Page 31 of Puck You Very Much

“No. I guess not,” she replied softly, suddenly feeling the need to reach out to him, to touch him gently on the cheek to make him look up. She sometimes forgot how much pressure the players were under, on the outside as well as the inside. Some more so than others. Dax was always so arrogant and confident that it had never occurred to her that he might be nervous about tomorrow, that he actually did care how the press and Hawks fans reacted to his debut with Jack.

Her fingers twitched nervously, but she kept them where they were. Instead, she murmured, “You shouldn’t put so much pressure on yourself. You are a fantastic player. Possibly the best of your generation.”

He laughed dryly. “Not if Jack is my generation, Lucy.”

She wrung her hands, then hesitantly looked up at him and muttered, “He’s good, no question, but…you’re much better at keeping the puck close to your body. You don’t lose the puck as much as the others. Just look at your stats, Dax! You’re unbeaten in that.” Jack couldn’t give Dax the compliment, but she could.

Dax turned his face to her and she saw genuine surprise on it. “Did you just say something nice to me?”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help but smile. “The air is terribly thin up here. My brain is obviously not working properly.”

He raised one corner of his mouth and Lucy’s heart skipped a beat. “That must be it,” he murmured. “But none of that changes the fact that I played like crap last week.”

She remained silent because she didn’t want to lie to him and therefore couldn’t argue.

What she had seen from Dax on the ice last week had not been good. The players knew it, the coach knew it, and Dax knew it, too. His footwork had been erratic, his passes had rarely reached their intended targets, and he’d lost patience with his teammates and himself even more quickly than usual. It was as if he was no longer comfortable on the ice. As if it was no longer his…home.

“You’re just nervous,” she whispered. “That’s all. Because you’re no longer focused on the puck on the ice, but…all the emotional baggage you carry around with you. But it will pass.”

Dax laughed mirthlessly. “The thing with Jack happened twelve years ago. And it still hasn’t passed,” he noted.

Twelve years. The brothers had been quarreling for more than a decade?

Dax remained silent and Lucy didn’t say anything either, so the silence between them steadily grew, only to be interrupted by the rustling of Dax’s jacket. Her gaze fell on his lap. He had put his hands on his legs and that was when Lucy noticed that he was holding a dice in his fingers. It was red with white dots, its edges so worn that it certainly couldn’t have been part of any functioning game.

“Is that a good luck charm?” she asked, nodding at the dice in his hands.

Shocked, Dax glanced at the object as if he hadn’t realized he was holding it. “Something like that,” he murmured. “A memory.”

“Of what?”

“That I don’t believe in luck, only hard work. And that life is not a game—and you shouldn’t treat it that way.”

She opened her mouth slightly in surprise. “And you don’t? Treat life like a game?”

Dax wrapped his fist around the cube and looked her straight in the eyes.

“I don’t play,” he said seriously, his eyes darker than usual. “Not with feelings, not with trust, not with other people’s lives or futures. Why do you think I’ve been so damn well behaved this past week, Lucy? Certainly not because I thought it was best for me.” He stood abruptly and Lucy’s stomach reacted oddly. It felt like it was jumping, but there was no turbulence.

Her throat suddenly felt strangely tight and the words that left her mouth next were almost a croak. “Good luck tomorrow, if we don’t see each other again.”

“Yep,” he replied, turning. “It’ll be okay.”

Then he left her sitting there.

Chapter 10

Dax was wrong.

It was not going to be okay. Not at all.

From the moment he stepped onto the ice at the Edmonton Whales’ Arena, he knew today wasn’t his day.

The swish of blades on the ice was usually music to his ears and the cool wind that crept under his visor and set all his receptors on edge was the freedom he sought. Today, however, the steel of blades on the rink screamed deafeningly and the wind howled relentlessly to accompany them. He couldn’t concentrate. His hands didn’t work the way they should. And today the puck was his enemy, not friend. The Whales weren’t even the strongest opponent on the ice. No. He felt like he was playing against his past—which he had never defeated.

It felt like he barely saw the puck, but instead received one penalty after another.

“Are you fucking serious, Temple?” Gray snapped as he was sent off by the referee for the third time in twenty minutes to serve a two-minute penalty—allowing the Whales to score, because the Hawks had to continue playing while outnumbered. “What are you doing?”

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