Page 6 of Bound

Just not for me.

I toss the plastic spoon in the trash, screw the lid on the peanut butter and stow it back onto the shelf.

One more numbers check and then I’m giving my phone to the trainer, Sam, so she can keep one eye on my numbers while I’m playing.

She has low sugar snacks on her at all times during practices and games, and I’ll sip from a bottle filled with Gatorade as needed, but the adrenaline should kick in soon and between that and the peanut butter and my sammy, I’ll be good.

I always am.

Always find a way to make it through—even when the odds are against me.

Thankfully, as I’m taking care of this shit, Smitty doesn’t stop with the jokes, keeping the locker room loose and relaxed, and by the time we’re all lined up and filing down the hall, the team’s entrance song on blast, the stadium full, I’m focused again.

I’m ready to play hockey.

Ready to grind out a win, to feel the cool air on my cheeks as I skate hard, to hear the crunch of my blades on the ice, the back-and-forth chirping from my teammates and the assholes on the other bench. I’m ready to work my ass off and do what I love.

Claire’s standing in the hall, just inside the entrance.

And suddenly, my focus is off.

It’s back to yearning and claiming and knowing…

I can’t have her.

I’m no good for her.

I’m not enough for her.

But I still want to pull her close and taste her anyway.

CHAPTER THREE

Claire

I’m watching the game against the Grizzlies from Luc’s suite situated high above the ice…

And it’s not going well.

Okay, the team is doing fine—it’s just that Jackson isn’t.

He’s…off.

That’s the only way I can describe the passes he’s missed—including one that would have gotten the team and him an easy goal—and the trouble he’s had getting the puck out of his own zone, the clear frustration on his face at the end of his shifts. And, frankly, he’s sitting on the bench more tonight than he’s been skating on the ice.

At least this period.

Damn.

It’s not his blood sugar.

Not right now, anyway.

His number has been steady since the puck dropped—this according to Sam and my nosy self making sure his graph fromhis continuous glucose monitor is in the safe range—so it’s not diabetes.

Not today, anyway.

But something’s seriously off.

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