Page 21 of The Pucks We Freeze
At the back door, he opened it with one hand and held it for me.
The night air, cooler than before, hit us like a reset. We stepped onto the porch, the noise behind us softening to a pulse. Overhead, the stars blinked through patches of cloud.
I moved to the railing, fingers wrapped around the strap of my purse like it was the only thing holding me steady.
“You okay?” he asked.
I wasn’t sure, but I nodded anyway. “It’s just a lot.”
He looked out over the yard. “It is.” He turned toward me, his voice quieter now. “You’ll be back at Braysen soon. You won’t have to worry about any of this.”
His words landed harder than I expected. Because he was right. I could walk away. I could leave the chaos, the pressure, and the danger behind.
But him? I wasn’t sure I could leavehimbehind.
Before I could figure out what to say, Kade reached up, his fingers brushing my jaw. He tilted my chin, his eyes finding mine through the dim porch light.
Everything else slipped away—the music, the voices, the weight of what came next.
His lips met mine, soft and sure, like a question I already knew the answer to.
I didn’t pull away. Instead, I leaned in.
And for the first time in a long time, it felt like I was exactly where I was meant to be.
Chapter Seven
Kade
The blade of my skate sliced across the ice, carving a clean arc as I pushed off the boards and rounded through the neutral zone. Gavin was out in front, but his movements were off. His strides were sluggish and unsteady, like he wasn’t fully present. I surged forward, skating past him just close enough to see the moment doubt flickered in his eyes.
This was the third drill in a row where he looked completely off. Like he’d forgotten we were even playing hockey. He froze on an open lane, missed a simple switch, then hunched over and grabbed his side. The same move he pulled during the last game.
Coach’s whistle cut through the air. “Cruz! You good?”
Gavin stood quickly, wincing a beat too late as he clutched at his ribs. “Yeah. Just sore.”
Talon skated past, slow and unimpressed. “From what? That one shift you showed up for all night?”
A couple of guys snorted, but no one laughed. Not really because nothing about it was funny anymore.
Gavin wasn’t sore. He was hiding something. And whatever it was, it was starting to bleed into the team’s rhythm.
Coach gave him a look but didn’t press, which only irritated me further. Instead, he barked for breakouts and blew the whistle again. We moved on with our next drills, but the vibe didn’t recover. Everyone saw it, heard it, felt it. Gavin’s excuse didn’t land, and the trust was starting to crack.
I locked eyes with Gavin before the next play, but he was the first to drop his gaze. It told me everything I needed to know.
Good, let him squirm.
If he knew we were onto him, maybe he’d think twice before taking the rest of the season for us all.
Practice ran another hour. By the time it ended, sweat clung to my skin, and my jersey stuck to my back like glue as I peeled off my pads. The locker room buzzed with familiar noise—guys trading jabs, the rush of water from showers hitting tile, and tape tearing clean from rolls.
Rowdy lobbed a towel across the bench with a smirk. “You and your stepsister looked pretty cozy at the party last night. Tension between you two’s tighter than your slapshot. You catchin’ feelings, or just pretending you’re not?”
I knocked the towel aside and shot him a glare. “Shut up.”
Rowdy held up both hands, grinning like a jackass. “Not a denial.”
