Page 33 of Treacherous
She snatches her wrist back, a snarl forming on her lips. “And I was serious about not talking to you.”
“But–”
“But nothing. The only thing we talk about is hockey, nothing else.”
With that, she walks away, leaving me looking like an idiot in the university hallway. I shake my head, going down the stairs to my car. Willow might be the most stubborn person on earth.
I push her to the back of my brain. Although it hurts, Willow isn’t interested in talking, we have training tonight and two games this weekend.
I need to focus on those two things because I control the outcome of them. She is a distraction, one I don’t have time for, now or ever.
***
The chill of the hockey rink settles over me, goosebumps beginning to form.
Today is our final training session before our home games on Saturday and Sunday. This will be the fourth and fifth game of the season, and Lakewood’s third win if we secure a victory.
Despite the tension between us off the ice, we complement each other on it. If Willow wants to limit our interactions to hockey, I will respect her wishes.
For now, at least.
Pucks smashing into the boards pierce my eardrums. The sound echoes, increasing as I approach the rink. I’m surprised anyone is here this early.
Training doesn’t start for another half an hour. As captain, I aim to arrive first so I can talk to the coaches and selfishly have some free time on the ice.
Coach West exits the equipment shed, his eyes find me immediately. He begins to walk toward me, but I meet him halfway.
“She’s been here for the past thirty minutes. Is everything okay?”
Worry seeps into his tone and I understand why. Coach has three daughters, so I know he has a soft spot for Willow.
I flex my fingers, clenching them into a fist. “I’ve apologised, but she doesn’t want to talk to me unless it concerns hockey.”
Coach West nods. “Give her time, Jayden. She will come around,”
I walk to the stands, place my bag next to me, and take a seat. Quickly, I change my sneakers for skates and head onto the ice. Once I’m gliding across the ice, the tension escapes my body. The ice has always been my home–a place that I can use to reduce my stress and be free.
Willow skates past me. No look. No smile. Not even a fucking nod. The awkwardness is killing me, so I break the silence.
“You’re here early,” I say.
“I didn’t want to be late again,”
I sigh, pushing that day out of my mind. “You’re working on slap shots, can I join?”
Willow raises her eyebrows. “Is this your nice side?”
Oh, Sweetheart. With the things I want to do to you, nice is not the word to describe me.
Fucking hell. What the hell is wrong with me?
“We are at the rink, you said anything hockey-related means we have a truce.”
Willow scoffs. “That’s not what I said. But it doesn’t surprise me that you have selective hearing.”
I spray my palm over my heart. “You can’t seem to stop insulting me. Maybe it’s your love language?”
She snorts, her hands gripping the hockey stick until her knuckles are white. “I don’t have a love language, not when I’ve sworn off relationships forever.”
