Rough Draft: The Games We Play - Season 2 by RJ Scott & V.L. Locey

Author:RJ Scott & V.L. Locey [Scott, RJ & Locey, V.L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Love Lane Books Ltd
Published: 2025-10-07T00:00:00+00:00

TWELVE

Finn

The Copperheads’ rink was electric tonight. Packed to capacity, the crowd was loud, enthusiastic, and relentlessly supportive. Connor practically vibrated with excitement beside me, leaning forward in his seat, eyes wide, entirely absorbed by the game. He was still in shock that my after-hours art therapy clients had gifted me season tickets, but he didn’t ask me questions about who was in the class or why I’d been given them.

“So they’re for me?” he’d asked, confused.

“Us,” I said with a grin. “I’m getting into hockey.”

“You are? Why? What changed?”

And that was where I changed the subject, and now we were here, and we’d stopped at the concession store to get T-shirts. I wasn’t ready to wear my Walker jersey—yet. I’d bought a generic Copperheads jersey, and Connor had opted for Arnaud’s jersey number because, according to him, goalies were gods.

“Did you see that save?” Connor shouted over the crowd, slapping my knee enthusiastically. “Arnaud is a freaking legend!”

“Yep,” I agreed, not that I’d noticed anything beyond Walker’s graceful, powerful movements across the ice. He was mesmerizing as he skated, the confidence behind every quick turn and sharp pivot. It wasn’t just athletic—it was art.

“Earth to Finn,” Connor teased, nudging me with his elbow. “You haven’t listened to a word I’ve said, have you?”

I grinned sheepishly. “Sorry, hockey overload.”

“Bullshit. You’re watching number 10 like he’s the only one out there.” Connor raised an eyebrow knowingly, smirking. “Want to tell me what’s really going on here?”

Heat rushed to my cheeks. “Nothing’s going on.”

“Sure. Totally believable.” Connor scoffed, turning back toward the game. “I’ve been trying to get you interested in hockey for years. Walker Hannan shows up, and suddenly, you’re a superfan?” His eyes narrowed. “Was it him that gave you the tickets?”

“No.” I wasn’t lying. After all, it hadn’t just been Walker who’d handed over the tickets. “Maybe, I finally appreciate the game,” I muttered weakly, avoiding my brother’s skeptical gaze.

Connor laughed, shaking his head. “Yeah, right.”

On the ice, Walker moved effortlessly, his presence commanding. I found myself tracking him as he positioned himself perfectly to intercept passes, defend his goalie, and, as Connor said, “read the play” like a master strategist. I might not have fully understood all the rules yet, but I knew excellence when I saw it, and Walker was undeniably excellent.

“If he keeps playing like this, the Vipers might come calling again,” Connor yelled after another shot on goal from my man.

My man.

The thought of Walker heading back to New York City made me worry. The idea of him returning to the relentless pace of the NHL worried me, not just because of the distance, but also because of the pressures he’d have to face there. I pushed those thoughts away quickly, choosing instead to join in the crowd’s roar of approval as Walker sent another opponent crashing into the boards. For now, I wanted to enjoy these moments, these nights where Walker was right here, close enough to touch.

The Copperheads had control now, and I loved to see my art guys out on the ice.

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