she saw me, not just another player—another Shark.

She didn’t even like me, but still showed up for Hannah even a month after Jess had split. Ivy showed up for me.

I didn’t even like her, but I wanted her. Shit, I needed her.

And I prided myself on not needing anyone.

The memory of her soft body cradled in my arms from when I caught her at the music festival rushed my mind in an instant. She’d been warm, fierce, and reckless enough to trigger every protective instinct I possessed.

Our gazes held, and her grin slid to a small, somehow more intimate smile. Like we shared something secret, something untouchable, and I guess in a way, we did.

I gave her the same motion I had Hannah, tapping my chest with my hand and then pointing to her. I was here because she’d stepped up. She’d shown up when I had practices, flown to our away games this week, and taken on Hannah as if she were her own.

Holy shit. I might have just scored the winning goal, but it was Ivy with the assist.

I felt a tap on my shoulder and nodded at Lukas. It was time to line up.

I gave my girls a nod and skated over to the rest of my team. Something itched in my chest as we went through the post-game line up, shaking hands with all of the Calgary players. I rolled my shoulders about halfway through the handshakes, wondering if my pads had slipped or something.

The lineup finished as I realized it wasn’t an external itch but an internal one.

We were almost to the locker room before I realized there wasn’t just one reason for the itch, but two.

The first was logical. I’d thought my girls, like I had any claim to Ivy, or even wanted one. I didn’t. I couldn’t afford a distraction or a mistake like Ivy, and it didn’t matter if I was literally aching to get inside her. My dick wasn’t running this show.

But if I didn’t want her, then why the hell did it bug me that she’d been wearing a Jackson jersey?

“So now you get to move on?” Hannah asked as I tucked her in, still wearing my jersey.

“Yep. We’re just waiting to hear who wins this weekend and we’ll know who we’re playing and what the schedule will be.” I brushed back a few of her curls and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Now get some sleep, Banana. That was a lot of excitement for one day. You sure you want to sleep in the jersey? It can’t feel comfortable.”

She shrugged. “It’s my ritual,” she said with all the solemnity a five-year old could offer.

My eyebrows rose an inch. “What would you know about rituals?”

“Ivy said that some players have supersituations. They don’t change socks, which is gross, or other weird things. She says it makes them feel like they have enough luck to win.”

“Superstitions,” I corrected her with a little laugh. Between Hannah and Lukas, I felt like a dictionary. “And yeah, I guess some players do. So now you have a ritual?”

Her nose scrunched. “Well, I didn’t until tonight.”

“And it has to do with my jersey?” I prodded, curious to know why she hadn’t worn the cute, tailored jersey Ivy had custom made for her.

She nodded. “Yep. I spilled my GoGurt on the jersey Ivy gave me,” she whispered, her lips pursing. “She wasn’t mad or anything, but I was. I told her we couldn’t leave for the game like that. It looked like Shanks on my jersey instead of Sharks because it was grape and really, really dark.”

I held in my laughter and gave her a serious nod. “I see.”

“So, I had yogurt all down me, and we were supposed to leave, and I couldn’t just show up wearing a mess, right? What would the other team kids think? And I know I’m not a team kid, but…” she sighed, and my heart cracked.

“Are they mean to you? The other kids?” I wasn’t above kicking kindergarten ass for Hannah.

“No,” she replied quickly. “They’re really nice. I just didn’t want to give them a reason to stop being nice.”

I swallowed past the growing lump in my throat. I remembered that feeling all too well, trying to be perfect so no one would notice that my clothes weren’t always clean, that my mom never showed up to school stuff. Being extra helpful at whatever foster home we’d been dropped at so that I wouldn’t have to pack my shit—or Jessica’s, and leave for a new one.

“You know I wouldn’t have cared, right? That I love you exactly as you are, even if you’re covered in GoGurt.” I gripped her little hand in mine, hoping she heard the truth of my words.

“I know, Uncle Connor,” she nodded and cracked a yawn so big I didn’t know how her jaw didn’t dislocate. “That’s exactly what Ivy said, that you wouldn’t care. You just wanted me there.”

Thank you, Ivy.

“She’s absolutely right.”

“She also said I could wear her McPherson jersey, but I wanted yours.”

“And that is why you’re my favorite niece,” I told her, glancing over my shoulder when the noise in the living room got even louder. Lukas must have shown up, after all.

