Page 33 of Puck & Her Blades

I bite off my yell just in time, remembering the number one mascot rule.

My eyes scrunch up in pain, as the fall jars my impaired leg. My ankle twists.

The sudden gasps and then silence in the arena terrifies me.

It was like that last time as well.

I’ve fucked up again.

And just like last time, I’m alone in the spotlight, humiliated.

Only, I’m not.

To my shock, Jackson gestures to his teammates to stay back, before speedily skating toward me.

He towers over me, and I’m covered in his shadow.

For a moment, he stares down at me with his cold gaze. He must be at least six foot five.

My heart beats faster.

Jackson hurls off his gloves and then his helmet, before crouching onto one knee in front of me.

He’s ignoring the fact that he’s in front of the crowds and the cameras. His only focus is me.

The Reject mascot.

Jackson’s the most handsome man in the sporting world. He has broad shoulders and a powerful chest. His raven hair tumbles to his sharp cheekbones. His golden skin has warm undertones, but his bronze eyes are ice cold.

He assesses me, before leaning closer. “Okay?”

I nod.

Never admit to an injury in public. That was one of Mom’s rules.

It failed during the World Championships, since bone was sticking out of me in multiple places.

I shudder.

Jackson arches his brow like he’s calling bullshit.

Then his strong hand reaches out to sweep across my ankle with practiced moves. He must have experienced a lot of sprains himself.

“How about I help you to the bench, then you watch me win this game for you?” Jackson’s voice is deep and rumbling. It does something funny to my insides. “Welcome to the pack.”

I shiver.

Why do I have to be hidden inside this ugly suit?

Jackson is my inspiration.

My sporting hero.

If Cygnus has a poster of me on his wall, then I had a picture of Jackson as a screensaver.

Now, he says that he’ll win for me.

Only, is he saying it to the mascot or to the woman inside it?

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