Iced Out (Leighton U Book 1)
Iced Out: Chapter 35

The bus arrives back to campus late. Way later than any of us thought it would, and by that time, most of the team’s celebration high has worn off. Actually, half the team—Quinn included—is dead asleep when the bus rolls to a stop outside our home arena.

Not me, though.

I’m too busy reliving what might well be the best night of my life, and not just because of the trophy sitting in the front of the bus beside Coach. It’s got a lot to do with it, but the guy fast asleep with his head against my shoulder is the main reason.

Just as well that he’s getting some rest. He played his ass off tonight, and I have plans to keep him up for the rest of it once we’re locked in a bedroom.

Who it belongs to and whoever else overhears, I don’t fucking care.

Of course, we still have a lot to talk about, even if he doesn’t want me continuously apologizing to him for the next twenty years for everything Braxton and I did to cause his suspension. But I’m hoping it can happen after we celebrate a little.

Our driver flicks the lights, illuminating the interior of the bus, and a series of groans follow.

I glance down in time to catch Quinn’s nose wrinkle up, his eyes clenching closed to keep the light out before burrowing deeper into my shoulder. Which only makes his glasses fall clear off his face and into his lap.

I’ve never once in my life thought the word adorable while looking at him, but I’ll be damned if the sight doesn’t make my heart twist into knots.

“We’re here,” I murmur, brushing a kiss on the top of his head.

Two gorgeous blue eyes peel open, blinking rapidly before he repositions his glasses on the bridge of his nose. “What time is it?”

“Just after two.”

Another wrinkle of the nose. “Ugh, we should have just stayed at the hotel another night.”

He’s definitely not wrong, but I’ll never say no to sleeping—or fucking—in my own bed. Or Quinn’s bed. I don’t care which.

Coach rises at the front of the bus, looking us all over from the aisle.

“I’m proud of every single one of you for the way you played tonight. Like Quinton said, you won as a team tonight. No one player is more important than another.” He nods toward Quinn, who gives a subtle nod in return. “We’ve still got work to do, as you know. But take the rest of the weekend to refresh and recharge. Get your celebrating out and come back Monday morning ready to hit the weights.”

A few stray hoots and hollers come from my teammates at the mentions of celebrating the win, and I think I hear a couple younger D-men in front of us mention a party the Deltas are throwing in honor of the big win.

By now I’ve realized the frats at Leighton are just looking for an excuse to throw a rager. And this happens to be a perfect one.

Coach hushes us, waving his hands in a downward motion before continuing. “Please be careful tonight, whether you go out or just go home. But for those of you going out, make good choices. Don’t do anything that will land you in jail or—”

“Your office,” a chorus of us finish for him.

He smirks and taps the back of the seat. “Seems you know the drill. Now, off you get.”

Quinn and I wait for most of the bus to clear out before climbing out of our seats. Our bags are already unloaded and waiting for us by the time we’re off, Coach waiting with the trophy in hand beside them.

I grab Quinn’s bag and hand it to him before shouldering my own. “Looks pretty good in your hands.”

“It certainly does, but it’ll look even better inside.” Coach looks between us. “Figured the team captain should be the one to carry it in, though. But I’ll leave you two to fight over who that is. Just…don’t break it. And bring the key back on Monday.”

Instead of handing it to one of us, he sets it on the ground with the key to the trophy case and heads to his SUV in the player lot.

Six months ago, I have no doubt the two of us would’ve gotten in a scuffle over the damn thing. But now we just stare at it, then each other, like we’re afraid to even touch it.

“You should bring it in,” he says first, breaking the silence. I lift my gaze to collide with his, and he continues, “You were captain for most of the season, not me.”

“You should have been the entire season if I hadn’t…” I trail off.

He grabs it from the ground and holds it out to me. “Okay, but if it wasn’t for your injury last year, the spot would’ve been yours in the first place and we both know it.”

What?

“That’s got nothing to do with this. It wasn’t even your fault,” I say, pushing it back toward him.

“He was aiming for me, you just got in the way.” Then he jams the trophy right back in my arms, and I realize we’re about to play the most backward game of tug-o-war with this fucking thing.

“Still doesn’t count.” Press.

“Well, then you should take it because it’s your legacy.” Push.

“Maybe, but you earned it.” Thrust.

