Page 68 of Blindside Me
“How’s the shoulder?” he asks.
“It’s fine.”
“Your head wasn’t in it today. Whatever’s going on with you and Jade…” He hesitates. “Just be careful, man. Coach is protective. You’ve already been sidelined once.”
My heart lurches. “There’s nothing?—”
“Ryan,” Coach calls out. “A word.”
“Save it.” Ryan claps me on my good shoulder. “Your secret’s safe. But figure your shit out before you break your neck next time.”
After he leaves, I sit alone in the locker room, staring at the floor. The silence presses in from all sides.
“Klaas.”
I jerk my head up. Coach Howell stands in the doorway, arms crossed. My stomach does a slow, sick turn. He gives a sharp nod toward the hallway, then pivots and walks off. Guess he expects me to follow.
I do. Of course I do. I always do what’s expected of me. Always follow the rules. Until last night.
We stop in the empty hallway. Coach turns to face me. His expression is hard and unreadable.
“I don’t know what’s in your head today.” His voice is low, but it carries a warning. “And I don’t care. But fix it before it costs you everything.”
I nod mechanically, giving him the appropriate response. The expected response.
“Scouts will be here during next week’s home game.” His arms tighten across his chest. “You want them to see what I saw today?”
“No, sir.”
“Then get your head on straight.” He pauses, studying me. “Nothing matters more than hockey right now.Nothing.Understood?”
The question hangs between us, loaded with unspoken meaning. If he thought this was about Jade, he’d say something, right?
“Yes, sir,” I say, because it’s what I’m supposed to say.
He holds my gaze a moment longer, then nods once and walks away.
As I stand and watch him go, the question hits me with devastating clarity—if having it all, the scouts, the contract, the future I’ve worked toward my entire life, means losing the chance to be with her, do I even want it anymore?
The thought terrifies me.
More than any hit I’ve ever taken on the ice.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Jade
I wake up tangled in my sheets, the sun streaming in like the storm never happened. My body feels electric and hollow, buzzing with the memory of Drew Klaas and empty from everything we didn’t say. He kissed me like he was starving, like he wasn’t just taking, but unraveling. I keep trying to stack up excuses between us: adrenaline, loneliness, and the goddamn storm—but they all crumble before they even reach my lips. Because the truth is, it wasn’t just physical. It never was.
God. I squeeze my eyes shut, but that only makes it worse. All I see is Drew backing me against the wall, rainwater dripping from his dark hair onto my collarbone, his eyes locked on mine with an intensity that made my knees buckle. I can still feel the phantom pressure of his hands gripping my waist and lifting me slightly, so our bodies align perfectly.
I kick the sheets off and sit up, running my hands through my tangled hair. I’m all jitter and heat, incapable of pretending I don’t want this.
Seven hours. That’s how long it’s been since his mouth claimed mine, and we broke apart at the sound of Callie’s key in the lock. Seven hours, and I still can’t breathe right.
The scent of rain clings to my skin, though the storm passed hours ago. Or maybe I’m imagining it. Maybe I still want to smell him on me. Either way, the sheets are a disaster, twisted and rumpled like the mess in my head.
“It was just physical,” I whisper to my empty room. “Just bodies, proximity, and adrenaline.”
