Page 73 of Puck Block

Once I slam it and round the car, I hear his window roll down. I keep my back to him, but I stop when he says my name. Butterflies flutter in my lower stomach, and the feeling is becoming tiresome.

“I didn’t answer your question for a reason.”

I hold my breath because there’s a sincerity in Ford’s tone that wasn’t there before.

“Me,” he says.

I turn slightly, in case I didn’t hear him correctly.

“I’m the only one who’s good enough for you.” My heart skips. “But I guess I’ll try to find a close second.”

I stand on the porch with my back to him well after his car takes off.

The problem is that I’m not sure there will be a close second.

[ 32 ]

FORD

It hurts to breathe.

My chest screams with the need for oxygen, but I’m on defense, and if I take my eye off the puck for even one second, I risk it flying into the net. Emory is a damn good goalie, but no one is perfect.

I should know that better than anyone, considering I almost pressed Taytum against the bathroom door last night and kissed her so deeply she forgot all about that loser she was on a date with.

See? I’m not even perfect.

I never thought I’d say this, but thank God for the spike in her blood sugar. Otherwise, my mouth would have been somewhere it didn’t belong.

Shaking Taytum out of my head, I stare at the little black biscuit and put all my effort into the game. We’ve played hard, and we’re on top by two, but if I don’t send a sauce pass in Theo’s direction, we may end up with a tie, and I’m sick of not getting what I want.

My jaw locks, and the opposing team is setting up plays like their life depends on it, and for some of them, it does. Hockey is their future, just like it is with me.

There are two players dressed in yellow, swarming together like bumblebees, and I swear time freezes. I watch their eyes meet for a split second, and I immediately start rushing down to the offensive zone with Coach screaming profanities in my direction. My team doesn’t question my motives, though. I’ve always been one to know the outcome of something before it happens, particularly on the ice.

The crowd roars, and the echo ripples around the arena. I turn at the last possible second. I’m at a diagonal advantage of number seven, and I know he has plans to make a breakaway.

He won’t, though.

I skate with vicious speed and block out the cheers. As soon as he winds his stick back, I slip in like a snake and steal the puck away. I carry it for a second and then pass to Berkley, who I know will be waiting. When he has possession, it isn’t long before the puck is back to center ice, and Theo is firing it off into the net right at the buzzer.

The sound of the stadium comes rushing in like a waterfall, and our team is bunched together, celebrating. Emory slaps me on the back after ripping his mask off. His dark hair is stuck to his forehead with sweat. “You always have my fucking back, bro.”

“How do you do it?!” Zeke, one of our younger players, is bewildered. “Only you could predict that the puck was going to squirt out for a breakaway opportunity, but then you swooped in like a feral vulture.”

Theo wraps his arm around my shoulder. “Didn’t you know he’s part bird? Why do you think he’s so fucking annoying?”

I elbow Theo in the stomach, and he bends over with strained laughter.

There’s a loud, girly howl from the stands that catches all of our attention. We spin, and there’s a huge group of girls howling like wolves with their Bexley U jerseys on. No surprise that Taytum is the ring leader–smack dab in the middle with the loudest howl.

My mouth curves with a quick shake of my head. I tap the guys quickly and flick my chin to the girls. At the same time, we all pull our helmets off and match their howls. Taytum’s laugh is the loudest, and before long, the entire stadium sounds like a pack of wolves as we skate toward the other team to shake hands.

When I skate up to number seven, I’m not sure what to expect. Hockey players are hotheads–even me on occasion–so I wait for a lowball jab from him, but instead, he puts his ungloved hand out and shakes mine.

“That was a good game, man,” he says.

I hold onto his hand in a tight grip and joke with him. “Thought you could squeeze one past me, eh?”

---