Page 2 of Puck'N Enemy
Dylan turns, finally facing me.
The moment his gaze meets mine, he freezes. Recognition, raw and immediate, flits through his eyes.
The referee blows his whistle, shattering the moment between us.
Taking a deep breath, I bring my focus back on the game but it’s hard when Dylan charges to the front. He’s playing fucking center for the Bears!
My grip tightens around my stick as my vision tunnels.
I barely hear Coach Sullivan barking from the bench or the roar of the Knights fans pounding against the glass. All I can think of is Dylan, chasing the puck in a green Bears jersey.
It’s incredible how he still wears his auburn hair in the same messy fashion. The style gives him a permanently wind-swept look that girls just eat up.
He locks into a fierce battle with Bastian, the Knights’ center, for control of the puck. Despite being slammed on the side by our defenders, Dylan’s face holds an infuriating calm while his eyes stay sharply focused on the puck.
It’s been years since I last saw him but he still looks painfully the same as before, except he’s slightly broader around the shoulders.
I tried getting in touch with him after he landed me in the hospital, but Dylan disappeared without a trace or an explanation for why he broke my body, my heart, and my trust.
How can he appear before me like nothing ever happened between us?
I spent every fucking day trying to forget him. And failing.
Dylan tears across the ice with Bastian hard on his heels. He maneuvers the puck toward me, determined to score a goal.
I swallow hard, forcing the storm of emotions down my throat.
No matter what he meant to me in the past, I’m the Thunder Knight’s goalie and team captain. I can’t let him score and give him another chance to beat me.
Dylan lifts his stick high and hits the puck.
My gaze locks on the fast-whizzing disc of black. Skating forward, I block the puck before it can cross into the net.
Cheers and roars erupt in the stadium as I hit the puck, sending it flying toward Henderson, our left forward. He takes charge of it and glides across the ice.
Dylan’s expression hardens as he gives chase to Henderson.
Henderson and Bastian get into formation, passing the puck between each other as they head toward the Bears’ goalie. Just as they’re about to score, Reece, the Bears’ defenseman, slams into Bastian, bringing him crashing to the ground.
The crowd lets out a collective wail as Dylan steals the puck from him.
But he doesn’t get very far.
Mitchikov, the Knights’ defenseman, attacks Dylan in retaliation.
My heart squeezes as Mitchikov’s stick lands hard on Dylan’s forearm. His face screws up in pain, sending a wave of cold through me.
Fuck. I shouldn’t be feeling sorry for him.
A minor hit like that shouldn’t matter in a game of hockey.
And yet, I’m watching Dylan, feeling as worried about him as I feel for my own teammates.
The Silver Bears are notorious for their violent tendencies. They’re one of those teams that’re least bothered with playing fair.
They don’t care about suspensions and penalties. As long as they can break and maim the players from the opposing team, they’ll happily do it.
A cold chuckle escapes me as I realize Dylan belongs with the Bears. He’s just as cold-blooded and ruthless as the rest of them.
