Page 66 of The Enemy Face Off

Even though I'd rather not, I have to face reality. This weekend took one giant unexpected turn, but that doesn't change the fact Milo and I lead two very different, very incompatible lives. There's no point in even daydreaming about this leading to anything more.

Maybe he can join me for an occasional early morning walk when he's in town, and we can enjoy a kiss now and then.

"What are your plans for when we get back?" I ask, as we resume the walk.

"I'll spend today getting ready to leave. We're back out on the road tomorrow." He hesitates. "You know…"

"Yeah?"

"I'm playing in LA in a few weeks if you feel like joining Evie and coming down to watch."

"I hate hockey," I remind him on the off chance he's forgotten.

"I'm well aware."

"I also may or may not still find you low-level annoying."

"Another fact I know all too well."

"Did I already say I hate hockey?"

He licks his lips, smiling. "You did."

"Can I think about it?"

"Of course. You know where I live, and you have my number."

"Yeah." A grin tugs at my lips. "I do."

14

Milo

Rage fuels my hockey.

It's not the only thing, obviously. I train hard, work hard, and possess a degree of natural skill and athleticism.

But underneath it all, rage has always been my secret weapon.

When I first started, it was my outlet to deal with the pain and anger of dealing with the crappy hand I'd been dealt.

In my teen years, I started realizing I wasn't the only one who got a raw deal. I saw how the world worked, and I didn't like it.

How poorly some people get treated because of things they can't control, like the color of their skin. How those with money have so many more doors opened to them while those of us who don't have cushy bank balances have to fight for everything we have. How, despite decades of progress, there are still men out there who think it's acceptable to talk about and treat a woman the way Beth's exes talked about and treated her.

I've been playing some of the best hockey of my career these past few weeks, in no small part based on the fury Beth telling me about her experiences with men unleashed in me.

And I'm really on fire tonight knowing she's in the stands, watching me.

The Bullets star forward Matt Padalecki advances, closing in on me with a fierce determination. I stand steadfast at the net, my eyes locked on the puck, every muscle in my body coiled and ready to react.

Padalecki fakes left, then right, attempting to throw me off balance.

I don't even flinch, my eyes solely focused on the puck.

He winds up for the shot.

The puck rockets off his stick like a bullet.

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