Lusting After My Brother's Best Friend

SLOANE

“You’re staring again,” Zoe says next to me as the entire arena explodes.

I force my eyes off the ice. My roommate is draped over the railing in an oversized Wolves jersey, blue glitter streaked across her cheeks like war paint.

“I’m watching the game,” I lie. The noise is so loud I have to lean closer. “My brother’s out there.”

Zoe takes a slow sip of her drink and raises an eyebrow. “Your brother is number forty-four, currently arguing with the ref. Your eyes have been locked on number nine since the opening face-off. The one who just scored the game-tying goal.”

I don’t answer. She’s right.

The Wolves Den is packed wall to wall for a preseason game that somehow feels like a championship. Cold rink air mixes with popcorn and pure college chaos. Everyone is screaming the same name.

Brooks. Brooks. Brooks.

Noah Brooks. Team captain. First-line center. The guy who looks like he was built for the NHL instead of a college rink in Vermont.

And the secret I’ve carried for years.

I know every one of his habits. I’ve watched them since we were kids on outdoor rinks. Right now, as the referee skates to center ice, Noah does what he always does: taps his stick twice against the frozen surface—thump, thump—then shoves a damp strand of dark hair off his forehead with a gloved hand.

It’s nothing. A two-second ritual. My heart still stumbles.

Zoe bumps my shoulder. “The pining is getting dramatic, Sloane. Very tragic-heroine energy.”

“It’s not pining,” I say, even though the word tastes like a lie. “It’s just… habit.”

Habit is safer.

I’ve been in love with Noah Brooks since I was fourteen. Back then I was just Kai’s skinny little sister doing homework on the bleachers while they practiced. Noah was the older boy who sometimes bought me hot chocolate and ruffled my hair like I was still a kid.

To him I was invisible. Untouchable.

Kai’s baby sister.

Now I’m a freshman at Maplewood. I’m supposed to be starting over, building a life that isn’t defined by my brother or by a secret crush on his best friend. But watching Noah wear the captain’s “C,” I feel exactly as trapped as I did at fourteen.

If I stop feeling this way… what’s left of me?

The crowd gasps as one.

My head snaps toward the far boards.

Noah had the puck, flying down the wing, when a defenseman caught him blind. The hit is vicious. He crashes into the glass right in front of the student section with a sound that echoes through the entire arena.

CRACK.

My hands lock onto the cold metal railing. Panic floods my chest so fast I can’t breathe.

“Ugly,” Zoe mutters.

Noah stays down on one knee, head bowed, glove flat on the ice.

Time stops. The arena noise becomes a distant hum. Please get up. Please. The intensity of my own fear scares me more than the hit. I shouldn’t feel like this. I shouldn’t feel like the ground is disappearing under me just because he took a hard check.

Then he moves.

He pushes himself up, shakes his head once, and skates straight to the bench, waving off the trainer. His jaw is locked, eyes dark with anger, but he’s okay.

I finally exhale. My shoulders drop.

Zoe studies my face. “You went completely white. You good?”

“I’m fine,” I whisper. “It just looked bad.”

“They’re hockey players,” she says, waving it off. “Basically concrete and bad decisions.”

The final buzzer sounds a few minutes later. Maplewood wins 4-3. The place erupts. Music blasts. Players do a victory lap, sticks raised.

“Come on,” I say, pulling my jacket tighter. “Kai said to meet him at the players’ exit after media.”

Zoe grins. “Maybe we’ll get a look at the captain without the pads.”

“Zoe. Stop.”

We push through the crowd and down the concrete stairs to the restricted hallway. Security knows me as Kai’s sister and lets us through. The air down here smells like sweat, ice, and expensive cologne.

Ten minutes later the locker-room doors open. Players file out with huge gear bags, hair still damp.

“Sloane!”

Kai appears first. Exhausted, grinning, and reeking of victory. He drops his bag and crushes me in a sweaty hug.

“You smell terrible,” I complain, hugging him back.

“That’s the smell of a W,” he laughs, then ruffles my hair and nods at Zoe. “Hey. Glad you both made it.”

“Great game,” Zoe says, high-fiving him. “Your hits were brutal.”

“Always.” Kai turns back to me, switching into full older-brother mode. “You look tired. Are you eating? You can text me for groceries anytime.”

“I’ve been here three weeks. I know how cereal works.”

“Just checking. I have to make sure—”

He stops mid-sentence.

The doors open again.

Noah walks out.

My lungs empty.

Gray sweatpants. Black Maplewood Hockey hoodie with the sleeves shoved up. Dark hair still wet and curling at the nape of his neck. A fresh red scrape across his cheekbone from the boards. Eyes dark, intense, exhausted.

He looks bruised. He looks victorious. He looks like every secret I’ve ever kept.

He’s talking to an assistant coach, but as he gets closer his gaze shifts.

Usually Noah looks past me. A quick nod, a polite smile, then he’s gone. I’m just part of Kai’s background.

Tonight he doesn’t look past me.

He looks straight at me.

His steps slow. His eyes lock onto mine, heavy and unreadable. The air between us thickens, charged, like the second before a storm breaks.

“Good game,” Kai says, clapping him on the shoulder.

Noah doesn’t answer right away. He doesn’t look at his best friend at all. He keeps staring at me, cataloging the new haircut, the oversized jacket, every small change.

The hallway goes quiet around us.

“When did you get here, Sloane?” Noah asks. His voice is low, rough, completely serious.

My heart stops.

He’s not asking about the game.

He’s not asking about tonight.

For the first

time in my life, it doesn’t feel like Noah Brooks is looking at Kai Harper’s little sister.

It feels like he’s actually seeing me.