“I’m your only niece,” she reminded me with a smirk.

“Fine, then you’re my favorite kid on the entire planet,” I retorted.

“Even if I stole the jersey off the hanger in the study?” she asked, her mouth quirking to one side as she awaited my verdict.

Holy shit, she’d taken my first game jersey. The one I’d had framed for preservation.

I swallowed and blinked, keeping my smile plastered to my face.

“Even then,” I responded. “Besides, it looks better on you, anyway.”

Her grin was worth it. It stole into my chest and warmed me in that simple, pure way that only Hannah had.

Jerseys, even ones that marked monumental events, were just cloth. Material. Hannah’s smile? Priceless.

“So I can sleep in it?” she clarified.

“Yep. Sleep in it. Spill yogurt on it, whatever. It’s yours, Hannah-Banana.”

Her eyes lit up. “I’ll wear it to every game! It’s definitely ritual now.”

I bent and kissed her on her forehead one more time before standing beside her bed. “Sounds like a plan. Just two things,” I told her as I checked to make sure her window was locked and pulled the mini-blinds so the streetlights wouldn’t bother her.

“What?” she asked mid-yawn.

“First, you have to agree to let me wash it at least once a week.”

“Deal,” she agreed, snuggling deeper into her covers. “What else?” She closed her eyes.

“You have to remember that the jersey is only lucky because you’re the one wearing it.” She didn’t agree because she was already asleep. God, I wished I could do that, just decide the day was over and shut my body down.

Hell, I was just thankful she could, that she felt safe enough not to lay awake worrying, wondering what would happen to her tomorrow.

She would never have to worry again. Ever. Not if I had anything to say about it.

I left the pink and purple confection she and Ivy called a bedroom, shutting the door behind me softly.

Voices carried into the hallway, and I walked into the living room to find Lukas and Porter holding down one side of my couch, and Eric comfortable in the armchair, Pepper curled in his lap.

Ivy sat at the end of the sectional, her feet tucked under her. Damn, she looked...right. Comfortable. Like she belonged here, at the end of an amazing day, her hair coming undone from her braid, her skin flush with happiness.

“There he is!” Lukas lifted his beer in salute. “The hero of the hour!”

“Shhh,” I waved my hand at him. “You wake up Hannah, and I’m dropping her off at your house at 7 a.m.”

“The hero of the hour,” he repeated in a stage whisper. “The slayer of dragons, and the fiercest of noise code enforcers.”

“Haha,” I mocked, but smiled. “What are you guys doing here anyway? Not that I’m not happy to have you.”

“You said you weren’t going out tonight, so we came to you,” Eric answered.

“Plus the beer is cheaper,” Lukas added with a tilt of his head. “Not that Porter here is partaking.”

Porter grunted in response.

With that Swedish accent, Lukas sounded so damn proper that I almost believed he was, but I knew him way too well for that shit.

“Want one?” I asked Porter as I passed to the kitchen.

“No thank you,” he hefted his water. “I don’t drink.”

Huh. I tucked that tidbit away for later examination and opened my frig. “Ivy, you still have a hard cider in here, want it?” I offered, taking out a beer for myself. I’d allow myself one, but not more.

Lord knew I couldn’t afford the PR nightmare of showing up drunk at an ER in an Uber with Hannah if she had some kind of freak accident in the middle of the night.

“Yes, please. Oh, and my—”

“Ice cream?” I finished, knowing she loved her late night sweets.

“Exactly!” She shot me a grin over her shoulder, and it punched me in the gut, only to travel lower and...stay.

Shit. I was used to lusting after Ivy. Hell, it was impossible not to. She was pretty much a walking, talking ad for temptation with those lips and the smooth skin of her neck that practically begged for my tongue.

Are you fucking kidding me? Her neck? Get a damn grip.

I quickly looked away, grabbing her pint of salted caramel from the freezer, a spoon, and somehow balancing our drinks as I headed back to the living room.

“My hero!” She exclaimed as she took her ice cream and cider, repeating Lukas’s earlier accolade, but it sounded different coming from her.

“You keep ice cream for her?” Pepper asked, her eyes taking on a knowing glint. “You know that’s the way to her heart, right?”

My fingers flexed on the chilled bottle in my hand.

“Oh, he’s not interested in my heart. Don’t worry. Just my babysitting skills, and sometimes my interior decorating. The ice cream is here because I was sick of his stupid yogurt and kale routine.” Ivy waved her spoon at me before digging into her pint.

