Page 13 of The Pucks We Freeze
He didn’t push it, but the silence that followed said it all.
No one brought Willow up again, but her name lingered between the lines. The kind of secret everyone pretended not to see.
And as much as I wanted to keep my focus on Gavin, on the team, and on the game… my thoughts kept drifting back to her. The way she looked in my hoodie, how she trembled beneath my touch. And the way she whispered my name like it was both a plea and a promise.
Tomorrow was make or break it. And if Gavin really was in deep, we’d have one shot to catch him in the act.
But tonight?
Tonight, I had to hold the line between wanting her and protecting this team. If Gavin really was sabotaging us, I needed to be the one to catch him. And I couldn’t do that if I was too busy chasing a girl I already knew I couldn’t keep.
***
The storm might’ve passed, but the ice tonight was just as unforgiving.
The crowd was rowdy, and the tension was even worse. We were at home, but the Blue Devils came to play dirty. They were up 2–1 by the end of the first, and every guy in the locker room knew we were letting it slip.
Coach Dawson barked strategy, trying to snap us into focus. But I couldn’t stop thinking about Gavin. He passed up two open lanes like he didn’t even want the shot. The hesitation wasn’t nerves. It felt deliberate. Calculated. And if I was right about him, this game wasn’t just another loss waiting to happen.
It was the beginning of something bigger.
I re-laced my skates tighter, jaw tight as I grabbed my stick.
But the second I stepped back on the ice, my eyes found her.
Willow stood behind the boards with her camera in hand, her badge swinging from her lanyard. Media pass, courtesy of me. I’d pulled some strings to get her on the approved list for game coverage. Told the staff it was for a lodge feature on hometown teams. Technically true. Just not the full story.
Willow wore one of my hoodies again. The gray Rixton one, sleeves too long, collar wide enough to show the slope of her collarbone. Possessiveness prickled up my spine. She didn’t even realize what she was doing to me—how it made me want to bust through the glass and claim her in front of the whole damn crowd.
Instead, I dropped into position and shoved all of it down.
She stood near the edge of the bleachers, lens aimed at the ice, but I could still feel her watching me.
The rink was loud. Screams echoed off steel and ice, the air charged with energy. Rixton jerseys flooded the stands, a wave of purple, aqua, and black like battle flags snapping in the storm. We were on home ice, but that didn’t mean it would be easy. The Blue Devils came ready to bruise.
Talon lined up at center, jaw tight, gloves twitching like he was barely holding back. He said something sharp to the ref, but it was his stance that did the talking. This ice? It was ours.
Owen and I locked down the zone on defense, reading each other without a word. Rowdy, ever the showman, smacked his glove against the post like he dared it to challenge him. Business as usual.
Three minutes into the second period, we were tied at two. The locker room had been tense during intermission. No yelling, just a quiet understanding that we needed to dig in or get steamrolled. Talon came out barking plays, Owen and I were laser-focused on defense, and Rowdy was loose, dancing on the balls of his skates between the pipes. We had momentum again.
Then came the shift that made my stomach drop.
Gavin was in the perfect position. The puck landed on his stick off a rebound, and the ice opened up like a runway. No defenders in sight. Just their goalie between him and the lead. My pulse jumped before he even made a move.
But he didn’t shoot. Instead, he slowed and looked toward our bench. It lasted for only a second, but it was enough.
He fumbled the puck like he forgot he was holding it. A Blue Devil swooped in and snatched it, cutting left and charging up the ice like he’d just been handed a gift. Owen read it fast, dropped back, and broke up the rush with a clean body check that sent the other guy slamming into the boards. Saved our asses.
But Gavin… he didn’t even react.
Talon skated up the center, calling out Gavin’s name like a warning, sharp and pissed, before he dropped to the ice.
I skated closer, pulse hammering. Gavin was hunched forward, clutching his side like he’d been hit with a sledgehammer, face twisted in pain. The refs blew the whistle and signaled for the trainers, who sprinted onto the ice.
Something was off. I’ve seen real injuries. This wasn’t that, though. No awkward landing, no impact, no big hit. He just collapsed.
Rowdy skated over from the crease and pulled off his helmet, his breath fogging in the cold air. His eyes locked on Gavin, like he was seeing exactly what I did.
