Page 45 of That's Too Pucking Bad

He blinks, shocked. “You did what, dude?”

“Yeah, you heard me. Donated some cash, talked to the right people. They’re treating her mom better now, and Remy’s got one less thing to stress about.”

Caleb’s staring like I’ve just confessed to committing a crime. “Dude…this is next level. You’re not just into this girl. You’re, like… involved. I mean, what the fuck’s going on with you?”

I down the rest of my drink, setting the glass down a little harder than intended. “She’s different. I don’t know, man. It’s like…she’s this damn drug I can’t shake.”

“Shit, Coburn,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t even know what to say.”

“Tell me I’m not crazy,” I mutter, mostly to myself. “She’s just—”

“You’re obsessed?”

“Yeah.”

We both sit there in silence, each lost in our own thoughts, and finally Caleb looks over. “Well, on a less obsessive note, the Reaper induction went great, but the new guys are already fiending for another party. Thought they’d pass out with how hard they went at the last one, but apparently not.”

I laugh, grateful for the shift in conversation. “Figures. Alright, let’s give them something to go nuts over. After the next game, we’ll throw something.”

Caleb raises his glass again, grinning. “Nowthat’sthe Coburn I know.

I step through the door, barely dropping my bag before I hear his voice.

“Zane,” my dad calls from the living room, and I already know what’s coming. He’s sitting on the couch with the game highlights rolling on the big screen, barely looking away when I walk in. “Off from practice?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re ready for the game?”

“Yes, sir,” I say, keeping my tone casual as I head into the kitchen. I grab a bottle of water and crack it open, taking a long sip. I can feel his eyes on me, sizing me up like he’s still deciding if I’m worth all the time and money he’s thrown into me.

“I’m not missing this one. Already cleared my schedule.” He sounds proud because according to him, my games are the only way he gets to showcase that he is father-of-the-year material.

“Great,” I mutter, twisting the cap back on the bottle.

His gaze sharpens, practically dissecting me. “Stats are up, too. You know what you’re up against?”

“Of course.” I shrug, even though he’s expecting more. He always does. “I’ve seen the film.”

“Then you know they’re tough. Defense is relentless.” His tone is all business, not an ounce of warmth. “Better put everything you’ve got out there. This is the game they’ll remember.”

I glance down, swallowing hard. “Yeah, Dad. I know.”

“Good.” He leans back, finally breaking his stare. “Next season, the scouts won’t just look at potential. They’re looking for winners. Think about that.”

I nod, even though I don’t need the reminder. I’ve been hearing it my whole life.

After a minute, I mumble, “I’ll be in my room,” and make my way down the hall. Once the door closes behind me, I exhale, letting the tension slip for a second. It’s always the same thing—talk of the NHL, the stats, the scouts. The future he’s been planning for me since I was old enough to hold a stick. I sit on the edge of my bed, running my hands over my face, letting my head fall back.

Remy’s face flashes in my mind, her soft eyes, the way she always bites her lip when she’s thinking. For a second, I think about driving over to see her, just for a few minutes. But I shake it off. I need to stay focused, and she’s the last thing I should be thinking about before a game. I need to concentrate.

The next day at practice, Coach Jacobs is barking orders, but there’s this grin on his face like he knows we’ve got this one in the bag.

“You guys are ready,” he says, pacing in front of us after drills. “We’ve got all the firepower, the speed. This is our game to lose.”

He claps his hands, signaling the end of practice, and I’m feeling that high, the one you get when you know you’re in sync with the whole team. I’m still buzzing with it when I spot Caleb waiting for me by the doors, and just beyond him, Remy and Maya, talking by the bleachers.

Remy’s got an oversized sweater on that slides off her shoulder, showing just a hint of skin, and a short skirt that’s got my thoughts straying. All I can think about is pressing her up against a wall somewhere, getting my hands under that damn sweater, feeling her against me.

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