Page 26 of Pucked On Camera

Their words are the shot of adrenaline that I need. I know what's at stake, what we're up against. The Vikings. They're the team you love to hate, the rival champions.

I nod, feeling the weight of the 'C' stitched onto my jersey.

"Time to cut deep, men," I say. "Let's make those Vikings wish they never left their longboats."

Laughter ripples through my teammates, and, together, we get in position for the puck to drop.

The clash of our sticks against the Vikings' feels like a call to arms. They’ve brought their aggressive side today. I can almost taste the fight brewing.

"Keep your head, Cap," Jasper grunts as his shoulder pad brushes mine while he passes by. I nod, even though part of me is itching for the confrontation. It's like there's something in thewater when we go up against the Vikings—we just can't help but drop gloves.

"Watch your six!" Alfie shouts, a second before a Viking slams into me from behind. I stagger but stay upright. I grind my teeth, holding back. The last thing we need is a penalty. But man, do I want to wipe that smug grin off his face.

Focus on the puck, not fists.

Chapter 15

Amelia

My boots stick slightly to the soda-stained floor as I shuffle down the aisle. I purposefully came late to the game so Riley wouldn’t see me during warmups. I don’t want to distract him. It’s weird, but it feels like the chatter around me takes a nosedive as I approach my seat for the ticket Riley gave me, right in front of the glass. There’s also a feeling of dozens of eyes boring into me. I slip into the seat, trying to make myself as small as possible, but it's like I've turned on some invisible spotlight. My ponytail feels too tight, and the jersey I’m wearing is loose, but suffocating.

"Here for the eye candy, or do you actually like hockey?" a voice teases from behind me. I don't bother turning around. She’s probably just trying to make conversation.

I lean forward, resting my arms on my knees, peering through the glass. There's Riley, number seventeen, gliding across the ice effortlessly. Does anyone suspect why I'm really here? That I'm watching him not as just some random fan?

My gaze darts around the rink, catching snippets of conversations, laughter, the occasional pointed look. Nobody here knows Amelia Brooks is anything more than a face in the crowd. They don't know I'm dating the captain of the Chicago Blades—or that my twin brother is out there too, playing for the rival team. I’ve purposely hidden our shared genetics behind different jerseys and my mother's maiden name.

I chew on my lower lip, considering the layers of secrets I live with. A nervous laugh escapes me because it's all so ridiculous. Here I am, adding one more secret to that pile with me and Riley, and nobody has a clue. Or do they?

The puck skitters across the ice, a blur of black against white, and I can't tear my eyes away from Riley as he moves with it. His muscles flex under his jersey and sweat glistens on his brow. Not even halfway into the game and things on the ice flare up; bodies crash, sticks clash, and suddenly it's not about the puck anymore.

"Riley!" My voice is lost in the roar of the crowd, but I'm on my feet, hands pressed against the cold glass. My brother, with that same fire in his eyes that I see in the mirror, barrels into Riley. They're a tangle of limbs and snarled aggression, their rivalry seeming to be more personal than anyone in these stands could guess.

Gloves drop.

"Come on, break it up," I mutter with a shaky breath. The refs swoop in, their whistles piercing the chaos, but not before fists have flown, words have been exchanged, and penalties have been called.

"Two minutes for roughing," calls the announcer.

I sink back into my seat, right next to the Sin Bin, where they'll serve their time. I didn’t think about it when I sat down. Then again, I didn’t expect my brother and the guy I’m seeing both to be in there at the same time.

"Fucking asshole," Riley's voice cuts through the muffled sounds of the game.

"Back at ya, bro," my brother shoots back.

I wrap my arms around myself, trying to stave off the chill that's got nothing to do with the temperature in the Blade Dome. Watching them, two people at odds over a rivalry game, and so many other things they don’t even know. It makes my stomach knot up.

"Dear Lord," I whisper, feeling like impending doom is coming soon. It's a mess, all of it, and I'm smack in the middle, wishing I could run away.

The game sound hums in the background as my brother's voice cuts through the glass, sharp and accusing. "Those photos that popped up online—what the hell, man?"

I blink, confusion racing through my mind. Photos? My heart stutters, panic rising in me like floodwaters. I try to focus on their faces, Riley's furrowed brow visible even through the smudged barrier of the Sin Bin.

"If you’re talking about the ones I just got before we hit the ice, I have nothing to do with that, and want the fucker dead, whoever is responsible," Riley replies. What are they talking about?

My brother's lips press into a thin line, and even from here, I can see the muscle ticking in his jaw. They're talking about me, about something I can't even grasp.

"Then explain how they got out there," my brother snaps. He looks ready to leap right back over the boards and onto the ice—or at Riley's throat.

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