Page 53 of Puck & Make Up

And then I grab another puck from the bucket I’d dumped out at my feet and go again.

And again.

Shot after shot until my arms ache and sweat is dripping between my shoulder blades and I turn to see Joel leaning against the boards, watching me with shrewd eyes.

Fuck.

Sighing, I shove my stick into the empty bucket, skate with it over to the net then drop to my knees and start picking them up.

He follows—because of course he fucking does.

“You shouldn’t even be at this rink,” I mutter when all he does is lean on the net and stare at me.

“Lucky for you, I’m only a short drive away,” he says then adds, when I don’t reply, “Okay, what gives?”

“With what?”

“The puck murder.”

Fucker’s funny, but I don’t feel like laughing.

She was gone.

Just gone.

We’d shared all that and?—

Gone.

Just fucking gone when I woke up, her side of the bed empty and cold, her car no longer parked at the curb in front of my house. And not answering her phone.

I’d told her I loved her and…

Fuckinggone.

Now, am I going to let her get away with that shit? No fucking way. But am I pissed as hell and going to lick my wounds for a few hours before I track her down?

Yes.

So, grinding my teeth together, I don’t bite at Joel’s fishing expedition. I just keep picking up pucks and dropping them into the bucket. And then don’t stop until all of them are picked up.

Unfortunately, Joel isn’t as easy to get rid of.

He just stays there, reclining against the goal.

“I’m just getting some ice time in,” I mutter.

He snorts, pushes off the goal and starts trailing me when I shove my stick into the bucket again and skate over to the bench with it. I heft it up onto the bench and start walking down the hall.

And Joel’s right there.

“You know,” he says, “you were awfully cheerful these last couple weeks.” A long, pointed pause. “And you’re awfully pissed today.”

Jesus Christ.

Clenching my teeth together so tightly that a bolt of pain shoots through my jaw, I resist the urge to plow my fist into his face. First, he’s too pretty for that. Second, I’m in a shit mood and it’s not his fault.

Third…

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