Page 32 of Puck'N Enemy
A stack of photos falls out of it.
“What are these?” I mutter, picking one up.
It’s a black-and-white shot of Dylan in a hockey arena. He’s surrounded by his teammates and has a candid grin on his face. His strands are damp and sweaty but his eyes are alive with excitement.
He looks so damn beautiful, my mind whispers as I stare at the photograph.
“Stop gawking at him,” Coach’s annoyed voice sounds next to me. “Check the rest of the photos.”
“Right,” I mutter, breaking out of my trance.
They’re all shots of Dylan going about his day. A few are from his part-time job at the food court, while the rest are taken on Silverlake’s campus.
At the end, I come across a sheet of paper with a note.
WELCOME TO TOWN, DYLAN.
The words are written in a jagged, untidy hand.
“Dylan hid this stuff under all these fliers,” Coach says with a scoff. “He thought I wouldn’t notice.”
“Are you sure it’s from Pete?” I ask, glancing at him.
“Who else would threaten Dylan?” Coach says, meeting my gaze. “I’d hoped he’d let Dylan go but it looks like his obsession with him runs deep. He wants Dylan back at his side. This is just his way of telling Dylan that he’s keeping an eye on him.”
My hand crushes the note. “I won’t let him touch Dylan again,” I vow.
“What can you do about it?” Coach asks me. “Are you willing to give up on the sweet life you’ve created to go back to the past?”
“I wouldn’t have this life if it hadn’t been for Dylan,” I say, tasting bitter grief on my tongue. “He sacrificed himself so I could be happy. I won’t let him act stupid again. I’ll make sure I pay him back, or I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”
Coach has another coughing fit and has to grab the counter to stay steady on his feet.
I help him by rubbing his back until the spell passes. “Let me get you some water,” I say, picking a clean glass from one of the shelves.
“Don’t bother,” Coach says, grabbing my wrist with surprising strength. “I need you to make a choice. A decision. You know the truth now, so you don’t have to spend the rest of your life hating Dylan. But that doesn’t mean you have to feel like you owe him.”
“But I do owe him, Coach. I owe him more than I can repay in this lifetime. He didn’t just protect me. He saved my family, too.”
“Then, protect him,” Coach says, sagging against the counter. “I’m far too weak to do anything for him anymore.”
“Don’t worry about him,” I say, making up my mind. “Dylan won’t be alone this time. No matter what happens, I won’t let anyone hurt.”
11
Dylan
The streetlamps flicker, barely cutting through the shadows that cling to the edges of the crumbling factory buildings. It’s not even that late, barely past nine, but this part of town always looks like midnight has come early.
Coach Becker asked me to pick up some of his prescription meds, so I’m a bit late going home tonight. The bottles of pills rattle in my backpack, knocking together with every hurried step I take along the cracked sidewalk.
The sparse hair on the back of my neck suddenly prickles. I halt in my steps, my gut churning with unease.
I shouldn’t have taken this shortcut. This area, with its overflowing garbage cans and slashed tires on the side of the street, is especially creepy at night.
I knew it was better to avoid this route, but Coach needed his meds and I didn’t want to waste time. My gaze roves around the street but I don’t see anyone.
I continue walking.
