Page 32 of Pucked On Camera

"Hey, hey!" He stumbles back, hands raised defensively, and I remember we're not on the ice right now. There are rules against fighting in the locker room.

"Fuck," I breathe out, releasing him. "Why?"

His shoulders slump, and the easygoing joker I know disappears behind a mask of guilt. "I screwed up, okay? I thought it would be funny—a prank."

"Funny?" My jaw clenches, and I have to remind myself again not to start throwing punches. “Amelia’s reputation is on thin ice because of your 'prank.'”

"I know, I know." Zach rakes a hand through his sandy hair. "It was a stupid move. I didn't think it through."

"Think? You didn't think at all!" My temper is boiling. "You don't just play games with someone's life like that. She's more than just locker room talk, man!"

"I get it, Riley, I do." His voice cracks, and I see it—the regret, the realization of the damage he's done.

"Does Amelia know it was you?" My question hangs in the air.

"No. I'll understand if you wanna tell her. I'd deserve it."

"Deserve doesn't even begin to cut it. I can’t fucking tell her; she’s blocked me from everything." I walk over to the bench, slamming my stick down. "How are you going to fix this?"

"Whatever it takes," he says. "I'll apologize, take it all back, face the consequences."

"Consequences." The word feels hollow. How do you measure the weight of betrayal?

"Look, I can help you talk to her," Zach offers.

"This isn't about me talking to her." I glare at him, hoping he understands the gravity of his actions. "This is about making things right for Amelia."

"Right." He nods, swallowing hard.

Chapter 19

Amelia

Leland has called, texted, and video chatted with me every day since the incident. He’s currently on my phone’s screen that’s propped up on an empty wine bottle sitting on my coffee table while I sit on the couch with my legs curled up underneath me.

"You remember why the Blades and Vikings hate each other so much?" He's fiddling with an old hockey puck, rolling it back and forth between his hands.

"Vaguely." I shrug, trying to seem uninterested even though I'm always half-afraid of being dragged into the middle of it. "Wasn't it some championship game gone wrong?"

"More than that." He stops rolling the puck and looks at me. "It was dirty plays and bad blood for years. But that one game? It was the tipping point. A dirty cheap shot from one of the Vikings took out the captain of the Blades in the playoff game just before the championship cup. Even though that was ten years ago, the teams have been at war ever since."

"Right." I shift on the couch and snuggle under the blanket a little more. "I guess the teams are never going to let that go, huh?"

"Exactly." He nods, pressing his lips together. "But you know, not everyone wearing a Vikings jersey is the enemy. And not every Blade is a hero."

"Easy for you to say," I mutter. "You don't have to face them every day."

"True," he concedes, tossing the puck somewhere that I can’t see.

Before I can respond, there's a knock at the door, startling me.

"Want me to let you go?" my brother asks, but I shake my head from side to side, standing up.

"No, just hang on." My voice doesn't tremble, which is a small victory.

I walk to the door and open it to find Zach Mickelson standing there with his sandy blond hair falling into his eyes and that easy smile that grates on my nerves when he jokes around the locker room. There's a tension in his shoulders that's new.

"Can we talk?" he asks softly.

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