Page 60 of Dirty Play

“Right,” Ares says, but there’s something in his tone that pisses me off.

I grit my teeth, focusing on the stretch, but my mind is already back in her bed. The way she fit against me, soft and warm and everything I didn’t know I needed. The way she looked at me, like I was something good, someone she could trust. I want to show her that she wasn’t wrong. I want to prove to her that I can be someone she can count on. That I’m worth all the risks.

The rink smells like it always does—fresh ice, faintly metallic, like blood waiting to spill. The air is cold enough to sting, but I like it that way. It keeps me sharp, focused. I need that right now.

Damien slams into the boards during a drill, cursing loud enough to make Coach blow the whistle.

“Maybe don’t throw your whole damn body at the wall, Colton!” Coach shouts, shaking his head. “Save it for game day!”

Damien skates off, grinning like an idiot, his breath misting in the cold air.

I dig my blades into the ice and fire off the line. The puck snaps against my stick, and I weave through the cones like it’s second nature. This is where I’m in control. Not on some mat in a weight room, not in a studio with lights on me and reporters asking me questions, not in ballrooms. I belong here.

I wind up for a shot, the puck flying past the rookie goalie and slamming into the back of the net with a satisfyingclang.

Damien skates up beside me, clapping me on the shoulder. “Nice shot, Cap. Too bad you can’t use that energy to lighten the hell up.”

“Get off my ass, Damien,” I mutter, skating away.

But he’s right. I’m on edge, and I know exactly why.

I glance up at the stands out of habit, expecting to see her there, watching me like she has been. But the seats are empty, just rows of cold metal staring back at me.

She’s not here.

I tell myself it doesn’t matter, that I don’t need her here. But the irritation boils under my skin. I can’t shake the feeling ofwantingher there. Needing her eyes on me, even if she’s pretending not to notice how often I catch her staring.

Where are you, baby?

The next drill is full contact, and I’m ready for it. Ares lines up across from me; his expression is calm, but his pale eyes are always filled with murder. That’s what makes him such an intimidating opponent: the fact that he’ll absolutely bulldoze someone and do it while looking like he’s taking a walk.

“Ready?” he asks, gripping his stick like it’s an extension of his body.

“Always.”

The whistle blows, and we’re off, charging toward the puck like our lives depend on it. Ares is fast, too fast, but I know how my best friend moves too well. I angle my body just right, slamming into him before he can reach the puck. The impact reverberates through my body, and for a second, all I feel is the burn in my muscles and the sheer force of Ares’ hard body.

He recovers quickly, shoving me back with a grunt.

“You’re playing angry,” he says, his voice low.

“Maybe.” I grin, shoving him right back.

“Be careful with that.”

I don’t respond, focusing on the puck as it skids across the ice.

The rest of practice is a blur of sweat, ice, and adrenaline. I push myself harder than usual, my lungs burning and my muscles screaming by the time Coach finally calls it.

“Good work today,” he says, though his tone suggests he’s not entirely convinced.

Damien slings an arm around my shoulders as we head toward the locker room, his grin annoyingly smug.

“Feel better now, Cap? Or do I need to find you another fight?”

“Why? You wanna volunteer?”

He laughs, shoving me lightly before ducking into the locker room.

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