I Fell For My Brother’s Rival

"Pass it! He's open!"

The scream tore through the Westbrook arena, vibrating the metal bleachers beneath my boots.

"Five seconds! Shoot the puck!" a guy in front of me yelled, spilling half his soda over the row ahead.

Down on the ice, Ethan Cole didn't hesitate. He caught the pass, his skates carving a violent, sharp arc into the surface. A spray of crushed ice exploded around his blades. He slammed the puck past the opposing goalie just as the final buzzer blared.

The red goal light flashed.

"Yeah! That’s our boy!"

The crowd erupted into a deafening roar. A human wave of blue and white jerseys crashed over the stands. This was the season opener. For this hockey-obsessed town, it was the climax of the entire year.

I pulled my jacket tighter around my shoulders. I just wanted to go home.

Caleb, my older brother, was down there at the other end of the rink. As the team captain and starting goalie, he had dragged me here.

"You have to support the team, Lily. Support me," he had insisted at dinner, refusing to take no for an answer.

I did. I sat through three brutal periods of checking, shouting, and freezing arena air. But now, the game was over. The post-game celebration would take hours.

I pushed through the sea of cheering students, ducking under flailing arms, and made my way out the side exit.

The freezing night air slapped my face the second I pushed the heavy metal doors open. I walked toward the far end of the parking lot, aiming for Caleb’s truck.

A soft whimper stopped me in my tracks.

I paused, scanning the deep shadows near the dumpsters. "Who's there?"

Another pathetic whine echoed off the brick exterior.

I walked over, my boots crunching on the frozen asphalt. Tucked between a rusted trash bin and the arena wall lay a scruffy terrier mix. It was shivering violently, curled into a tight, miserable ball against the freezing concrete.

"Hey, buddy," I murmured, dropping to my knees. "Where's your owner?"

The dog blinked up at me, its tail giving a weak, single thump against the ground.

"You're freezing." I pulled the thick wool scarf from my neck. My fingers instantly burned from the biting wind, turning a bright, raw red. I draped the fabric over the dog, tucking the edges under its small paws. "Is that better?"

The dog rested its chin on the wool, letting out a long sigh.

"He probably needs food more than a scarf."

I spun around, nearly losing my balance.

Ethan Cole stood a few feet away.

He had just emerged from the player tunnel. His dark hair was soaking wet, dripping water onto the gray fabric of his unzipped jacket. Steam actually rose off his bare collarbone, a stark contrast to the freezing Westbrook air.

"You scared me," I snapped, stepping back.

Ethan chuckled, closing the distance between us. "Sorry. Didn't mean to sneak up on you."

He crouched down beside me. Up close, he was even larger than he looked on the ice. He reached out to adjust the scarf around the dog’s neck.

"Hold this side," he instructed.

I pinned the wool down. His hand brushed against mine.

A sudden jolt shot up my arm. His skin was blazing hot. I caught his scent—a sharp blend of rink chill, post-game sweat, and a rich, woodsy cedar.

My heart skipped a beat, thudding hard against my ribs.

"Your hands are like ice," Ethan noted, glancing at my red fingers.

"I'm fine."

"Your knuckles are turning blue. Take this." He dug into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small, square packet.

"I don't need your charity."

"It's not charity. It's survival." He pressed the hand warmer into my palm, his fingers curling briefly over mine. "My last one. Crack it to start the heat."

I squeezed the packet. Warmth immediately bloomed against my skin. "Thanks."

"I'm Ethan." The harsh yellow glow of the parking lot streetlamp caught his eyes, turning them into pools of melting amber.

"I know who you are. The whole town just screamed your name for the last ten minutes."

A slow smile spread across his face. "And you are?"

"Lily."

"Lily," he repeated, testing the sound of it. "You hate hockey, Lily?"

"I hate the crowds."

"Smart." He reached out to scratch the dog behind the ears. "What are we going to do with this guy?"

"Taking him home isn't an option. My brother is allergic."

"I'll take him." Ethan scooped the dog up with one arm, cradling it against his chest. "My mom loves strays."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive." He stood, towering over me again. "So, do you always hang out by dumpsters, or is tonight a special occasion?"

"Only when I'm trying to escape my overbearing brother."

Before he could respond, heavy footsteps pounded across the pavement.

"Lily! Get away from him."

The voice cracked like a whip across the empty lot.

I flinched.

Caleb stormed toward us, his massive goalie equipment bag slung over his shoulder, his jaw clenched tight. He looked furious.

"Caleb, wait," I started, stepping forward.

He didn't listen. He grabbed my upper arm, yanking me hard behind his broad back. He planted himself between Ethan and me, a solid wall of angry muscle.

"What are you doing, Cole?" Caleb barked.

"Rescuing a dog." Ethan didn't flinch. He shifted the terrier in his arms. "And talking."

"You don't talk to her."

"She was cold. I gave her a hand warmer. Relax, man."

"I don't care what you gave her." Caleb's voice dropped into a dangerous, low register. "She's off-limits. Remember the rule."

I frowned, peering around Caleb's shoulder. "What rule?"

Ethan ignored me, keeping his gaze locked on my brother. He raised a single, dark eyebrow. "What rule?"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about," Caleb snapped. "We agreed."

Ethan’s smirk stayed in place, but the amusement vanished from his face. His amber eyes hardened, turning cold and flat. The silence stretched, heavy and taut, broken only by the hum of the streetlights.

"Stay away from my sister," Caleb warned.

"Or what, Whitmore?"

"Don't test me." Caleb turned, his grip on my arm tightening. "Let's go. Now."

"I was just checking on the dog," I argued, trying to pull my arm free.

"In the truck, Lily."

Caleb dragged me to his pickup, pulled the passenger door open, and practically shoved me inside. He slammed the heavy metal shut before I could say another word.

Through the glass, I watched him stalk around the hood and climb into the driver's seat. He jammed the key into the ignition. The engine roared to life.

"What is your problem?" I demanded.

"Put your seatbelt on," Caleb ordered, throwing the truck into reverse.

"He was just helping me!"

"I don't want you near him."

"You don't get to dictate who I talk to."

"When it comes to Ethan Cole, I absolutely do." Caleb slammed his foot on the gas. The tires squealed as we shot out of the parking lot.

"Why?" I pressed, turning in my seat to glare at him. "He's your teammate. He just won the game for you guys."

"On the ice, he's my teammate. Off the ice, he's a problem." Caleb gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. "You stay away from him. Do you hear me?"

I sank back into the seat, my pulse still racing. I glanced up at the rearview mirror.

Ethan was still standing there.

Under the flickering yellow streetlamp, the massive floodlights of the rink framed him in a sharp, dark silhouette. He watched our truck speed away, the dog still cradled in his arms.

I looked down at my hands.

My fingers were wrapped tightly around the small, heating packet he had given me. His last one.

"Lily. Answer me," Caleb snapped.

"Fine," I muttered.

But I didn't drop the packet. I squeezed the hand warmer, the heat seeping deep into my freezing skin.

I had a terrible feeling that whatever rule my brother had established, I had already broken it.