“Quinn—”

My words are cut off when he shoves it against my chest and steps back, leaving him out of arm’s reach. “Just take the stupid thing, Oakley, before I use it to bash your skull in instead.”

I laugh, holding it out in front of me to examine for any damage. “Well, that’d be one helluva way to end the night.”

Key in hand, Quinn starts for the entrance, and I fall in step beside him. “And would go exactly against Coach’s wishes for us to stay out of jail.”

“Eh, I’d make bail.”

I scoff, opening the door to let him through. “I know you’ve got money and an army of lawyers, but I don’t think you’d make bail on a murder charge.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” he says as we make our way down the hall toward the trophy case. “I don’t have either of those things.”

His words cause me to stutter-step as a pained smile crosses his face. And I don’t even need to ask what he means. The answer, as much as I hate it, is glaringly obvious.

His dad cut him off. Just like he threatened to over break.

“Quinn—”

“I knew it was coming,” he cuts in, his eyes taking on a slight sheen. “It was only a matter of time.”

The hatred I have for these two disgusting people rises to an all-time high.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not right now.” Quinn clears his throat and makes an attempt to lighten the mood again. “But now you know why I wouldn’t murder you, just severely injure.”

My heart aches for him in my chest, especially knowing this must’ve been weighing on him for a while. But if he wants to keep the heavy shit for a later day, that’s okay. We have plenty of time to talk about it.

The rest of our damn lives, if I have anything to say about it.

“Well, I’m flattered you only want to maim me.”

“It’s a far step above wanting to kill you a few weeks ago,” he points out, bending to unlock the case before sliding the glass door out of the way.

I know he meant nothing by the comment, but I can’t help but feel the twinge of guilt rushing through me.

My teeth roll over my bottom lip while I push one of the other trophies over to make room for ours, and then set it in the empty space. “I’m not complaining at all, but can I ask what made you…”

Glancing up, I replace his brow arched as he waits for me to continue. When I don’t, he supplies, “Forgive you?”

I wince at the casual way he says it. “Yeah. That.”

A noncommittal shrug lifts his shoulders as he slides the glass back in place and locks it. “I got your present.”

My brows crash together, confusion setting in as I wrack my brain for anything I might’ve gotten him, only to come up blank. “Your…present?”

The grin appearing on his face is mischievous as hell when he says one word.

A name, actually.

“Louis.”

I burst out laughing. “Louis isn’t a present. He’s going to be your own personal pain in the ass if you sign with him. Just ask Coach or my dad.”

“I thought I was supposed to be the pain in the ass and he would be the one to clean up all my messes and fuck ups? Isn’t that the entire purpose of an agent?”

“Yes.” I chuckle. “But he’s also going to harp you to death about training and food regimens, being on time to the arena.”

“Hey, I haven’t been late to practice or a game in months,” he counters, to which I raise my hands.

“I know, I’m just saying that’s what he’s there for.”

“Mhmm. You just thought I needed a babysitter next year since you won’t be around to do it.”

The thought of not playing with Quinn next year or even seeing him every day makes my stomach sink, and once again, the reality of tonight being the last time we might ever play together sets in. And it’s sobering.

“I wanted you to have someone on your side to replace the best place for your talent and skill to not just fit, but shine. Because with how hard you’ve worked, I know they deserve to.”

He smiles at me like I hung the goddamn moon for him.

“Way to get sappy on me, Reed.”

“And way to ruin a moment, de Haas,” I say, giving him a playful shove. “But I need you to know Louis wasn’t some sort of apology gift to make up for what happened. I talked to him long before you found out—”

“I know. He told me you spoke to him over winter break.” He lets out an ironic laugh. “I got you crazy socks for Christmas, and you got me a fucking all-star agent. Way to be a one-upper, even if it was a couple months late.”

“Well, I am the best boyfriend you’ll ever have.”

“Willing to place bets on that, Reed? Maybe you need to put your money where your mouth is.”

A grin spreads across my face, his taunt taking me back to a similar one he made in a different hallway. One full of drunken college kids and pounding dance music instead of hockey memorabilia.

I go to grab for him, but he’s quick, darting out of reach and running toward the exit before I have the chance to regain my balance. But the door causes an obstacle, making it easy enough to catch up.

