Page 31 of The Pucks We Freeze
My pulse thudded hard in my ears.
Behind me, Willow’s voice came softly. “Is that a puck? What does it mean?”
She sounded small. Uneasy.
I stood slowly, turning the puck in my hand. The weight of it felt different now. Heavier. Not because of what it was, but because of what it meant.
“It means someone’s watching,” I said, my voice like gravel.
She shifted beside me, her body brushing mine, and I caught the slight tremble in her shoulders.
I looked out toward the trees, scanning the dark edges of the property. Whoever had been here was long gone now. There were no footprints, no tire tracks. Just that crushing stillness pressing in again.
“They’re not just watching,” I added quietly. “They’re getting bold. This… this was a message.”
“To you?” Willow asked.
I nodded, still gripping the puck.
“To all of us.”
She looked at me then, her eyes wide, fear blooming beneath the surface. “What are you going to do?”
I didn’t answer right away. I didn’t know. Part of me wanted to chase whoever did this through the woods. The other part knew this was just the beginning. And with each move we made, someone else was watching. Waiting.
I turned to Willow, my hand brushing her arm. “Let’s go inside.”
She hesitated, eyes still scanning the tree line, then nodded.
We walked back to the cabin in silence, glass and gravel crunching beneath us, the puck still gripped in my hand like a threat I hadn’t figured out how to face.
But I would. I couldn’t cower away now.
Because if this was a warning…
I needed to be ready for whatever came next.
Chapter Ten
Kade
I moved in silence, gripping the broom like it was the only weapon I had. Not against whoever had done this but against the panic clawing at the edge of my chest. The sharp crackle of glass against the concrete echoed too loud, even though I was trying to be careful. The sound scraped at my nerves like nails on a chalkboard.
I kept my head down, occasionally flicking my eyes toward the house every few seconds, scanning the windows for movement. I didn’t want our parents to wake with questions I wasn’t ready to answer.
Willow stood nearby, now wearing my hoodie. Her arms were crossed, the sleeves swallowing her hands. Her bare legs were braced like she might bolt or snap, her weight shifting from one foot to the other like the calm was suffocating her.
“You sure no one heard?” she whispered, voice tight.
“I parked at the curb,” I murmured, keeping my tone even. “But I need to get the truck in the garage before the rain hits. I can’t leave it like this.”
The glass hissed across the pavement as I swept the final shards into a dustpan. Once everything was cleaned, I carefully backed the truck into the garage and lowered the door. Hearing it slide closed was a strange relief even though I knew it didn’t protect us from whoever left the puck. Whoever was watching.
It was a temporary fix—a bandage over a bullet wound—but it would have to do for tonight.
Back inside the cabin, Willow couldn’t sit still. She started pacing near the window, her brows drawn tight.
“This doesn’t feel like just a message,” she said, arms still wrapped tightly around herself. “It’s a threat. And I feel like we’re still missing something.”
