Page 106 of What If I Hate You
Marlee’s leaning on the boards beside me, sipping coffee. “Told you.”
“What happened?” I ask, eyes still locked on Blakely.
“She showed up an hour ago, grabbed a spare stick from the rack, and hasn’t stopped shooting since. No clue what set her off, but if the net could file a restraining order, it totally would.”
Blakely whips another shot into the top corner, her shoulders rising and falling with every breath. She looks like she’s in a fight with the entire sport of hockey, and hockey’s losing.
“I wish I could have seen her play. She can skate,” I murmur.
Marlee shrugs. “Well, now’s your chance. Get yourself out there and fix her before she takes out the glass.”
“I’ll try.”
“Is this about her boss?”
I nod silently and then add, “Has to be. She had a meeting this morning.”
Marlee cringes. “Hmm. Something tells me it didn’t go well.”
“What ever gave you that idea?” I murmur as I give her a helpless expression.
“Look I’ve seen Blakely mad enough times to know how she gets. I know she needs to work out her anger but this…” She shakes her head. “This is next level frustration. Good luck, Teddy Bear.”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
I watch Blakely skate a bit, her speed alone would rival Bodhi’s on a good day and her footwork as she changes positions is like watching a finely choreographed dance. I’m in awe of her really. She not only knows the game, and can play the game, she lives it. Hockey is in her. It’s every part of her. After a few minutes of watching her sprint across the ice only to slap several pucks angrily into the net, I step out onto the cold surface without skates, my sneakers squeaking as I shuffle toward her. She doesn’t look at me as she fires another puck.
“Pretty sure that net owes you money,” I call out.
She ignores me, collects more pucks with her blade, and fires again.
I stop a few feet away. “So…are you mad at the puck, or is it just unlucky enough to be standing in for someone else?”
She finally glances at me, eyes blazing. “What do you want, Cunningham?”
Oh, we’re back to last names now?
Wonderful.
“To make sure you don’t throw your back out or break my cage, Rivers.”
Her jaw tightens, and she rips another shot. “Just go away.”
“No can do, sweetheart.” I crouch, grabbing one of the scattered pucks and sliding it in front of her only to watch her whack it down the ice. “You can keep hitting pucks until your arms fall off, or you can tell me what happened and let me help you fix it.”
“I said I’m fine.” She cracks the next puck and it sails into the net. From center ice she really is an impressive shot. “Some things you just can’t waltz in and fix. And I didn’t ask for your help so just leave me alone.”
“Blake—”
“Don’t,” she snaps, not even looking at me. She lines up another shot and slams it into the top corner. “Don’t you dare try to talk me down right now.”
I step toward her, slow and steady, like she’s a wild animal that might bite. Because right now, that’s exactly what she is.
“What happened?” I ask, trying to be the calm in her chaos.
“What happened?” She whirls around, eyes blazing, cheeks flushed, sweat sticking strands of hair to her forehead. “Whathappened, Barrett, is that I’ve spent years working my ass off, proving I know this game better than half the guys who write about it—hell, better than some whoplayit even—only to have my boss tell me I can either move to another team or sit in a corner like a good fucking little girl because apparently having a vagina is a liability in the press room!”
Another puck flies off her stick like she’s trying to kill it.
