Page 22 of Faking It With My Pucking Protector
“Okay.”
I tap the glass once before heading toward the locker room. “See you after.”
By the time I hit the ice, she’s in the stands watching, coffee in hand and legs crossed under her.
We run drills for the next hour. Puck control, passing lanes, forechecks. Coach keeps us moving fast, barking out corrections and pacing along the boards like he’s got caffeine running through his veins.
But every time we round toward her side of the rink, I catch myself looking over at her, my thoughts still back on Brad showing up at my house after tracking Ava.
I’m pissed, but I keep it in, pushing the frustration into my legs as I skate harder, faster.
Russo pulls up next to me.
“Who’s that?” He asks, looking pointedly at Ava.
I shoot him a look. “Don’t start.”
“I’m not starting anything,” he says, grinning. “Just observing.”
“Observe quieter.”
He snorts and peels off toward the net.
My hands tighten around my stick as I zone back into practice, trying to push it out of my mind. But it lingers. It doesn’t sit right. I want to make damn sure nothing like that ever happens again. I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure she’s safe from him.
Then a thought edges in, one I didn’t expect.
What if he thought she’d moved on?
What if it looked like she wasn’t just staying with me, but with me?
Not for real. Just enough to make him believe it and give him a reason to back the hell off without her having to keep looking over her shoulder.
I keep skating, let the idea settle in. That thought sticks all the way to the final whistle.
Practice ends, and Coach calls us in for a quick breakdown and clears the ice. I head for the tunnel and spot Ava already standing from the bench, her hands tucked into her jacket pockets.
“What did you think?” I ask as I approach.
“No one even threw a punch,” she answers. “Mildly disappointing.”
I laugh, tugging off my helmet. “You’d have better luck seeing that if you came to a game.”
A thought pops into my head.
“You ever been on skates?”
She shakes her head. “Not unless you count that one time I held onto a wall for twenty minutes in seventh grade.”
Then she narrows her eyes. “Why?”
I stretch my arms out, feeling the satisfying pull in my shoulders. “Might be time. You watched me skate. Seems only fair.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Jackson.”
“What?”
“I will fall on my ass.”