“Hey, kale is good for you,” I fired back, settling into the only empty seat—the one beside her. “And I’m not sure if I’d classify Glitter Explosion from Hell as interior decorating.”

She quirked an eyebrow at me and dragged the spoon from her mouth slowly.

Really. Fucking. Slowly.

Shit, what would those lips feel like wrapped around my cock? I cleared my throat, hoping it would do the same for my thoughts.

“Every girl needs a little sparkle, Connor,” she told me in all seriousness.

“On every surface?” I countered. “Pretty sure she could signal space with her bedroom if she flashed her mini-blinds fast enough.”

Pepper laughed, and Ivy just rolled her eyes.

“Don’t be dramatic,” she accused.

“Seriously. NASA called me before the game. They’re worried about the safety of their astronauts. Said something about it blinding them on reentry.” I took a long swig of my beer.

“I’m not even sure how they could see it with the ego you keep here. I mean, it’s so big it blocks out the sun. They should be more worried that you’re blocking the signal beacons all the way in Florida.” She batted her eyelashes at me.

I laughed.

I’d never before had so much fun giving her shit. Then again, I’d always done it out of anger, not fun.

Lukas took over the conversation, and I looked at Pepper and Eric, willing myself to remember why I had to keep Ivy at a distance. Why she was dangerous to me.

But every time I thought about it—her outing Eric and Pepper—I was less and less angry. She had to have a good reason right?

Or was it blatant jealousy over their happiness?

By the time the impromptu gathering was at an end a couple of hours later, I was still rolling the question over and over in my head.

“You ready to go, Ivy?” Pepper asked as the group filed toward the door.

“Wait one second,” I blurted. “I actually have a present for you.”

Her eyes widened. “You what?”

“Present,” I muttered. “You know, for being so awesome with Hannah since you won’t let me pay you.”

“Of course you’re not paying me,” she said, her back going ramrod straight as she stood from the couch. “Hannah isn’t a job.”

Well, shit.

“Not what I meant,” I said defensively. “I just wanted...you know what? Just come with me.”

I led her to what was now Hannah’s study, aka, the previous beer pong room.

“I love this room,” she said with an appreciative sigh at the white bookcases filled with children’s books and the wide, matching desk.

“Me, too. I hope I can find another one she likes just as well.” I opened the closet door and reached for the box at the top of the highest shelf.

“You’re moving?” she asked with a higher pitch to her voice.

“Don’t worry,” I teased, retrieving the box. “I’m not getting traded and leaving you high and dry without someone to torture. Just thinking about what the social worker said about there not being a yard here, or kids her age. Think it’s time for me to grow up and buy a house. I’m actually meeting with the realtor tomorrow.”

“Damn, and here I was thinking you were perpetually Peter Pan.”

I turned to find her only a few feet away, looking up at me with those amnesia-inducing eyes.

“I have a kid now, remember? No Peter Pan, here.”

She shrugged, crossing her arms under her breasts, which brought her cleavage to the neckline of her Jackson jersey. “She’s the perfect Tinkerbell.”

“And that would make you who? Wendy?” Not going to lie, the thought was becoming more appealing with every moment I spent with her.

“Nah,” she answered. “I’m done with lost boys.”

Right. Because she’d been with Crosby. He knew what it was like to kiss her, to hold her, to slip between those long legs and—

“So what’s in the box?” she asked softly.

I shook my head. “The present. Right. I just wanted to say thank you for what you did for Hannah today. Every day, really, but especially today.” I motioned to where the shadow box on the wall was noticeably missing a jersey.

“You’re not mad?” she asked, scrunching her nose in a way that made her way too fucking adorable for my peace of mind.

“Not in the least.”

She swept her tongue over her lips, a nervous gesture, I was sure, but still sexy as hell.

“It was important, though, right? Because it was framed.”

“It was the jersey I wore in my first Shark game.”

She gasped and bit her lip. “Oh, shit.”

“She’s my first niece, so it’s actually really fitting if you think about it. And the first girl to wear my jersey to a game.” My lips quirked at the memory.

“So not true, you liar,” Ivy fired back with a teasing huff and a roll of her eyes. “I’ve seen hundreds—literally hundreds—of women at any moment wearing your jersey in that rink. It’s not like I don’t go to games.”

