"I don't give a fuck who you fucking think you are. You ever fucking even look at my niece again and I will fucking break your fucking legs. You got that?"

Ethan leaned against the boards, the stick held loosely in his right hand. He spun it back and forth, tapped the blade against the ice, then glanced over his shoulder. Coach LeBlanc was standing behind the bench, his beefy arms crossed in front of his wide chest. A scowl creased his face, the scar glowing bright red. He leaned to the side, spit, then said something to Coach Stephenson. The other man shrugged, his gaze never leaving the fiasco unfolding on the ice.

Ethan glanced around, realized that everyone was watching the fiasco. It was kind of hard not to, not with all the yelling and screaming.

Dillon leaned closer, a wry grin on his face. "You think he'll actually do it?"

"No. No way. He'd be crazy if he did." Ethan shook his head but there was no hiding the doubt in his voice. Mat Herron slid to a stop next to them, spraying snow over Dillon's legs.

"What the fuck?"

Mat glanced down then quickly looked back at up at Dillon. "Sorry, wasn't thinking."

"No shit."

"I can't believe Coach has let it go for this long. I mean, dude, really? Not cool." He flipped his stick upside down, planting the butt end against the ice then resting his arms on the blade. "I'm glad Nicole left already. She doesn't need to be hearing this shit."

"Really? Like she's never heard that kind of language before." Dillon leaned over and knocked Mat's stick from under him. The other man stumbled, quickly regained his balance, then shot a frown at Dillon.

"Dude. What the fuck did you do that for? And no, I don't talk like that around her."

"Not unless you guys are doing one of your photo shoots, right?" Derek nudged Mat and damn if he didn't almost fall again. His face turned bright red, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to stammer out a response.

Ethan rolled his eyes. "Let it go, Porn King. It's not like it's a big secret."

"Seriously. Especially after you had to show off all those fucking pictures at JP's wedding." Derek ran a gloved hand across his eyes then shuddered. "I still get nightmares remembering it and it's been, what—almost two years?"

"You're so full of shit."

"Whatever…dude."

Dillon moved between Mat and Derek then nodded toward the end of the ice. The yelling hadn't ceased, not even close. "So. My money's on Ian."

Ethan tilted his head, studying the confrontation. Only inches separated Ian and Corbin, the two of them in each other's faces. Most of the yelling was coming from Ian, his voice moving up a decibel or two each time he shoved his finger against Corbin's chest. But Corbin was holding his own, refusing to back down.

Randy Michaels and Nikolai Petrovich both stood nearby, casually leaning against the boards behind the net—no doubt ready to intervene if things really did get physical.

"I don't know." Ethan shifted his stick from one hand to the other. "Corbin's pretty much taking it in stride. And the kid has pretty fast reflexes. I wouldn't count him out just yet."

"Maybe. But Ian is fucking pissed."

Derek glanced over. "Well, yeah. Wouldn't you be? It was his fucking niece."

Mat frowned then shook his head. "I don't know. I mean, the way I hear it, they just ran into each other and he offered to buy her a coffee. I don't see anything wrong with that."

"Are you fucking high? How can you not see anything wrong with that? She's Ian niece! That makes her off-limits, period."

"Not to mention that she's only eighteen."

"Maybe. But Corbin's only twenty so it's not like there's a huge age difference, you know?"

"Christ, Herron. You're a fucking moron."

Mat narrowed his eyes at Derek. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"It doesn't matter how old either one of them is. She's still Ian's niece. Which means she's still off-limits."

Ethan ignored Derek and Mat's bickering and glanced over his shoulder once more. Coach LeBlanc still hadn't moved and Ethan wondered again how long he'd let the confrontation go on.

Probably until both men got it out of their systems—which could be a really long time, considering how pissed Ian was. Ethan sighed again, wishing they would just wrap things up.

Dillon nudged him. "What's your problem?"

"Me? I don't have a problem."

"You look like there's someplace else you'd rather be. What's up with that?"

"There is. I have an appointment with my accountant this afternoon. If they don't wrap this shit up, I'm going to be late."