My arms wrap around his waist seconds after we burst through the doors, and I haul him against me before he can make another break for it. We’re chest to chest as I walk him backward, pinning him against the exterior wall of the arena.

“You caught me,” he pants, breathless. “Now what are you gonna do with me?”

“Always fucking testing me,” I growl before fusing my mouth to his.

I feel like I’ve been shot up full of uppers, because I’m on top of the fucking world as our tongues tangle and battle. His hair slides through my fingers as I try to reel him in more, needing to take as much he’s willing to give. Which isn’t much. The jackass that he is, he fights it. Until I roll my thickening cock against his.

Then he lets out a soft moan and rocks against me too.

I could devour him where I stand, no amount of fucks given about indecent exposure. I’m high on the win. On life. On him.

Everything about this moment is pure ecstasy.

My hands grip his hard, firm backside. One I fully intend to sink my teeth into as soon as humanly possible.

“You’re trying to get us arrested or something?” he pants into my mouth before diving in for more.

“It’s fine,” I murmur, biting at his lip. “No one’s dicks are out. And it’s almost three in the morning.”

“Maybe, but we’re still bound to be putting on a show for anyone who might—”

A throat clears behind me, effectively cutting Quinn off mid-sentence. But I’m pleased to replace the rush of dread doesn’t flow through me at the thought of someone catching me with him. Though, I’d be lying if there isn’t a slight amount of embarrassment at being caught with a raging boner in public. Especially if it’s my uncle.

Which, thank God, it isn’t. But it’s not exactly who I was hoping for, either.

“You have a minute, Reed?” Louis Spaulding asks.

I glance between Quinn and Louis, not sure what he needs that couldn’t wait until tomorrow. “Yeah, what’s up?”

“Got something for you.”

He hands me a manila folder with a stack of papers inside, and I frown. “What’s all this?”

“Your contract. The one I was hoping to give to you in front of your parents in Indy, but you were on the bus and gone before I had the chance,” he says matter-of-factly before sharing a knowing smirk with Quinn. “You’re not the only one who knows how to work a deal.”

Flipping the folder open, I glance over the top document to see it’s definitely a contract with my name listed as the represented party.

Well, I’ll be damned.

“I thought he signed you?” I murmur to Quinn. “And Louis was only taking one more client this year.”

“I only signed on the condition he represented you too,” Quinn says, peeking over my shoulder at the document. “I know it might not help us get drafted to the same team or anything, but I thought at the very least…I don’t know…you’d still have that piece of your legacy intact.”

Closing the folder, I tuck it under my arm and stare at him. At this amazing, beautiful man who loves with every inch of himself.

Who loves me with every fiber of his being.

“Have I told you I love you today?”

He scrunches his face a little, making a show of thinking before answering with, “Maybe once or twice.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You two are going to be a pain in the ass, aren’t you?”

“Only Oakley,” Quinton chirps, a megawatt smile on his face. “I’m a reformed pain in the ass these days. No more fighting here. But this one here” —he motions to me— “has a rebellious streak for days.”

I give him an incredulous look. “You literally threatened to bash my skull in with a trophy twenty minutes ago.”

“Yeah, but the difference between us is I don’t act on the stupid shit I say.”

Oh, he’s definitely gonna be paying for that one later. And the glare I aim at him lets him know it too.

“And on that note, I’m heading home for the night.” Louis nods at the folder beneath my arm. “You know what to do with it. Just get it back to me when you can.”

We both offer a goodnight to Louis and a wave as he gets in his sedan to drive away.

The second we’re alone again, I turn on Quinn.

“You,” I say through gritted teeth, spinning him in a circle before setting him back on his feet, “are in so much fucking trouble.”

Planting my hands on either side of his face, I dive in for another kiss, ready to pick things up where we left off.

Too bad he breaks away far too soon, and I’m left trailing a path down his throat.

“Am I? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Mhmm. Sure are, you mouthy little fucker,” I murmur, kissing his throat again before returning to his lips.

God, I’d never stop kissing him, but for some unknown reason, he keeps pulling away from me. Yet another thing he’ll be paying for soon enough.

But when he pulls away this time, his devious grins lets me know his mind has gone in the same wonderfully filthy direction mine has.

“Care to show me just how much?”

Nodding, I meet his wicked grin with one of my own.

“Whose roommates are we keeping up tonight?”