Play With Me ✔️|| 2 || Off the Ice Series

13 | Arden

The midafternoon sun shines through the hole in the hut, coaxing me awake, and a low fire flickers in the pit below it.

I don't remember falling asleep, or when Jason returned to the hut, or when he decided to nap beside me. But here I am, wide awake and using his shoulder as a makeshift pillow.

It's not the most comfortable place in the world, his muscles are hard under my cheek but it's far from the worst.

I blink the sleep from my eyes and glance up at the roof, a sigh slipping past my lips. But my gaze betrays me, drifting to the man beside me. I can't help but let my eyes trace over his features, as if they'll reveal all his hidden secrets and thoughts.

If only it were that easy.

His ear is scarred, looking almost like a burn mark and I let my eyes wander over the rest of his face before I settle on a scar above his brow, the small pink mark barely visible under his thick brow. Without thinking, my hand lifts, wanting to trace the mark but I stop myself just short of touching him, my hand hovering above. I watch my hand hovering above his face with wide eyes, like I'm not the person controlling the limb before I force my hand into a fist and slowly back away.

What am I even doing?

"What are you doing?"

His voice startles me, and my hand snaps to my chest like I've been burned. Jason's looking at me, his eyes filled with a mix of curiosity and something else I can't quite place.

"Nothing," I mutter, rolling off his chest. I should turn my back to him, but I don't. Instead, I stay facing him, as if I can't bring myself to completely shut him out.

"You were about to touch me."

I don't bother denying it. Instead, I nod toward the scar. "How did you get that?"

He rubs a finger over the scar, eyes going distant for a moment before they find mine again.

"Got it in a hockey game a few seasons back. We were deep into the third game, tied. I was blocking the net, focused on the puck, when another player slammed into me from the side, pushing me into the goalposts."

He chuckles, a sound that vibrates through the silence of the night. "Felt like I got hit by a freight train. Next thing I knew, I was on the ice, blood running down my face. The ref stopped the game long enough for me to get patched up, and then I was back out there."

I can almost see it, the clash on the ice, the quick return to the game despite the injury. His voice is calm, like he's telling me about a simple trip to the store, but there's a fondness in it, a love for the game that goes beyond the physical scars.

When I was a teenager I used to sneak into the back of the stands of his games to watch him play, and then sneak out again while the hustle and bustle of the crowd would flood the team. Matt never knew I attended Jason's games. Heck, no one knew I attended those games, watching Jason rule over the ice like he was king.

I was a stupid teenager with a stupid crush that I let get the better of me, lot of good it did me.

After the graduation party I'd not attended any games, not even the last one of the season that I'd promised Jason and Matt I'd attend as a last goodbye, instead I'd holed up in my room claiming I was sick.

And then Jason moved away to attend university and I was still in the town we grew up in, the girl he left behind.

I wasn't going to let that happen again. I couldn't.

I blink back as Jason finishes his story, shaking myself out of my melancholy thoughts.

"No big heroic tale," he finishes. "Just a reminder that even with all the padding and helmets in the world, accidents happen. Sometimes you end up with a scar and a good story."