Page 15 of Pucking Obsessed

I get the puck and then slide it to Callum with a flick of my wrist, my eyes still scanning the crowd. If Madison doesn’t show up soon, I’m leaving. I don’t give a shit about this game. Not right now.

Five minutes left in the first period, and I’m still waiting. That’s when I spot that Winter has moved. She’s up from herseat and standing alone by the plexiglass, the reflection of the ice on her face. I watch her for a moment, wondering where the hell Madison is, when Winter does something that catches my attention. She blows a kiss at Tristan, who’s guarding the net like the fucking stone-faced wall that he is. His eyes flicker for just a second, and then he reaches up, gloved hand in the air, and catches the kiss, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

I feel a twist in my gut because even though people give them shit about being foster siblings and they swear up and down they’re not fucking, I want what they have. She blindly trusts him no matter what, and I need to prove myself to Madison, to show her that I can be that for her.

Winter’s face lights up with a mischievous smile, clearly enjoying the fact that she's trying to embarrass him in front of everyone. But Tristan? He doesn’t even flinch.

I hate the way it feels, watching them. There’s a connection between them, an understanding, like they can read each other’s minds. It’s almost like they’re inside each other’s heads, anticipating every move before it happens. It’s effortless. Pure.

I look over at Tristan again, his expression neutral as he stares at the puck flying toward him, blocking it effortlessly.

Since Madison's clearly not with Winter, I need to find her. I keep telling myself I’m being irrational, but I can’t stop. Something feels off, and I need to know she’s okay. I have to make sure no one is hurting her. Especially not after the whole necklace in my locker thing. I glare at Kirsten who is hanging on the arm of one of the guys sitting near her while he looks to someone sitting next to him, having a conversation that Kirsten clearly isn’t a part of.

If anything happens to Madison in the time she was supposed to be at this game, I’m going to rip Kirsten’s head off and use it as a hockey puck. She had one fucking job.

I need to get off the ice, and I need to get off now.

The ice whines beneath me as I skate hard, cutting across the rink with precision. I don’t even look at Callum or Tristan. I’m not asking for help. I can’t have them in on this.

I see a St. Charles player coming at me, his attention focused elsewhere, not on the puck. I steal it from him in one smooth move, sending it flying toward Ramsey Blackwood because he owes me a favor. I’m not aiming to pass or score. No, I’m aiming to make a statement. The puck connects with the side of his body, hard. He spins around, his eyes narrowing on me as he gets into defensive mode.

“What the fuck, Lockwood?” Ramsey barks, his voice loud enough to carry across the rink. I just smirk at him, grinning like I’m the one having all the fun.

He cocks his head, confused, but there’s no question in his eyes. I throw my gloves off and stand tall, I want him to know what I’m about to do.

“Fight me,” I demand, my voice steady. The crowd’s energy shifts. They get it. They know what’s coming. The air around us crackles with anticipation. But I can’t tell if it’s because of the play or because they smell blood.

Ramsey doesn’t hesitate. He tosses his gloves off too, his stance widening, and the crowd’s cheers intensify. It’s the perfect moment for me to make my exit. I grab him by the collar, and he does the same to me.

“I need off the ice,” I say, my words rough but calm.

He laughs, a knowing glint in his eye, the tension easing between us for a moment. “I got you. Make it look good.” He pauses, glancing toward the stands. “Got a sweet little thing up there who's gonna want to play doctor after the game.”

I can’t help but laugh at that because that’s such a fucking Blackwood thing to say. I throw the first punch, landing a solid hit against his helmet. It’s not meant to hurt. Just a way to set the stage. Ramsey swings back, catching me in the ribs. I wincebut don’t react. I know what he’s capable, of and he’s holding back.

As Ramsey pulls me into a bear hug, I reach up and yank his helmet off, tossing it across the ice like a piece of trash. It skids across the surface, but before Ramsey can react, I take my shot. My fist connects with his nose, just hard enough to make it bleed.

The crowd roars because this is what they came for.

Ramsey stumbles back, blinking from the blow, and instinctively, he retaliates. He knocks me to the ice, his momentum sending us both crashing. I’m already rolling with it, punching him back, landing soft blows that look like they might kill.

We clamor together until we’re nothing but a mess of limbs. We’re just two guys trying to look good for the crowd. It’s a controlled chaos, but it’s just enough to get me off the ice without drawing the wrong kind of attention from Coach.

I hear the whistle blow, loud and sharp, signaling the end of our fake fight. Before I can process it, the refs are pulling me off of Ramsey. I let out a slow, amused breath. Ramsey’s voice cuts through the noise, loud enough for me to hear.

“Happy doing business with you,” he grunts, giving me a mock salute.

I grin back. “We make a good team.”

The ref yanks Ramsey back, a little too aggressively, and on reflex, Ramsey elbows him, knocking him backward. Nothing serious, because one thing about Ramsey Blackwood is that he’s careful not to cross the line, but the ref is knocked off balance. That’s when the ref who’s holding me blows the whistle right in my ear, an explosion of noise.

I don’t even think. My skate is already lifting, hooking it around his leg, and in an instant, the crowd erupts in a loud“ooh” as the ref trips and stumbles, struggling to keep his footing. I’m laughing, already backing away.

The ref’s yell still cuts through the noise. “OFF THE ICE! EJECTED!”

I throw my hands up and shrug, feigning innocence. “I thought you’d never ask,” I smirk, skating off the ice with ease.

As I pass by Coach, I notice him glowering at me. His disappointment doesn’t faze me. What does have my attention is what my teammate is doing.

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