Page 128 of Test the Ice
We sit in silence, both listening to see if Charleigh wakes up. Zoe eventually slides her head against the wall to look at me.
“I’ll watch Charleigh. Go find Malaki and talk.”
An argument rests on the tip of my tongue, ready to go head to head with my sister.
But then my mouth closes.
Zoe’s hand squeezes mine. “He showed up today…for you. Fake fiancé, real fiancé, boyfriend, friend…whatever he is, he’s worth holding onto, Reese. Stop being so self-reliant.”
I give her a look, and she shakes her head, dismissing me.
“Go,” she urges.
I glance at Charleigh's door.
The thought of Benedict using her to get to me rears its ugly head, and I quickly climb to my feet with that anger Zoe told me to tap into.
She smiles cheekily. “There’s that Moreno blood.”
I shiver as I sit in one of the seats and watch the tail end of Malaki’s practice. The Blue Devils skate with speed as they work on some type of new play. One coach is on the ice, sporting a beanie, sweatshirt, and sweatpants, with a whistle hanging out of his mouth that he blows every so often.
I hardly watched their game last night, thanks to Benedict’s text. I’m a terrible fake fiancée for not even reaching out to Malaki afterward.
“Alright.” The whistle blows again, Malaki and a few others coming to a halt on the ice. “That’s it for tonight. Get some rest and be back at the arena tomorrow, three hours prior to game time. Losing on the road is never easy, but losing at home is even worse.”
“Especially during the playoffs,” someone says.
I nibble on my lower lip and watch everyone head for the locker room. Malaki ends up beside his goalie. They stop just before stepping off the ice, and suddenly, their attention is on me.
Emory smacks Malaki’s chest once and then leaves him be.
The chatter of Malaki’s teammates and coaches slowly fades, and my heart pounds.
We stare at each other for so long I shift in my seat awkwardly.
Malaki rests his helmet on the bench and vanishes out of sight.
I sit and wait with my lip still tucked beneath my teeth.
It only takes him a minute to appear in the aisle. He’s in his hockey pants and a black long-sleeve shirt, sans pads, with sweaty hair. His face is flushed from the vigorous skating he was just doing a few minutes ago, and when our eyes lock, my breath catches.
“Hey, Dimples.”
Forty-One
MALAKI
It’sa breath of fresh air seeing her sitting up in the stands during my practice. Emory, having the best vantage point from the ice during drills, waited until we were done to tell me, knowing I’d be distracted.
It doesn’t take a genius to know that something was up with me as soon as practice started.
I didn’t make a single joke or even crack a smile.
Which, according to Lars, means the world has tilted on its axis.
More like just myworld.
“Hey, Dimples,” I say, meeting her eyes.
