Page 119 of That's Too Pucking Bad

I hit send. The little bubble shows up. He’s typing. My stomach flutters, but I don’t get my hopes up. He doesn’t reply. The bubble stops, then starts again. Then it stops. And nothing.

Fucking nothing.

I don’t even know why I’m surprised. He hasn’t given me any reason to think he cares.

I shake my head. My heart’s in my stomach, twisted up in knots.

I walk back to my room and stand there, staring at my phone on the bed, thinking about everything that’s gone wrong.

I take a long, hot shower, trying to wash away the headache creeping up on me, the frustration, the loneliness. The hot water does nothing to ease the ache in my chest.

I hate this. I hate all of it.

When I step out of the shower, I stand in front of the mirror again, wrapped in a towel. The girl staring back at me looks broken, tired. Miserable. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.

But something inside of me snaps. No. Fuck this. I’m not going to sit around and let this destroy me.

I walk to my closet, pulling out the sexiest outfit I own— a tight black dress with a deep plunge, showing just enough skin to make a statement. I throw on a pair of heels, let my hair dry naturally, then add a little more makeup. I don’t know what I’m hoping for, but maybe this will make me feel better.

I grab my phone and check the time. The game starts soon. I can still make it.

I take an Uber to the rink, my heart racing— not for the game, but for what’s about to happen when I show up. I’m not sure if it’s the right thing to do, but I can’t stay home. I need to be there. I need to see him.

I can’t be the one sitting in the shadows anymore. If he won’t notice me, I’ll make him.

When I get to the rink, the buzz of the crowd, the sharp smells of the ice, and the noise of the fans hit me all at once. I walk into the stands, searching for a seat.

Then I spot him. He’s skating, intense as hell, his focus on the game. His shoulders tense, his jaw clenched. But when he looks up, it’s like he doesn’t even see me. It’s like I’m invisible.

Fuck, I’m an idiot.

But I stay, watching. And for the first time in a long while, I think maybe I’ll just keep watching. Maybe, after this game, I’ll get the chance to talk to him again.

The crowd is roaring, the energy in the rink like a live wire. I can’t help but let it buzz through me, the excitement seeping into my skin. The players are skating like they’ve got fire in their veins, and I’m on the edge of my seat, eyes glued to the ice.

I spot Maya waving from the other side of the rink, her hand flailing around like she’s signaling a plane. I wave back, trying to show I see her, but it’s not like I’m anywhere near her. She’s so far away, sitting with some other girls. I don’t even know who.

Zane’s on the ice, of course. God, he looks incredible out there. His form is perfect, the way his skates cut into the ice, his body moving fluidly, like he was born to do this. Every time the puck comes near him, my stomach flips, and I hate myself for it. I hate how badly I miss him.

The game’s heating up. The tension is palpable, the clock ticking down, and with every second that passes, it’s like the airgets thicker. My hands are clammy, but I’m not leaving this spot. No way.

It’s tied. Last-minute play. Everyone’s on their toes. Then the puck’s in. The crowd goes wild, and the noise is deafening. My throat’s raw from screaming. My eyes are glued to the ice as the team floods the rink, all of them pumped, their faces lit up with pure exhilaration. They won.

We fucking won.

“Yes!” I scream, my hands thrown in the air. People around me are shouting and cheering, jumping up and down. But I’m not thinking about anyone else. My focus? It’s all on him. Zane.

The players are skating around, doing victory laps, and that’s when I see him pulling off his mask. The moment his face is exposed, I can feel my stomach lurch, like my heart’s just done a flip. He looks tired, his jaw clenched, a grimace crossing his face for a second before he schools it away, hiding whatever’s going on underneath.

For a brief moment, our eyes meet, and I wave. I don’t know why I do it. Maybe it’s because I miss him so much that I need to feel something. But he sees me. I know he does because he fucking smiles.

It’s not like the smile I remember. It’s sharp as he talks with Caleb, almost like it’s not for me, and I can’t stop the little surge of hope that crashes through me, like maybe something deeper is going on, and none of this has been about us.

He skates toward the edge of the rink, his movements smooth, confident. I stand, ready to go to him. But then mychest tightens as I watch a man walk over to him, tall, in a sharp black suit, his features sharp enough to cut glass. He’s got dark, slicked-back hair, and the way he walks towards Zane— like he owns the place— sends an icy wave down my spine.

Zane looks up at him, that expression on his face shifting for just a moment— like something inside of him snaps into place.

“Dad,” I hear him say, and it hits me. This man? This is his father.

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