"Your accountant? For what?"

Ethan shrugged, trying to act nonchalant. "I'm looking at some investment property. Maybe."

"You finally going to move out of that crappy condo and into something more modern?"

"What the fuck is wrong with my condo?"

"Nothing, just harassing you." Dillon grinned and propped his elbow against the boards. "So what are you looking at?"

"Nothing. Not yet. Just getting a feel for something, that's all."

Dillon narrowed his eyes, studying him. Ethan carefully avoided his gaze, not wanting to discuss the details. It wasn't a definite thing, not even close. And if he even hinted at it, Dillon would call him a crazy fool.

And he'd be right. Maybe.

No, he couldn't think like that. So what if the idea was a little crazy? Not a little—a lot. Big deal. And he hadn't made a final decision yet, not even close. He still had to see what his accountant said, then talk to the real estate agent and work out more details. Nothing was going to happen that fast—he had plenty of time to change his mind.

Not that he'd even made up his mind, not really.

Except yeah, he mostly had. If he could find just the right thing.

"Hey! Stop zoning." Ethan flinched as a hand waved in front of his face. He didn't bother to hide his scowl from Dillon.

"What?"

"I asked if you booked the flight to St. Thomas for All-Star break yet. You are still going with us, right?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm going. And not yet." Ethan looked away, pretending to focus on his skate as he knocked it with his stick. "I, uh, I'll make the flight reservations tomorrow. I wanted to check and, uh, see if maybe Cindy wanted to go with me."

"Seriously? You think that's a good idea?"

"Sure. Why not?"

"'Why not?' I'll tell you why not." Dillon leaned closer, lowering his voice. "Because she might not want to go. She might not be ready to go. Have you thought of that?"

"What do you mean, not ready?"

"Just what I said. She doesn't like crowds, doesn't like people touching her. You know that."

"She's gotten better—"

"That doesn't mean you can shove her onto a crowded plane filled with total strangers! You don't think that might freak her out a bit? Ethan, think. She may never be better. Not completely. When are you going to get your head out of your ass and figure that out?"

"You fucking think I don't know that? I do. And I don't give a fuck, okay? I don't care."

"Yeah, no shit." Dillon blew out a deep breath and lowered his voice even more. "Listen, I know you care about her. Hell, Maggie and I swore there was something going on between the two of you from the very beginning."

"I told you, nothing happened until—"

"St. Thomas. Yeah, I know. Have you even told her how you feel?"

Ethan refused to look up. How could he, when he knew the answer would be written so clearly on his face? It didn't matter that he wouldn't look at Dillon. Somehow, the other man knew. He blew out another breath and shook his head.

"Fuck. Well. What did she say?"

"Nothing." Ethan finally looked at him, not bothering to hide the misery he was certain showed in his eyes. "She didn't say anything, okay?"

"Nothing? At all?"

"No, nothing. Now let it go."

"Maybe that should tell you she's not ready. Maybe you're the one who needs to let it go. At least for now."

"Not happening, okay? I want her to know I'm there for her. No matter what."

"I hope the fuck you know what you're doing."

Ethan was ready to reply, to tell Dillon that he didn't have a clue what he was doing. But Coach LeBlanc must have had enough of the scuffle going on between Ian and Corbin because he stormed across the ice, blowing the whistle the entire time.

"That's it. I've had it." He moved between Ian and Corbin, separating them. "All of you need to cool the fuck off. We've got three games before the fucking break and I need all of you focused. Laps. Everyone. Now."

Fuck! Ethan shot a scowl toward the offending pair, not bothering to hide his impatience. He wasn't the only one who was pissed, either. But all it took was one look from Sonny for the grumblings to stop and the feet to start moving.

He readjusted the helmet on his head and took off down the ice, moving away from Dillon so he wouldn't have to listen to any more advice. He didn't need advice, no matter how well-intended it was. He knew what he was doing, no matter what Dillon thought.

Just like he knew he might never get what he wanted. But he didn't give a fuck and he wouldn't stop trying. Not when it came to Cindy. Not when she mattered so much to him.