Page 62 of Pucking the Team

Alex flashes me a wolfish grin. “Trust me, babe, there was nothing subtle about the way you eye-fucked me across the ice. I’m glad we’ve grown up, and now I can freely drag you into the locker room and have my wicked way with you.”

My face flushes at the promise.

“Seriously, Emma,” Alex says. “Don’t let some hater get to you. And if you want me to hunt them down and destroy them, just say the word.”

I laugh, but I can tell from his tone that he’s serious. It feels so good to have someone on my side like this. And I have a feeling that if I told Lukas about this, or Slade, or Ryan, they’d all have the same reactions as Alex.

For the first time in years, I’m starting to feel like I have a chance at…a family.

CHAPTER 28

SLADE

The roar of the crowd fills the arena as I take my position at center ice, the familiar rush of adrenaline coursing through me. The energy is high tonight, the sea of black and white jerseys roiling with anticipation. The giant jumbotron overhead flashes with highlights from our last victory against the Detroit Wolves.

It’s a crucial game against our divisional rivals, the St. Louis Warriors, and the stakes couldn’t be higher. My eyes scan the ice, taking in the positions of my teammates and opponents. Lukas is on my right wing, energetically bouncing on his skates. His blond flow peeks out from under his helmet. On defense, I spot Ryan’s hulking frame, his intense brown eyes laser-focused.

Lukas and Ryan seem to be avoiding each other’s gazes. It’s been like this for weeks now, ever since Emma decided to continue seeing all of us. Lukas and Ryan play nice for Emma’s sake, but I can tell their old rivalry is simmering just below the surface, ready to boil over. As captain, I know I need to sit them down and clear the air.

But for now, I push those thoughts aside. Game time.

The ref’s whistle cries out, and the puck drops. Sticks clash, and skates slash against ice as the battle begins. I lose myself in the flow, my body moving on pure instinct as I fight for possession. The puck skitters to the boards, and I throw a hip check, pinning my opponent and kicking the rubber free to Lukas.

“Slick pass, captain!” Lukas shouts as he snags the puck and dekes around a defenseman. His green eyes flash to mine, lips quirking in a smirk. Even in the heat of competition, Lukas oozes swagger.

The dude could charm the panties off a nun. I can’t help but flash a grin back.

Puck’s on my stick now as I streak up the wing. I cut to the middle, scanning for an opening. Two hulking D-men converge on me. I don’t see Ryan providing backup like usual. A glance reveals him and Lukas tangled up behind the play, facemasks pressed together as they exchange heated words.

Shit.

Gritting my teeth, I barrel ahead solo, trying to split the defense with a burst of speed. But I’m a half-step too slow on the pivot. Caught with my head down.

The Warriors defensemen sandwich me with vicious hip checks from both sides.

The boards rattle with a sickening crunch as I crumple to the ice.

Fiery pain explodes through my shoulder.

I lay there gasping, stick clattering away. The crowd goes eerily silent, holding its collective breath. Distantly, I hear the ref’s whistle and the clomping of the trainers’ sneakers as they rush out to me.

Fighting through the haze of agony, one thought penetrates my mind with stark clarity—how badly I’ve failed my team tonight.

Emma’s pale, worried face swims in my vision as they help me off the ice, my arm dangling limply. I look away, shame burning in my gut.

Some captain I am, letting this drama with Emma come between us, messing with our team chemistry. Lukas and Ryan acting like high school brats fighting over the pretty cheerleader.

And now I’m injured, out of the game when the boys need me most.

The medical bay off our locker room always makes me feel like I’m going to receive bad news. The antiseptic smell burns my nostrils as our team doc, Grace Nguyen, prods at my shoulder, sending fresh jolts of pain radiating down my arm.

I grit my teeth, trying to breathe through it.

“Looks like a separated shoulder,” Dr. Grace says grimly, pushing her glasses on top of her head. “You’ll need imaging to confirm, but on the bright side, it doesn’t look like a particularly bad one.”

I wince. “Level with me, doc. How long am I going to be out?”

Grace purses her lips, thinking. “If you’re lucky, a week, no more than two. If it’s worse than I think, it could be weeks.”

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