Page 103 of That's Too Pucking Bad

Caleb skates over, looking half-asleep. “What’s up?”

“Drills,” I snap. “You and me. Let’s go.”

“For what? Practice isn’t for another two hours.”

“Don’t care.”

He groans but doesn’t argue. That’s why Caleb’s my go-to— he gets it.

For the next three days, it’s nonstop. Drills, sprints, scrimmages. Anything to keep my body busy and my mind blank.

Game day.

The stands packed. Coach’s voice is a constant buzz in the background, but I don’t need it. I’m locked in.

This is what I’m good at. This is where I’m in control.

The first hit rattles my cage, but I shake it off. The second one sends me sliding into the boards, but I’m up before the whistle blows.

It’s brutal. It’s ruthless.

And it’s perfect.

When the buzzer sounds, we’ve won, and the adrenaline’s coursing through me like a drug. I throw my stick down, screaming with the guys, fists pumping, helmets clashing.

But then I look up.

And there she is.

She’s in the stands, watching me. Her hands are cupped around her mouth, yelling something I can’t hear. Her smile’s so big, it’s like she doesn’t care who sees her.

And it hits me like another goddamn puck to the chest.

I might love her too.

She’s waiting for me outside the locker room when I finally make it out.

“Hey,” she says, walking up to me. “You okay? You took a bad hit out there.”

“Yeah.” I wave it off, not wanting to get into it.

“You sure? I feel like I’ve barely seen you lately. You’ve been... I don’t know. Distant?”

Her voice is softer now, and I hate that it’s laced with concern.

“Remy—”

“Are you avoiding me?” she asks, cutting me off.

Fuck.

“Can we go somewhere?” I ask instead.

She blinks, surprised, but nods. “Of course.”

I take her hand without thinking, leading her away from the crowd.

I don’t know what I’m doing, but I know I need to figure it out. Fast.

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