Page 119 of Pucking Revenge

Oh shit. I love him.

I love him.

My heart pounds out a rhythm in my chest. One that feels a lot like I told you so.

I have to tell him.

“Mom.” Emotions swirl through me as my chest tightens, the ache almost unbearable. My heart is about to beat out of my damn chest if I don’t say these words aloud. I grip her shirt and pull her back toward the ice.“I have to tell him.”

“Tell who what?” When all I do is gape in response, she points at the box where we left our things. “Honey, our seats are over this way.”

“You go.” I release her. “I’ll be right back.” Taking the stairs two at a time, I dodge fans locating their seats and run toward the ice. We’re seconds away from the puck drop, and the music is already playing. The guys are lining up, so I push myself faster.

I have to tell him.

Arms in the air, I wave them wildly as I dart for the glass. Brooks doesn’t see me. He’s in the zone, settling into his position, knees turned inward, head tucked, completely focused on the players at center ice.

“Brooks!” I shout, desperate to get his attention before play begins. “Brooks, wait!”

He doesn’t hear me. The music is loud and the fans are still milling about and getting settled in, but I don’t stop calling his name. My sole focus is getting these words off my chest.

I practically slam into the plexiglass, pounding my fists against it and screaming like a lunatic. “Brooks!”

At center ice, Tyler swivels, ignoring the ref moving to the center line, puck in hand.

Aiden straightens next, eyeing Tyler. When he spots me, I point to Brooks, tapping my finger harshly against the glass, desperate to communicate that I want his attention.

When McGreevey spots me, he taps his stick on the ice to get Brooks’s attention. Once he has it, he points his stick at me.

As if in slow motion, Brooks turns in my direction. The moment his eyes lock on me, I freeze.

Oh God. What do I do now?

The entire team is now staring at me. Their opponents too.

Brooks leaves the crease and skates toward me. I can’t make out his features beneath his mask, but his shoulders are high and his posture is rigid in concern.

“Thirteen, get back in position!” Seb yells.

The ref blows a whistle.

Fans scream in surround sound.

I’m not sure if they’re booing or cheering. The buzzing in my ears from the adrenaline rush makes it impossible to tell.

Brooks stops with his face inches from the glass and peers down at me, green eyes filled with worry as he catalogs every inch of me. Like he’s truly afraid something has happened to me in the few minutes since we parted. “You okay?”

“I love you.” The words hurtle out of my mouth.

Brooks blinks and holds his gloved hand up to his ear. “Come again?”

“I love you!” I scream it this time, hands splayed against the glass. “I love you so much, Brooks Langfield. I’m in love with you. And it is a high school kind of love. It is. And I’m glad it is, because it’s the kind of love that’s usually only possible before you’ve had your heart broken. The kind you believe is forever.

“A Pacey and Joey love. Like with the painting on the wall. Before they broke up. But we won’t break up, because we know better and we don’t need all that drama. And I love you.”

I tip my chin up and laugh. The love I have for him makes me effervescent. Like I might just float up to the rafters. And it feels so damn good to finally tell him.

“It’s a good love too.” I clutch my hands to my chest, savoring the way my heart aches. “Innocent and pure and good. Because that’s what you are. You’re a good person, Brooks. The best. And I’m in love with you.”

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