She started tying her skates, but she watched him smile out of the corner of her eye.

She remembered that game like it was yesterday—the crisp air, the buzzing chatter of half the campus getting drunk in the name of curing cancer. Most importantly, she remembered Henrik.

She looked up to see him leaned over, his elbows on his knees, looking thoughtfully out at the ice. “You borrowed Austin’s Minnesota Wild jersey to wear in the game, and tore a hole through the arm during the second period.” When he looked up, challenge glinted in his eyes, along with just a hint of mischief. “So, in the third, you wore my Hurricanes jersey.”

“No, I didn’t. That was Austin’s jersey too. Abby said he brought it to me between periods.”

He stood up, shaking off the snow before grinning down at her. “When has Austin ever been a Hurricanes fan? I’m from Charlotte, remember? I saw you rip your jersey, so I brought you mine. I made Abby give it to you, because I knew you wouldn’t accept it from me.”

She stood, her hands on her hips. “I’ve been sleeping in that jersey for a good five years now.”

His smile turned crooked. “I know.”

He stepped out on the ice, a pleased expression engulfing him. She was still too stunned by the revelation to follow after him. She couldn’t believe he’d done something so thoughtful. All these years she’d accepted the fact that her big brother had been looking out for her, when in reality, it had been Henrik.

“Why?” she finally asked, stepping onto the ice. “Why did you do that?”

She was more than curious; she needed to know for her own sanity. They weren’t speaking to each other by that point, the rift between them already feet deep. Henrik had no reason to be nice to her.

He skated down the ice, his movement fluid and easy as he made a giant circle around the rim of the small pond. “Why did you stay and sit out in the freezing cold to watch my game that night?” he shot back.

She pursed her lips at him. He skated back toward her, skidding to a stop on the jagged ice, leaving them nose to nose as he leaned down over her. “That answer you’re too stubborn to admit to, well, it’s a two way street.”

She wrinkled her nose. She’d watched his game because, as much as she didn’t want to admit to it, she had a crush on him, despite her greatest efforts against it. She’d practically scowled after every goal he made that tournament, sour grapes, because she knew the more attention he demanded, the longer the line of girls would be waiting for him after the game.

He rounded behind the tattered goal at the end of the pond, picking up two wooden hockey sticks, and a puck off the back of the net. He dusted the snow off before dropping the puck and shooting it toward her.

Leila stopped it with the toe of her skate, taking the extra stick as he skated past her. “Well, are there any other good deeds you let my brother take credit for that I don’t know about?”

“I don’t know about good deeds.” He smiled, easily reaching over and taking the puck from under her skate with his stick.

“What does that mean?”

She whirled around, watching him display his fancy puck handling skills as he batted it back and forth with ease. He stopped and flipped the puck up onto the end of his stick. “You remember the night we first met?”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “How can I forget the puck flying at my head?”

He smiled, flipping the puck up in the air toward her, only to watch it land exactly two feet in front of her. “I did it on purpose.”

Her mouth dropped open. “You could have taken my head off.”

He laughed. “If you haven’t noticed, I’ve got good aim.”

“Why would you do such a thing?” she growled.

He shrugged. “The same reason any other red blooded male would intentionally shoot a hockey puck into the stands. I wanted the pretty girl’s attention.”

“That’s rich,” she huffed, grabbing the puck so she could have something to do rather than look at him. It brought back too many emotions, ones she tried so hard to pretend weren’t real. “Why try and get my attention that night, only to ignore me the next day and every day after that?”

The pain felt as raw in that moment as it had that very first day. She’d spotted Henrik in the commons area the day after their first meeting. She’d smiled and waved, only to be awarded with silence, and a daunting glare from the latest girl hanging onto his arm. It had been the beginning of the end for their brief moment in the sun.

Henrik’s back went straight as he took in her words. “That isn’t what happened,” he stated curtly.

“Really? Because that’s how it looked on my end. You would have thought I’d come down with a bout of leprosy when we ran into each other that next day.” Her voice was shaky at best, the truth in it, along with the residual pain that never really went away.

She positioned the puck in front of her and prepared to take out her frustration with a hard slap shot toward the goal. However, the ancient, wooden stick was heavier than the metal ones she was accustomed to, and the blade didn’t bend, sending the puck flying at an awkward angle straight up into Henrik’s unsuspecting nose.

He dropped to the ice like a dead fish, his hands cupping his face. He didn’t scream, but a litany of curse words fell from his mouth as blood started to leak down his face.

She dropped the stick, and her heart that had been thrumming in her eardrums crashed at her feet. She rushed toward him, dropping to her knees by his side. “Oh my gosh, Henrik. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.”

He moaned into his hands, rolling onto his stomach. She tried to pull his shoulder back to get a good look at the damage, but he reflexively jerked away. “I’m okay,” he muttered through his fingers, but she could see the blood seeping through the slots and down his wrist.

She hadn’t meant to hurt him. She only wanted a momentary distraction from the swell of memories flooding her system so she could get control of herself.

“No, you’re not,” she shot back, her hand curling itself around the collar of his jacket. “Let me look at it.”

He continued to mumble, unconvincingly, that he was fine. It was useless. Henrik was a hockey player, and there was an unwritten rule that they weren’t allowed to feel pain. This wasn’t a game, though, and she refused to let him suffer because of her mistake. “Come on,” she insisted, pulling him to his feet. “At least let me get you off the ice.”

He slowly agreed, allowing her to help him up to his feet and over to the bank. Once he sat down, she was able to get a better vantage point. She shucked her coat off, and took off the Ninja Turtle t-shirt from over her tank top, and put her coat back on. She rolled the t-shirt up and pulled Henrik’s hands away from his face. “Here, you need pressure to stop the bleeding.”

He cursed a couple more times when she pressed the shirt against his bleeding nostrils. She held it firmly, leaning his head forward. He followed her guidance, but his eyes still remained locked on her.

“That wasn’t what happened,” he moaned from around the t-shirt.

“What?” she asked, having totally forgotten their argument.

He took the shirt from her hands, moving it so he could talk. “When I shot that puck at you, I didn’t know you were Austin’s sister.” He took a few quick breaths, trying to fight through the pain to talk. “He sure as hell let me know about it the next morning, though, and like I’ve told you before, guys have rules about sisters.”

She could still see the pain in his eyes, and though it was for a different reason, she was sure it matched her own. “Austin told you to stay away from me?”

He tried to smile, but winced instead. “Told is a nice way to put it. More like threatened the sanctity of my manhood if I ever looked in your direction again.”

Her breath caught in her throat at the thought. It would explain the sudden, drastic change in his disposition. He’d been so vibrant and flirty that night at the game, and so cold and distant the next day. Had it really been due to Austin, and some unwritten man code they all thought they had to follow?