Page 45 of Campus Crush
Drew snickered. “Yeah, well, at least Gordy’s ‘dreams’ stay in the rink. Unlike some people,” he said pointedly to Liam, “who dream of being the campus welcome wagon, one horizontal hula at a time.”
“Funny, Monty,” Liam deadpanned, “coming from aguy who got undressed so many times last season, people thought he was moonlighting as a streaker.”
We all burst out laughing, even Drew, who took off his glove long enough to flip Liam off before putting it back on and settling into his stance. “Alright, alright, touché. Let’s just get this over with. Who’s taking first shots?”
I grinned, tapping my stick against the ice. “I got this.”
Coach clapped his hands. “Alright, Kane. Show me what you got.”
I scooped up a puck and took off toward Gordy, my skates cutting sharp lines across the ice. He squared up, locked in, but I’d played against him long enough to know his tells. His left pad always dropped a fraction too early when he anticipated a shot. Exploiting it was like breathing at this point.
As I closed in, I faked a wrist shot and waited. Sure enough, his pad twitched just enough for me to see the opening. At the last second, I pulled the puck across my body and flicked it high, right over his blocker and into the net.
“Boom!” I crowed, pumping a fist as pride filled me.
Liam quickly deflated it with a shout. “Candy Kane delivers.”
I groaned. “Can wepleaseretire that nickname?”
It wasn’t even original. With a last name like Kane, I’d heard it far too often.
“Not a chance, sweetheart,” Drew said, slapping my helmet. “Textbook Kane. You practically patented that move,” he said with a head nod toward our goalie.
Gordy scowled as he fished the puck out of the net. “It’s theonlymove you’ve got, Kane.”
“Hey, if it works, it works. Maybe if you finally stoppedtelegraphing your every move like a damn carrier pigeon, I wouldn’t take advantage.”
Coach chuckled and gestured for Liam and Drew to take their turns. “Alright, Farrell, Dumontier—let’s see if you can do better than the hotshot.”
Liam went first, his movements deceptively smooth for such a big guy. He was a defenseman with Drew, but he moved with a fluid grace that made me suspect he could easily play any position we put him in. He came in from the side, deking left and right so fast that even I could barely track the puck. Gordy tried to follow, but Liam waited until the last possible second to lift the puck, roofing it just under the crossbar.
Drew whistled. “Damn, Li.”
Liam smirked. “Hey, maybe ifsomepeople spent less time practicing their ‘naked and afraid’ routine, they’d have time to improve their game.”
Drew groaned. “One time. It happenedonetime.” And Liam was one to talk considering he was caught with his pants down far more often than Drew. But Drew had a propensity for having sex in public and trying not to get caught. Unfortunately, one of those public places had been our rival’s locker room—where he got caught mid-thrust with the rival captain’s ex.
Coach shook his head, amused. “I don’t care what you do off the ice, Dumontier. Just put the puck in the back of the net.”
“Yes, sir,” Drew said before speeding in on Gordy. He faked Gordy out completely, dragging the puck out wide and flipping it in on his backhand.
I grinned. “Oof, Gordy, you might want to check your pulse. That’s three for three.”
Gordy threw his glove down. “I hate all of you.”
Coach laughed and blew the whistle again. “Alright, enough chirping. Let’s run it again. Faster this time. Gordy, work on your tells. If Kane can figure them out, then so can our opponents.”
We all got back in line, the teasing still flying between us, but our focus sharpened. The season was coming, and we were going to be ready.
After practice, we walked into the locker room, sweaty and desperately in need of showers. It was still the butt crack of dawn, but we all had classes that we needed to get to. The teasing from the ice carried over as we got cleaned up and ready for the rest of our day. My mood was light as I bent over to lace up my boot.
Every day that started with hockey was a good day.
But then I checked my phone and my high from practice faded.
For two weeks, I hadn’t heard a word from Abby—or Peach.
The silence was slowly killing me.
