Claimed by the Wrong Leister Brother

NOAH’S POV

There was a thin line between love and stupidity

I stopped looking for it the day I fell in love with my best friend—Luca Leister.

I’d injected myself so deep into his life in the last six years that he had a key to my apartment and I had one to his—where “if anything happens, call her first” was written right next to my name in his phone.

I knew what he smelled like fresh out of the shower and what he smelled like at 3 a.m. after a girl he’d never see again had already let herself out.

None of them ever got more than a night. But I got the after, the quiet, boyish charming version of him nobody else even got to see.

I was everything to Luca Leister except what I really wanted to be.

“Luca! Luca! Luca!”

A couple hundred voices roared behind me in the arena—but mine cut through all of them, raw and cracking by the edges. I never cared how it sounded—not when it came to him.

He skated towards the boards, sweat darkening the collar of his jersey. His broad shoulders flexed as he moved.

Half the front row leaned forward the second he pulled his helmet off—that dirty blond hair stuck damp to his forehead, sweat dripping off his chiseled jaw.

He reached the boards, already smiling at me. Two of his fingers curled toward himself,

“Come here, birdy.”

He mouthed.

I hit the glass breathless, palms pressed flat against it, right where he stood on the other side.

“There she is.” He grinned at the poster board rolled up under my arm. “Tell me you didn’t actually make a new sign.”

“I absolutely made you a sign.”

“Birdy.” He shook his head, his smile never faltered. “You’re thirty years old at heart, I swear.”

“I prefer loyal. And you're winning this.” I pressed myself closer to the boards. Those stupid blue eyes held mine in uncertainty.

“You always say that.”

“Because I’m always right, Leister.”

He reached through the opening in the glass and tugged once at the sleeve of the jersey I was wearing—his old one, faded at the shoulders, His thumb brushed the fabric once before he let go.

LEISTER 17.

“That’s why I’d never let you go, Birdy.” Then, already pushing off, glancing back with that cocky grin.

“Now watch me win this.”

The crowd swallowed him whole the second his blades hit centre ice, screaming a name that belonged to both of us and neither of us at the same time.

Beside me, two seats down, a brunette girl leaned into her curly haired friend’s ear, not bothering to lower her voice enough.

“God.” She fanned herself with her cup, entirely unbothered by anyone around her. “I miss him.”

Her friend snorted. “Didn’t you say that last month?”

“I’m serious.”

“You’ve seen him since then.”

“Exactly.” She smiled to herself. “And it’s not nearly enough.”

My fingers curled tighter around the edge of my sign.

“You two actually…?”

“Twice.”The brunette grinned. “He does this thing with his tongue.”

“Stop, Jane.” Her friend held up her hand, laughing. “I do not need the visuals again.”

Neither of them seemed to register that I was standing three feet away in his jersey.

I told myself it didn’t matter. That I wasn’t jealous, that this wasn’t new information.

Because Luca Leister could do no wrong in my eyes. My grip tightened around the poster.

I turned my head anyway, unable to stop myself.

“Can you not?”

The brunette blinked at me, genuinely startled, “Sorry. Were we talking too loud?” She looked at the jersey, then back at my face, something faintly apologetic on her face.

“Are you, like — a thing? With him?”

I didn’t have an answer that wouldn’t humiliate me further, so I said nothing.

Her friend leaned in, almost gently, which somehow made it worse.

“Honey. There’s a whole line for that man.” She shrugged, sipping her drink.

“There’s enough Luca Leister to go around, and—“

BWAAAAAAAAAAM!!!!!!!

The sound of the horn blaring cut her off—swallowing the rest of her sentence as the entire stadium rose up out of their seats.

“THE WOLVES HAVE WON THE CHAMPIONSHIP!”

Every angry thought about the girl evaporated on contact. I turned back to the boards.

Luca was already gliding around with his arms thrown wide, his teammates crashing into him from every direction.

He ripped his helmet off one-handed, grinning up at a crowd that had loved him since he was seventeen.

He turned toward the boards.

Towards me.

My chest did that stupid, helpless lurch like my heart hadn’t gotten the memo yet that this never actually went anywhere.

I glanced at the girl from before. Enough Luca to go around, huh? Total bullshit.

He skated closer to the glass, close enough that I could see flush high cheeks, and his hand lifted, waving.

At me.

Maybe this the day they’d finally realize they never stood a chance.

I hopped down the steps toward the rink, weaving through bodies, and confetti already raining from the rafters.

He was laughing, pointing at me like I’d taken too long. I chuckled lightly too.

God, he looked happy.

I hit the barrier at the same moment he reached it from the other side, and I moved without thinking—bracing to catch whatever he threw at me.

Maybe a hug—or a lift.

His arm shot out. My heart leapt so hard it actually hurt.

This was it.

Then…

It swept past my shoulder.

A girl in a small red jacket, black hair swinging, already laughing before he even reached her, catching up onto her toes.

He caught her around the waist and lifted her clean off the ground, and the crowd’s roar shifted into something sharper, higher.

Then, his lips crashed against hers.

I froze there with my hands half raised, reaching for nothing.

She wrapped both arms around his neck, fingers spread against the back of his jersey. On her left hand, catching every single stadium light at once

A diamond.

The jumbotron found them before I could look away. The announcer’s voice climbed into something more excited.

“And there it is, folks. Looks like Luca Leister’s got more than one championship to celebrate tonight.”

The kiss cam framed them in a pink heart the size of a house.

He set her down slowly, his forehead dropped to hers, said something that made her laugh. Then lifted his head and looked past her.

Straight at me.

He smiled harder, tried to wave, then got hauled backward by his teammates.

I couldn’t hear anything, not the sound of my heart thumping rapidly in my chest, or the sounds of the arena still erupting around me.

Someone bumped into me, hard enough that my placard slipped from my fingers.

It hit the concrete with a dull slap.

The glitter I’d glued around the letters scattered across the floor.

My throat closed tighter with every second I stood there instead of walking away, tears brimming and refusing to fall.

I turned, my legs finally picking up.

“Noah!”

His voice cut clean through the arena , like it had some kind of permanent, unfair permission to reach me anywhere.

I didn’t stop.

I could hear footsteps coming behind me, closing the distance as I stormed out of the arena.

The cold air hit me the moment I was outside.

“Birdy!”

His voice came closer, but I refused to turn.

And then…

His hand closed around my wrist.