Page 17 of Puck'N Enemy
I don’t care about the guilt he feels toward me. I just need to hear the reason why he betrayed me and then disappeared without a word.
Standing up slowly, I brush the dew off my jeans.
The next time I see him, I’m going to force him to confess, I decide.I won’t let him off easy again and let him run from me.
7
Logan
The air in the locker room smells like old socks, sweat, and the fresh smell of soap. My teammates are in varying degrees of nudeness as we shower and change after a hectic practice session this evening.
“I’m starving,” Mitchikov groans. “Anybody up for grabbing some burgers at the new joint that opened up in Kimmel Hall?”
“Oh, I heard they do some amazing smash burgers,” Henderson says, looking excited at once.
“Johnson, you in?” Aminov, Mitchikov’s cousin, asks, throwing a bottle of energy drink at me.
I grab the bottle before it can strike my face. “Yeah, sure,” I mutter, unscrewing the cap and taking a deep swig. “I’m good with anything as long as it comes with meat and cheese.”
I glance toward Hansen, our youngest recruit. “You should join us,” I tell him, squeezing his shoulder.
“Aye, Captain!” he says, giving me a mock salute and grinning.
It’s not long before we’re all dressed in matching Knights’ jerseys and jackets. Grabbing my gym bag, I lead the way out of the room, and we all head toward the trucks and cars parked outside the hockey arena.
The whole team climbs into four cars, and we drive the short distance to the food court just off the university campus. Barely anyone talks. Just like me, everyone’s starving and looking forward to some good, juicy burgers.
Once we reach the food court, we walk into the place like we own it. Mitchikov, the big goofy defenseman, laughs loudly and jostles against Henderson and Bastian.
Bastian glares at him, stony-faced, but lets Mitchikov have his way.
People stare at us but I’m used to it. The Thunder Knights take pride in their team and don’t shy away from attention. We walked loud and proud, both on and off the ice.
The hunt for burgers was supposed to be a quick break before I went back to my dorm room to finish some assignments. But it turns into a disaster the moment I notice a familiar figure with long, messy red strands.
Dylan stands behind the counter of an ice cream stall, wearing a thin pink apron over a gray T-shirt. His hair is tied with a loose band but despite it, his unruly strands fall all over his eyes. With absolute focus, he piles up scoops of ice cream into a cup.
I freeze for a second but the world doesn’t.
My teammates walk ahead of me, oblivious to his presence.
My heart jackhammers behind my ribs at the very sight of him. I decided to demand answers from him but with my friends around, there’s no way I’ll be able to confront him.
“What the hell...” someone mutters, elbowing me sharply. “Isn’t that one of the forwards from the Bears team?”
I stay silent, hoping Henderson will ignore Dylan if I don’t pay any attention.
“Hey, it’s that Larson guy,” Mitchikov says, his attention on Dylan now. “That’s the guy who took full advantage ofour captain’s absence. The fucker scored goals after goals the moment they took you off the ice.”
“Forget about it—” I start to say but Mitchikov is already stomping toward the ice cream stall.
“Hey, Bear Boy!” Mitchikov shouts loudly, attracting every passerby’s attention.
Dylan looks up. At first, he looks confused, barely recognizing Mitchikov without his hockey gear. But then, his eyes flick toward me.
He drops his gaze in a moment, like I’m just as unrecognizable as Mitchikov.
Mitchikov slaps a gigantic hand on the counter, knocking over a stack of paper cups. “You’re working here outsideourcampus now, huh?” he jeers. “What, did Silverlake cut your scholarship or something? Or do you have to pay to be on that shit team?”
