Page 105 of My Pucking Crush

My throat goes tight.

Just then the door opens. Warriors dressed in lime green and white saunter out of the locker room. I lean against the wall and let them pass. My eyes sharpen for #32. Quinn.

If onlyIhad a shiv. I’d love to fuck Max with this guy’s blood on my hands.

When I see Jake, adrenaline floods my veins. I could jump him, break his neck. It would be all over. And for me. I’d be shot, no doubt thosebratoksare carrying.

But Belova would kill Samara.

Death is final. Threats and fear can live forever. Poor Max is an example of that. What is Quinn’s weakness? His family. He hired them a bodyguard.

I take out the photo of them, and with a pen in my pocket, I circle his wife.

With so many people, players, trainers, and coaches filling the hall and the team unsuspecting of anything, I cut through until I’m in front of Quinn. Using skills I’ve perfected, I wait for the perfect moment and spin around, stopping him.

Glaring into his eyes, I know what’s deep in his soul. Where his passions lie. He’snotstraight. And I hate to fuck with someone who’s been forced into a marriage like I was. But Max’s life is more important.

Confusion rakes over Quinn’s features. I shove the photo into his chest. And in the accent I long buried, Isay, “Good luck tonight.”

When he looks down to take the photo, I use that time to disappear into the sea of people all around us. Another specialty of mine.

I just need to plant the seed of doubt in Quinn’s head.

And God, I hope Stamford wins tonight and eliminates these fuckers, even if it’s here in enemy territory.

FIFTY-SIX

Max

After the intermission, we approach the tunnel to get back on the ice. This time I opt to go last, giving Troy Madison, who I’ll suggest take over as team captain, the lead.

Lingering in the back, I feel eyes on me. Also last in Richmond’s line is Jake. Our gazes lock and I feel nothing but burning anger in his eyes. I’ve been playing this game all my life, and I’ve had some pretty intense rivals throughout the years.

I’ve never felt such visceral disgust from another player.

What happened with Jake was so long ago, and I never spoke to him again after freshman year. He never once reached out to me.

But still, I wondered if what we felt for each other was all in my head. Or did all kids experiment with their best friends?

I can’t stop thinking there’s a connection between the threats against me and Jake fucking Quinn being on the team owned by the guy who wants to hurt me.

Don’t get mad. Get even.

Living well is the best revenge.

Don’t let an opponent live in your head.

I’m torn between wanting to ignore Jake and hurt him more than I would any other rival. Especially during playoffs. He’s on their third shift, I’ve barely faced him this entire series.

I put it out of my head. But it won’t stay gone.

THE GAME IS A DISASTER. For us. And me. I can’tmatch the speed of their forward’s dribbling. It’s like he’s on performance enhancing drugs. Or maybe my setting is stuck on a slower speed. I don’t know where to put my stick, and when I do get the puck to pass, it hits the wrong stick.

Lance Reynolds, the goalie, is also off his game tonight.

Like football blitzes, Richmond is sending their men across the blue line in an onslaught of shots. Three get in by the third period, and we’ve barely gotten out of our zone.

I reach that place where I give up. Where I unclench every muscle and put this game behind me to look forward to the next one. This is hardly a surprise. Many sports teams play a best of seven games, and almost always, the team facing elimination gets a second wind.

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