Page 47 of My Pucked Up Enemy

"You’re not out of this. You know how to find each other on the ice. So dig deep and do it."

They nod, a few murmurs of agreement ripple across the room.

And then they stand. One by one, filing back out onto the ice.

Still, nothing changes.

The final score is 4–2. The crowd offers polite applause, but it’s laced with disappointment. Everyone knows we should’ve taken this one.

I stay in my seat long after the horn. Frozen. Fingers clenched around a pen I haven’t used. My notebook’s open, but I haven’t written a word.

Because I know what I’d write.

This is on me.

***

Later that night, I walk through my apartment in a daze. The air feels thick, like it knows what I did. I light a candle out of habit, the scent of eucalyptus and mint doing nothing to calm me.

Then I open my personal journal.

Not the work one.

The real one.

The one that knows the truth.

And finally, I write:

We kissed. We touched. I wanted it. Then I stopped it. And now it’s like I set a bomb in the middle of everything.

The team’s off. Alex is off. I’m off.

And the worst part is I don’t know if I regret it… or just regret what it cost.

Chapter fourteen

Alex

“You’relate,”Ninasaysthe second I step through her office door.

I close it behind me with deliberate slowness. "Traffic."

She doesn’t look up from her notes. No smirk. No spark. Just clipped professionalism, like she’s braced for a storm.

Fine. If this is how she wants to play it.

I slide into the chair across from her, stretch my legs out and brace myself. She finally lifts her gaze, and even though her expression is calm, her eyes give her away. They're guarded. Not cold, not indifferent. Guarded.

“We need to reset,” she says, pen still in hand, like it’s a weapon.

I nod slowly. “Sure. Reset away.”

Her jaw tightens. “Alex.”

“Nina.”

She takes a breath, sets the pen down, and leans forward slightly. “I need to say something, and I need you to actually hear it.”

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