Page 11 of The Runaway

“Would you mind taking my friend Penny here up to the bleachers till we’re done?”

“It’s Pepper!” I snap. It’s the first time I’ve said my old name out loud and it makes me want to growl. Chase smirks and turns, waving his hand behind him. “Owe you one, Tray.”

The jackass.

“We’ll take care of her.” She says in a tone that sounds like she might just lock me in a closet and forget I’m there.

“Wait. How long is your shift?” This better not be the start of a seven-hour work shift.

He ignores me and keeps stalking down the hall. The girls exchange glances then each toss me a fake smile. “Right this way.”

We slip into the third row after Tracy and Lena—who properly introduced themselves on the way—grab a hot chocolate for me from the vending machine. One I accept because I don’t want to be rude. But a warm beverage that pours out of a machine with God knows what’s happening on the inside? No, thank you. I’ll just hold onto it to keep my fingers warm. And to take sips when they ask me about Chase.

I’m not sure how it happened, but I somehow let them believe we’re dating. I think I must have zoned out when they asked and just nodded. It’s probably for the best since I don’t want to get into how I really ended up on the back of his bike tonight.

I watch the girls lace up for their routine and it reminds me of my cheerleading days. For two straight winters in high school, I dragged the girls to practice on Hideaway Lake when it was frozen. They’d whine about it at first; “It’s too cold” or “what if the ice cracks”, but we all had a pretty fun time out there.

So much fun that I almost forgot I was there to…watch him.

After Chase quit the school hockey team—and basically every other extra-curricular activity—he and a bunch of other outcasts played hockey for fun on the frozen lake. They’d be there nearly every day after school, shooting around a puck until dark.

I couldn’t tell you if the others were any good, because I was only there to watch him. The only time I’d see him happy again after his mother passed. I’d convince myself that practicing on skates was good for our squad to learn balance. But I was not so subtly giving him the chance to come talk to me.

The way I thought he once wanted to.

But he never did. Hell, I don’t think he even glanced over at us across the lake. And if he did, it was probably because we were a distraction to their game.

I spot the coach beneath us and he doesn’t look happy. A new player slides on and the older man checks his watch. Then he does something with his right arm and the team repositions and appears to be starting a new practice.

I’m not quite sure what to expect since I’d never been to a game, much less a professional hockey practice. But other than all the fuss over the one who was late, the guys seem to be having fun out there. The arena is dimly lit, but it’s hard to miss the precision of these players’ movements. It seems so effortless yet so deliberate and strong.

I’m captivated.

This is way better than football. The sound of blades cutting through the ice echoes through the air. It’s non-stop. There’s almost a rhythm to it. I try to follow them all, but my eyes are fixed on the new guy. His strides are long, purposeful, exuding a confidence I don’t quite pick up from any others.

My eyes are trained on number forty-nine, and I can’t look away. His helmet covers his features, but I can sense the determination by the steely set of his jaw and the way his muscles flex beneath his practice jersey. A whistle sounds from the bench and I blink away.

“Ladies. They’re taking a break. Get on the ice.” A strong female voice comes from behind us.

I turn, finding a short brunette in black leggings and an oversized sweater. She’s older than the girls I’m sitting beside, but not by much. Maybe a few years. She’s strikingly beautiful but has that no nonsense aura about her.

The girls push off the bench and stretch leisurely. “It was nice chatting with you, Pepper,” Lena says.

“I’m Lonnie,” the woman introduces herself, stepping down to my row. “You here with one of the Kings?”

“She’s here with the King,” Tracy answers with a gossipy grin.

“Pepper,” I say tentatively, slightly confused by Tracy’s comment.

Lonnie’s brows perk. “The King, huh?” She turns back to the girls. “Go tell the others to warm up.”

They’re off in seconds, rounding up the other pretty girls onto the ice. “You’re the choreographer,” I assess.

“Until they fire me for my big mouth and inappropriate dance moves.”

“Ooh, I’ve got to see this.”

She laughs. “Where you from, Blondie?”

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