Page 47 of That's Too Pucking Bad

My jaw tightens, and I glare at him, feeling the anger churn, hot and dangerous. But I don’t say anything. I know better. Instead, I scoop up the ice, pressing it against my cheek as I head to my room.

Once inside, I slam the door and toss the ice into the trash. My hands are shaking as I pace the small space, feeling the bruise starting to form under my skin. My eye stings like hell, but it’s nothing compared to the fury pulsing through me. I grab the nearest thing— a textbook, something heavy— and launch it across the room. It hits the wall with a satisfying thud.

Then I’m punching the mirror, cracking the glass until my knuckles sting and blood smears across the shards. I lean against the wall, breathing hard, fists clenched, hating that no matter how much I want to hit back, I can’t. I rely on him. For the money, the scouts, the career he’s built for me. All of it. And maybe it is my fault. I mouthed off, and I should’ve known better.

I take a deep breath, trying to shake it off. I grab my wrist, wincing at the pain, hoping it won’t mess with my grip tomorrow. Thank God for helmets.

The next day, I show up to the rink early, head down, trying not to draw attention. But Coach Jacobs catches me the second I walk in, his eyes narrowing as he sees my face.

“What the hell happened to you?” he snaps.

I shrug, keeping my tone flat. “Must’ve gotten hit in practice. Didn’t notice.”

He doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t push it. Just gives me a once-over before muttering, “Get it together out there.”

I nod, keeping my head down as I head to the locker room. The pain from my eye is dull now, just a throbbing reminder, but I push it away as I lace up, my focus shifting to the game ahead.

On the ice, it’s like everything else fades away. My bruised face, the fight, Remy with that fucking idiot Colin— none of it matters when I’m moving, gliding across the rink, my skates cutting into the ice. All that’s left is the game, the thrill of the crowd, the rush of adrenaline as I focus on the puck, the goal, the plays we’ve drilled into our heads for weeks.

The other team’s defense is tough and relentless, just like my dad said, but I’m more relentless. Every pass, every shove, every play is sharp, controlled, and aggressive. I throw my shoulder into anyone who gets in my way, feeling the impact reverberate up my spine, and I don’t hold back. I’m playing rough, angling to make it hurt, pushing back harder than usual. Coach would probably call it reckless, but right now, I don’t care.

I catch a glimpse of my dad in the stands, standing up and clapping, his eyes fixed on me with that smug approval that only comes out when I’m doing exactly what he wants. It should feel good— seeing him proud— but all I can think about is that fucking punch and how pissed off I am. And then there’s Remy, who is somewhere with her boyfriend, Colin, probably wrapped up in his arms, smiling at him, letting him touch her. It gnaws at me, a vicious, ugly knot in my stomach that makes me want to crush something. He’s just an obstacle in the way of what I want.

The game’s tight, the score even, but we’re down to the last few minutes. Caleb skates by, catching my eye, nodding in the way we do when it’s time to go all in. I push harder, ignoring the sting in my eye and the ache in my wrist. All I care about is that fucking puck getting into that net.

When the chance comes, I don’t think. I swing, and it hits clean, sliding past the goalie’s reach into the net. The buzzerblares, the crowd erupts, and I’m surrounded by my teammates, their cheers ringing in my ears.

My jaw clenches as I shout while throwing my fist in the air.

“That’s how we do it, baby,” Caleb smacks my helmet.

Chapter 9

Colin’s sitting across from me, all buttoned-up in his navy sweater and that ever-present, too-sure smile. We’re at this dimly lit Italian restaurant he loves, celebrating our anniversary. He’s talking about something his mom said the other day, but all I can think about is how normal this is. He leans forward, a small box in his hand.

“Here,” he says, pushing it toward me with a grin. “Happy anniversary.”

I open it, fingers clumsy. Inside is a delicate gold bracelet, simple but beautiful. He’s staring at me, expectant, eyes full of hope.

“It’s beautiful,” I say, forcing a smile as I slip it on. “Thank you, Colin.”

His hand reaches for mine across the table. “I know we’ve had our rough patches, Remy, but that’s normal, right?Relationships aren’t easy. But I’m ready to make it work. I’m here for the long haul. I love you.”

He squeezes my hand, and I find myself nodding automatically. I feel pathetic, cheating on him with Zane Coburn. If I could even call it that? He’s had his mouth on my pussy on two different occasions and we’ve kissed. I just don’t know if a guy coming onto me that strong is my fault? Either way, it’s a weak fucking thought and he’s the one I can’t seem to stop thinking about.

Colin leans in and I meet him halfway, pressing my lips against his. It’s soft, sweet, but something’s off. His words sit heavy in my mind, his grip just a little too steady.

We order our food, and the evening continues like we’re just two people going through the motions. He talks, I nod, he reaches for my hand again, I let him. It’s fine, it’s nice, but it doesn’t hit anywhere it should. When we finish, he stands up and takes care of the bill, smiling at me like he’s got everything figured out.

“Ready to head back?” he asks as he slips his arm around my shoulders, guiding me out.

In the car, he’s got his hand on my thigh, his fingers warm and slightly insistent. He’s been hinting for a while now that he wants to take things further. And tonight, with the bracelet and the talk about commitment, I know exactly where he’s headed.

He parks outside my house, turning to me with a look that’s both expectant and hopeful. “So… Remy,” he says, hand still resting on my thigh. “What do you think? You ready to, you know, take the next step?”

I freeze, caught off guard by how direct he’s being. My throat tightens, and I force myself to keep it casual, laughing lightly as I shake my head. “Not tonight, Colin. Sorry.”

He hides his disappointment well, his hand giving my thigh one last squeeze before he pulls back. “Okay. No pressure.” He leans over, kissing me gently. “Happy anniversary, Remy.”

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