Page 111 of Thoroughly Pucked

And I fucking miss her. Hell, I practically miss the splinters she removed from my hand. My palm tingleswith the memory of shards of wood as a puck whips past and lodges cleanly in the net behind me.

“Fuck me,” I mutter, then slam my stick into the ice.

Rookie move.

“Ryland, take five,” Coach Riley shouts.

I rip off my helmet and skate away, jaw clenched, irritation coursing through me as our backup goalie comes in.

I’m on the bench knocking back some water when Coach comes over. “What’s going on out there?”

“Nothing,” I grumble.

“I’m not sure about that,” he says.

“It’s nothing.”

“Then get back out there and let’s get these plays down.”

Yup. That’s the key.

That’s all that matters.

This is my year, my chance, my time. Garrett and I have plans. Lock up a long-term contract and play my ass off till we win the big one.

With that in mind, I hit the ice again. Nothing will get past me.

Except everything does, and I’m so fucking pissed as I stomp to the locker room at the end of practice, tossing my helmet in my stall, ripping off my jersey, and yanking off my skates.

“Brick.”

The nickname comes from Stefan, the first one in the locker room.

I don’t even look his way. Don’t want him to see me so angry. “What?”

“It’s just practice. It’s just training camp.”

I shake my head. “It’s not.”

“It is,” he says.

“I don’t want to play like that,” I mutter.

“Everyone has bad practices. Everyone has bad games.”

“No.”

He laughs. “What? Just no? You can’t say no.”

Finally, I turn to him, feeling vulnerable and hating it as I drag a hand through my hair. “I can’t have a bad practice. Don’t you get it?”

Hockey doesn’t disappoint me. Hockey doesn’t break my heart. Hockey is always here. Hockey is dependable when nothing else is.

“Dude. This is not like you,” he says.

“I need to play well. All the time,” I bite out, building up a new head of steam.

Stefan comes closer like I’m a rabid dog, then sets a hand on my shoulder. “Let’s get a beer after practice.”

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