“Fine, then she’s the first girl I’ve ever loved to wear my jersey. Better?”

Her gaze slammed into mine, and the air between us crackled. “Really?”

“Really. I’ve only ever loved my sister and Hannah. That’s it. The first time I saw her wearing my jersey I just about melted in a puddle.”

“Yeah, it’s a claiming thing, right?” her voice took on a sharper edge. “Like you own her because your name is on her back?”

I bit back my first instinct, which was to engage. Attack. Snap back like we usually did to each other.

“No,” I said slowly. “Because growing up, that name meant trash. Unwanted. And there I was, an NHL player, and there she was, with her own last name on a jersey that said it was worth something. I was worth something. Our name was worth something. It wasn’t my first game, I’d already seen bunnies wearing the jersey, but Hannah...she’s the only person I’ve ever seen wear my number who I knew would choose me over everyone else in that rink. She wasn’t wearing it because I was a hockey player, or because she was mine, but because I was hers. There’s a difference, Ivy.”

Her lips parted, and she looked at me like she’d never seen me before. Like I was a stranger, some anomaly that had appeared randomly.

“Oh,” was all she said.

“What?” I asked, dropping my voice to match the mood of the moment.

“Nothing. You just...you surprise me. Every time I think I have you pegged, you throw me for a loop.”

Her eyes dropped to my lips.

Before I could even process my instant, overwhelming need to kiss her, she pointed to the box I still held between us.

“Present?” Her smile was shaky.

“Oh. Right. Shit. Now it feels stupid. You know what? Never mind.” Now it felt loaded. Like I was saying something I really wasn’t. Like I was crossing lines we hadn’t even drawn because we’d never needed boundaries as much as we needed a no man’s land.

“Oh no, I want it.” She reached for the box.

“No, really, it’s nothing,” I pulled it back.

“You can’t take back a present!” She exclaimed with a yank.

“I haven’t given it to you, so it’s not taking it back,” I reminded her with a tug.

“Stop acting five-years old and give me my present!” She gripped the box so tight it crumpled on her end.

“Now who is acting five?” I shot back.

“Ugh!” she complained, and I let her have it when she pulled.

She stumbled backward, and I caught her by the elbows before she could crash into the desk.

“For fuck’s sake, be careful!”

“For fuck’s sake, stop being so aggravating!” She huffed, blowing a stray strand of blonde hair from over her eyes.

God, even pissed, she was beautiful. Maybe even moreso.

“Fine. Have it!”

“Fine! I will!” She ripped the box open and stared at the contents. “It’s a jersey.”

I couldn’t read her face at this angle. Couldn’t see if she was astonished or bored. With Ivy, that tone could mean anything.

“Yep.” And now I felt stupid. The woman was rich in her own right. Her dad was a damned NHL coach, and I’d handed her a fucking jersey.

She put the box on the desk and removed the gift, holding it up and reminding me that it would dwarf her. Maybe not as badly as Hannah, but still. Ivy wasn’t exactly over six feet and a couple hundred pounds.

“It’s your jersey.”

“Yep.”

Jesus, this was getting awkward. “Look, I just saw that you always wear different jerseys to the games, except when you were always wearing—”’

She shot me a look that warned me against finishing that sentence.

Crosby’s.

“Anyway, I hadn’t seen you wear mine, and thought maybe you didn’t have one, so just in case you ever want to do a matching thing with Hannah like you did with your hair today or whatever.” I ran my hands over my hair and begged my mouth to shut up so my brain could catch up.

And if she looked at me like that for any longer, I was going to find out exactly how she tasted.

“Ivy, you coming?” Pepper asked, breaking the spell.

“Yeah, just one second!” Ivy answered. As if she sensed the moment was getting too real, she gave me a dazzling, flirty smile. “You know, I do actually own one of your jerseys.”

“You do?” My voice inched toward cracking as she stepped forward, invading my personal space in every possible way.

“Yep. I use it all the time.”

She used it? To get herself off? To sleep in? To curl up and watch tv with my name on her back? Shit, I was going to come without ever having kissed her.

“You do?”

“Yep,” she responded. She rose on her toes and brushed her lips across my cheek. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” I was just about to tell her why that one was special when she retreated.

At the door, she turned around, a laugh on her lips. “After all, I need something to dry my car with after I wash it.”

She left me standing there, speechless as always.