Page 1 of Puck Princess

1

OWEN

“The ice is hot tonight as these rival teams go head-to-head in what has been a real nail-biter of a game.” The announcer’s voice echoes through the arena, muffled by the roar of the crowd.

It’s a full house tonight. The cheers from Scythes fans are almost drowned out by the opposing fans making it no secret they want to see me splattered on the ice.

It’s exactly the kind of thing I love. The energy in here is what I dreamed of when I decided I wanted to play professional hockey. I should be having the time of my life, but my head is everywhere but the game.

The guys are on it, their passes fluid, teamwork impeccable as usual. It’s the synchronicity we’re known for. Unfortunately, I’m out of rhythm. I’m sloppy AF, oblivious to cues and missing passes I would’ve caught in peewee.

Even when I manage to catch a pass, the goal might as well be a trampoline. Anything that gets close bounces out. I can’t score to save my life. It’s been a recurring theme lately.

Dax dials in on me from across the ice, and I give him the go. The puck hits my stick, and I’m ready for the shot, but…Fuck, my footing is off. It’s a small slip, but enough to lose my clearing. I grit down on my mouthguard.

Goddammit.

The defense is huddled in tight and there’s no room for movement. I can’t make the shot.

“Sharpe!” Miles calls out. I look up at him and, with nowhere else to go, I pass.

He shoots.

He scores.

God fucking dammit.

The buzzer rings out, and I should be glad, but I’m pissed. One, the man being swarmed on the ice isn’t me. And two,fuck him.

The team circles on the sidelines while the guys all high five.

“Nice one.” Heath slaps him on the back.

“Yeah, good save, Solomon,” Lance adds. He looks over at me. It’s a vibe check and a low-key“What the fuck?”

I wish I knew.

Scratch that—I know exactly what’s wrong. I just wish I had the power to do a single damn thing about it.

“It was an easy enough shot.” Miles shrugs, his eyes slicing over to me as he grins cockily. “Even with this ankle injury and all.”

“You fucked up your ankle weeks ago,” Lachlan says. “Sounds like an excuse to see the PT again.”

“Yeah, except the best one we ever had is gone.” Kason douses himself in water, squirting it under the collar of his jersey. I can feel camera phones the arena over zooming in on him. That shit is going to be all over the internet in three minutes, and he knows it.

Lachlan shoves him so he’ll stop eye fucking the crowd. “Where is Callie, anyway?”

Everyone is acting like I’m not standing three feet away adjusting my skates. They probably think I can’t hear them over the opposing fans chanting “Sharpe lost his edge” in the stands behind us, as if they’re the first ones to ever think of that quip.

“I heard she got laid off ‘cause she’s preggo,” Heath chimes in. Per usual, he doesn’t know jack shit about anything.

“I think that’s illegal. It’s against the constitution or something.” Lachlan’s face screws up in thought before he shrugs it off. “That was hearsay, anyway.”

“All I know is she was the best,” Kason adds.

She really is.

It’s been a week since I’ve seen her, and I’m losing my mind. How the fuck am I supposed to keep my head in the game when it’s stuck on our last conversation? On the dozens of unanswered calls and texts I’ve sent. I want her side of the story, but all I know is what Miles told Coach about Callie coming onto him.

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