Page 64 of Fool Me Once

I needed to play a prank.

And even though Tripp was my first choice, given it’s game day, I was too scared to piss in his Cheerios today. He’s already intense. I didn’t want to make matters worse for our team. Sterns is happy-go-lucky. He’s like a golden retriever someone just threw a ball for, making his tail wag. Most of the time anyway. But right now … yeah, no. He’s walking toward me now, and he is mad.

“Told you that was too far,” Ryder mutters, plopping down beside me, but then he snorts out a laugh because even he knows it’s fucking funny.

“You hired a fucking clown to jump out at me when I walked into the building, didn’t you?” He looks around, his eyes wide, and for a guy who literally never gets worked up … he’s pissed.

“When would I have time to hire a clown?” I frown, pulling my uniform over my head. “And besides, that’s just fucking mean, bro. I know what a little bitch you are when it comes to clowns. I’d never want to scare you, Logie Bear.”

“I’m not a little bitch,” he grumbles. “I just—they’re like—I just don’t like them, okay? I mean, you don’t know who’s behind that makeup and creepy fucking hair.” He shivers. “Or in those awful shoes.”

“You’ve fucked him up for life,” Ryder whispers, staring up at a very distraught Logan Sterns. “Good job, you asshole. And right before a game too.”

“It’ll fuel his fire to skate a little harder,” I toss back as quietly as I can. “He’ll just imagine Bozo is out there, coming behind him.”

Normally, I wouldn’t tell anyone what prank I was going to do or on whom, but I had to tell Ryder because I needed some help distracting Logan in the parking lot, and Ryder loves fucking with people just as much as I do.

Standing and pulling on my pants, I shrug when I catch Logan glaring at me again.

“Wasn’t me, Sterns.” I fasten my pants and smack him on the back. “Enough about the creepy clown. Let’s go play some hockey.”

His face tells me he’s not buying my shit, but because of how dedicated he is to this team, he turns around and sulks off to get ready. And, damn it, I almost feel bad because it’s Logan and he’s always happy.

Oh well. I needed that. The past few weeks have fucking sucked.

“I can’t wait for this to be over,” Poppy groans, resting her hand on her stomach. “I have to pee, and this has got to be the roughest game ever. I want to punch that dude that just cross-checked Walker.”

Amelia giggles, covering her mouth, and Maci’s eyes widen in an attempt to send Poppy a message to remember the little ears here, but she’s too invested in the game to care.

“This is a barn burner,” Paige says, her eyes bouncing from the clock to her husband. “Kolt looks like he could have another heart attack.” She pauses. “That wasn’t funny. I take back what I just said. What I meant was, my husband looks very, very intense.”

“Pretty sure that’s just his face,” Poppy mumbles, amused.

She’s not wrong; I’ve seen Kolt a lot the past few weeks, and each time … his face looks the same.

Intense. Grumpy.Intimidating.

Even though I wish Saylor were still living in Portland and could join all of us tonight, I’m having a good time—especially with all things considered.

We chat among ourselves, but just like my eyes remain on the jersey with the number eight on the back andSawyerabove it the majority of the time, they all have a certain jersey they watch too—besides Paige because Kolt is still benched. Instead of being on the ice, he chews furiously on a piece of gum with his body basically pressed against the plexiglass where the team sits. Kolt doesn’t sit though; he stands with his jaw tense.

I’ve seen Smith a handful of times in the past few weeks. A few days ago, he even gave me a lift to my parents’ for Christmas. Since he was going home for Christmas anyway, it made the most sense. But it was weird and hard to say goodbye to each other when he dropped me back off at the apartment. He kissed my cheek, and I fought the urge to invite him in for the night because I knew what would happen if I did. And that’s not what I need right now.

Every single time I see him again, my stomach erupts with butterflies, and I want to run toward him and wrap my arms around him and let him pull me in because I crave the comfort. But I’m doing okay—aside from not sleeping well, but that’s nothing new, and my therapist assures me it will take time.

Day by day, I find myself getting stronger and feeling more like myself, but I think the final piece of the puzzle will be Smith. I’m figuring out fast that I’ll never be happy if he’s not beside me. But everything I’m doing, it’s all for him.

Smith defends Tripp as three opponents skate toward him, ready to make a play with the puck. It’s slapped to the right winger, who looks unsure for a second before sending it toward the goal. Before Tripp has to stop it, Smith does, sending it to Ryder. Even though Smith no longer is in possession of the puck, his opponent body-checks him, clearly out of frustration, sending Smith into a pile on the ice.

I shoot up from my seat, staring down at him and waiting for him to get up.

“He didn’t see that coming,” Paige whispers, covering her mouth. “He never would have gone down that hard if he did.”

She’s right. A hit is a hit, but Smith is incredibly strong, and it takes a lot to get him down. The referees skate toward him, and it feels like my heart stops beating. It’s been a long time since I have seen him take a hit that hard—and after hearing what happened to Kolt a few months ago, I feel like I might throw up, realizing something like that is a possible injury.

The entire arena grows quiet as we all wait for Smith to get up or do something to tell us he’s okay. A tiny hand clasps mine, giving it a squeeze.

“He’s going to be okay,” Amelia’s sweet, small voice whispers. “Uncle Smithy is very tough.”

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