Page 48 of The Pucking Arrangement

But Erin isn’t mine. And I need to remember that.

* * *

The first period moves like lightning, but my focus is fractured.

Every time Ris cheers, I feel it like a spark in my chest. Every time Erin’s gaze lingers on me, something deep inside me tightens. It makes me play harder, faster, meaner—like some primitive part of me needs to prove something.

A Cyclones forward cuts too close, and I take the opening, planting him hard into the boards. The crowd erupts.

“Damn, Sokolov!” Finn whistles as we switch lines. “Trying to impress a girl?”

I ignore him. But my eyes have their own mind, darting toward the box.

And there she is—leaning forward, lips parted, bottom lip caught between her teeth.

I miss the water bottle Liam tosses my way.

“Der’mo,” I mutter, fishing it off the bench.

“Language,” Coach growls. “There are children here.”

Da.And one of them is mine, watching her papa act like a lovesick idiot.

I shake it off. Refocus. Force my brain back into the game.

* * *

Second period.

We’re on the penalty kill, down a man, locked in pure defense mode.

The Cyclones press hard, cycling the puck, looking for an opening. Then—boom. A slapshot rockets toward the net.

Clang. The puck rings off the post, inches from disaster.

A sharp sound cuts through the noise, and instinctively I think it’s my kid. I glance up—just for a second—to make sure she’s okay.

And that’s when I see her.

Erin’s frozen, one hand pressed to her chest, the other gripping the railing. Her expression is tight with concern, her brows furrowed, her breath visibly unsteady even from here.

That look wrecks me.

The worry. The way she’s locked onto me like she’s waiting for confirmation that I’m okay.

Like I’m someone worth worrying about.

Heat surges through my veins, a dangerous, reckless heat. I tighten my grip, force myself back into the game. The puck lands at my skates, and I clear it hard, sending it flying down the ice. The crowd roars.

I don’t look back up. I can’t.

Because if I do, I might not be able to look away.

The penalty kill ends. Play stops. I drop onto the bench, breathing deep, willing my pulse to slow.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch movement.

Jessica. Jenna. Sophie. They’re laughing. Grinning. Teasing Erin.

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