Page 107 of That's Too Pucking Bad

I nod, though I don’t completely agree. “I’ll be fine, Mom. I know what I’m doing.”

But the words don’t sit right with me. They twist in my stomach like something’s not quite right. I’m not stupid. I know what my mom means. Zane doesn’t live the same life as we do. He doesn’t have the same values, the same priorities.

But I don’t care. Iwanthim. And that’s enough.

I catch myself glancing at him as he talks to my mom, still charming, still pretending to be the perfect guy.

But I know the truth. I know what he’s capable of. And I’m not running from it.

Maybe my mom’s right. Maybe he’s too different. But right now? I don’t care.

The rink smells like cold air, sweat, and a little bit of beer from the crowd. I’m sitting in the stands, trying not to fidget while the teams warm up on the ice. Zane’s out there, skating like he owns the place, and honestly, he kind of does.

I stare at him, unable to stop watching the way he moves. Every stride, every turn— he’s just so...good.

The guy next to me, some freshman with a beanie pulled low, glances over. “You here for Coburn?”

I nod, glancing back at him. “Yeah, you know him?”

He snorts. “Everyone knows Zane. Dude’s a beast. Plays like he’s got nothing to lose.”

I swallow hard at that because it’s true. Zane plays rough, fast, reckless. I’ve seen it in every game I’ve gone to, but I didn’t think about it much until now.

The buzzer sounds, and the crowd erupts in cheers. I sit up straighter, my eyes glued to Zane as he lines up with the rest of the team for the faceoff.

The puck drops, and they’re off. It’s chaos, bodies slamming into the boards, sticks clashing. I try to keep track of the puck, but my focus keeps drifting back to Zane. He’severywhere, skating hard, shoving guys out of his way, barking orders to his teammates.

“Go, Zane!” I yell, even though he probably can’t hear me over the noise.

It’s a good game, fast-paced, with a lot of close calls. Zane’s in his element, controlling the ice like it’s his personal playground. The crowd loves him, screaming every time he takes the puck.

“Dude’s unstoppable,” the freshman next to me mutters.

I grin, leaning forward in my seat. He’s right. Zane’s a machine, dominating the game.

And then it happens.

One second, he’s skating full speed toward the goal, and the next, he’s slammed into the boards by two guys at once. The hit is brutal, the sound of it echoing through the rink like a gunshot.

“Oh my god,” I breathe, standing up before I even realize it.

Zane crumples to the ice, and everything goes still for a moment. Then the whistle blows, and the refs rush over.

“Shit,” the guy next to me mutters. “That looked bad. Really fucking bad.”

I’m frozen, my eyes locked on Zane. He’s not getting up.

“Move,” I snap, pushing past the guy and heading down the steps toward the rink.

“Miss, you can’t go down there,” a security guard says, stepping in front of me.

“Watch me,” I snap, ducking around him.

The trainers are on the ice now, crouching next to Zane. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but I see him shake his head like he’s arguing with them.

“Get up, Zane,” I whisper, clutching the railing.

Finally, he moves, sitting up slowly with the help of the trainers. The crowd cheers, but it’s not the same. It’s cautious, like they’re not sure if he’s okay yet.

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