Page 104 of Game Misconduct
“Someone’s dialed in today,” the assistant coach mutters.
I block out the noise and focus on my breathing. In through the nose. Out slow through the mouth.
The cool sting of the rink air anchors me, but it doesn’t quiet the burn still lodged behind my ribs.
She kissed me goodbye this morning like it wasn’t a big deal.
Like we hadn’t spent two days fucking and talking and pretending the outside world didn’t exist.
Like she wasn’t the first person I’ve ever let seeanythingof me—and didn’t run.
I tap the post with my blocker and push to my feet.
Keep your head in the game, Lasker.
Everything outside this crease is noise. This is the only place I still know exactly what to do.
The drill resets. Riley skates past with a smirk. “Whatever you did this weekend, do it again.”
I plan to do as much as Sloane will let me. And often.
But I don’t take the bait.
Don’t let them see that I’m doing my damnedest not to think about the way she made coffee in nothing but a robe, or the way she curled into my chest when she got cold, or the way she saidstaylike it was a lifeline.
None of that belongs here.
Here, I’m just the goalie who shows up and doesn’t fuck up.
Coach Holt watches from behind the glass, arms crossed. “You keep this up, Lasker, we might actually win something this year.”
The boys laugh, but I don’t.
I crouch again and tap both posts, centering myself.
Because as much as I want her, as much as I’m already in deeper than I planned—I can’t let it show.
Not here.
I push thoughts of her away and watch down the ice as Cal misses his line change.
Even from my post, I catch it immediately.
Riley skates past him, barking his name, but the kid’s in his own head.
Slow to react, late to the bench, shoulders tight like he’s bracing for a hit that never comes.
Coach Holt doesn’t blow the whistle, just lets it ride—probably hoping someone else will light him up instead.
The next rush comes fast. Logan threads a puck through traffic, and Cal fumbles the reception so hard it ricochets off his stick and bounces straight toward me.
Easy glove save.
But I don't feel good about it.
The drill ends and the guys circle center ice, chatting and catching their breath.
Cal hangs back.
