Page 45 of Beautiful Collide

Coach froze. He blinked slowly, like he was making sure he heard correctly. Then he exploded.

“Didn’t see it? Didn’t see it?” he roared, gesturing so wildly I thought he might knock over the water cooler. “It was right there! That puck was practically gift-wrapped and tied with a bow, and you—what? You blinked? Decided to take a mid-game nap?”

Wolfe’s face turned red, and he opened his mouth to explain, but Coach wasn’t done.

He jabbed a finger toward the ice. “That puck was so big, I thought it might be a goddamn meteor! How do you miss that?”

Mason, barely holding back a laugh, tried to chime in. “Coach, it was just—”

“Don’t start with me, Mason,” Coach snapped, pointing a finger at him. “If I hear one more word about ‘it was just,’ I’ll have the whole team out here doing suicides until Christmas!”

That shut Mason up fast. Wolfe, meanwhile, tried to disappear into his gear. But Coach wasn’t done.

“Wolfe, you’re on the bench for the rest of the game. And after the game, we’re staying late. Because clearly, you need a crash course in seeing the puck! Should we bring in an optometrist? Maybe invest in a telescope?”

Wolfe just nodded, his face redder than the goal light. He spent the rest of the game stapled to the bench.

The next day, Coach made us all come in on our day off to run drills while he shouted things like, “You see that puck? Don’t blink, don’t sneeze, and definitely don’t pull a Wolfe!”

I grimace at the memory, my pace quickening. Wolfe has been in the doghouse ever since, and I’m not about to join him.

Last year, despite a literal tornado, I made it to the game with time to spare, and Coach never found out just how late I was. But today, with no excuses or disasters, I’m screwed.

I grab my phone and call Aiden.

Voicemail.

Next, Mason.

Same. They’re probably in a meeting, and Coach would kill them if they answered.

Fine. Group chat it is.

Hudson:Someone help me.

Dane:What trouble did you get into this time?

Mason:This is getting ridiculous. You realize this happens every year, right?

I want to say yes, that it’s all Molly’s fault, but something tells me that won’t go over well with Dane.

While I consider him a friend, he barely tolerates me. The man is so grumpy, he makes a Monday morning meeting feel like a vacation.

Hudson:Yes, I’m aware this is becoming an unfortunate habit.

Hudson:Has Coach noticed I’m missing yet?

Mason:What do you think?

Hudson:Fuck.

Mason:Fuck is right. Where are you?

Hudson:Honestly, I have no clue.

Mason:The fuck?

Hudson:Somewhere between the players’ entrance and hell.

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