Page 41 of Pucking Obsessed

Colton is shouting at Atlas.

Atlas blanches. He’s shaking.

Zach, the goalie, looks ready to dive out from his goal to defend Atlas.

D’Angelo’s expression is set in a grim line. He’s slouching and trying to make it look casual, as if his legs aren’t about to buckle. It’s obvious, however, that his curls are plastered to his forehead. He wipes the sweat off his face with his jersey.

I lean against the glass.

I can’t resist trying to get closer.

Shay is the only one on the ice who is skating laps. Even if he wasn’t, however, I wouldn’t notice anybody else because I wouldn’t be able to look away from this hockey god.

Shay is mesmerizing…my English ice prince.

Shay is faster than anyone in the NHL.

Faster than anyone alive.

Every time that I see him skating, it gives me goosebumps. I forget just how extraordinary he is.

The truly remarkable thing about Shay…?Is that he doesn’t understand how extraordinary he is.

It’s what makes him such a good guy and nothing like most of the narcissistic jerks in the hockey world.

Like my ex-husband, Wilder.

Many talented men believe that they’re just a little bitbetterthan they are.

On the other hand, Shay has no idea just how good he is.

Shay handles his skates in the same way that D’Angelo is a virtuoso on the piano or Eden turns tea and book reading into something sublime.

Shay has the potential to become the best player in the NHL. Possibly, with D’Angelo’s continued mentoring, who haseverplayed.

By the way that Dad’s watching him hawk-like, I know what he’s thinking.

My breath hitches for an entirely different reason, however, when Shay skates past me.

He’s looking green about the gills like he’s close to vomiting, collapsing, or possibly both at the same time. But he’s not stopping. I know that it’s partly because I’m here, and he wants to put on a good show.

My heart aches.

“Can’t you stop this?” I glare at Colton. “That bully is going to fucking wreck them. I’ll kick his ass, if he—"

“You won’t.” Dad narrows his eyes at Colton. “That would make you look weak. My players can tough this out.”

“They shouldn’t have to.”

“I made a mistake.” Dad avoids my eye. I jolt. Dad rarely admits that he’s got something wrong, in the same way that he almost never says sorry. “I thought that the traitor wasmyhard-ass. But Colton betrayed me in order to get a shot at my job. Well, he’s going to learn that as tough as he thinks he is, I’m tougher. I fucking bust the balls of anyone who crosses me.”

A chill runs down my spine.

That’s true.

I learned just how true only last week.

My childhood was ruined by the scandal about Dad’s NHL career, when Dad injured another player on the ice.

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