Page 38 of Break The Ice

We’re tired. My muscles ache, my body hurts. It’s exhilarating, and my pack is right here, at my game.

My pack?

I knock the center’s stick up, scoop up the puck, spin around, and launch into a blistering skate towards the other net.

Red defenders skate backwards, trying to stop me while the goalie prepares himself.

“Raider,” I murmur.

Their names sound with every heartbeat. Raider. Callan. Kit. Ryann.

I spin on the ice, taking the puck with me. We’re heading left. I feint to the right. As soon as their goalie takes the bait, I send the puck into the open net.

The siren goes off, red lights flashing.

And then the game ends. The crowd goes wild, and I’m caught in the middle of a pile of my team. We won. We won for Raider.

I allow myself one moment to feel happiness and relief, and then I struggle free. We skate down to a red-faced Bruce who is almost bouncing with excitement.

“You did good, Puppy.” I crack my helmet to his. He laughs wildly, and I wish, I really wish, I still felt that excitement.

We line up and shake hands with the players from the opposite team.

And then I’m free, well, not free, but I make my way to the bench where Raider is not.

I almost run back to the locker room, where I find Raider shoving something into the storage cupboard. He whirls, his eyes wide and alarmed.

“Raider?”

He jerks like he’s been shot and licks his lips.

“Raider, what’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

“Uh, huh! It doesn’t look like nothing.” I’m pissed that I just spent a whole game wanting to see him, and he’s standing here lying to me, clearly unhappy I’m here.

“You just handle your own shit, Turner.”

I jerk because he’s never spoken to me like that before.

“Fine.”

“Fine!”

All through the showers, cool down, and post game rituals, I watch Raider lurking on the edge of the room. He doesn’t stray from that area, and he keeps everyone away from that room.

It’s a sneaking suspicion that just starts to grow and gets bigger. Soon, I notice his tells, the twitching cheek, the way he’s pacing back and forth, chewing on his thumbnail.

He stays there as everyone leaves.

He’s not angry or hurt or lashing out. He’s polite and friendly, much to the relief of the staff.

When the last person has gone, I march over to the closest, rip the door open, and stare at the beta who is tied up with what looks like one of our uniforms.

And she looks livid.

“Is that a jock strap in her mouth?” I whisper to Raider.

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