Page 71 of Almost Ravaged

Though unease still has a hold on me, I can’t help but be proud of my friend for helping out a teammate. He’s always had a steady confidence that makes him a good mentor.

Me? At this point in the preseason, I feel like every guy out here is my competition. Yeah, Holt actively sought me out, but nothing in life is guaranteed. I won’t feel settled until we have our assignments and the season officially begins.

I need to chill the fuck out. So what if Atty is branching out? It’s exactly what he should be doing. Getting to know the guys, creating bonds that’ll benefit the team, and him, on the ice. He wasn’t drafted like I was. I need him to stay on top of his game and get picked up by an NHL team as well.

Not that my contract with the Georgia Galaxy is any real guarantee. Being drafted before university just means all the stress and anxiety I have about my future has been front-loaded. I’m not working to achieve a goal. Instead, I’m working my ass off not to lose my shot.

Reese Jericho, a.k.a. Ricki-Rick, makes his way to the bench, followed by Josh Tanvers, a.k.a. Tanny Boy, and I acknowledge them with a grunt and a chin tip. I don’t have it in me to make more of an effort than that. I’ll have time to make friends later, once the season begins.

Atty skates back toward the net and takes his place for another drill.

Fuck it.

If he’s still out there, then I should be, too.

I put my helmet back on and rise so quickly that my vision goes dark around the edges. I have to steady myself for a second, but I push through. My muscles are fatigued, and I desperately need a shower. But no one’s going to accuse me of being lazy.

When my skates hit the ice, the world clicks into place.

I glide toward the opposite end of the rink, staying out of the way of the guys in the middle of drills, and snag a few pucks. With my head held high and my focus fixed on the net, I skate the blue line. I move back and forth, deke, reset, then send the puck sailing toward the basket.

I retrieve another puck and do it again.

Then again.

After half a dozen shots, I collect my pucks and reset.

Before I can start over, awareness dances up and down my spine.

Sawyer’s here.

Not just in the building, though she is scheduled to work behind the skate rental counter today. No, she’s inside the rink, watching me.

I run the drill again. Skating faster. Pushing harder.

My heart beats double time as I shoot the last of the pucks. Only when the final one hits the back of the net and clatters to the ice do I look up.

Like I knew she would be, she’s watching me from the bleachers.

My lips tip up of their own accord. I don’t fight it. I can’t fucking help but smile when I look at her. But as I take her in, her oversized flannel gives me pause.

From here, it looks like a man’s shirt.

I’ve never seen her wear it, and it sure as fuck isn’t mine. I’m almost equally positive it doesn’t belong to Atty.

I haven’t seen her all day. She met Professor Eden out at some farm before class, and I didn’t make it to the lecture hall today. But now she’s here. She came to watch our practice, and she showed up wearing another man’s shirt.

I’ll kill him, whoever he is.

Peel the skin off the muscle and bone, then drop it into a pile with that stupid plaid shirt and set it all on fire.

“Tremblay,” one of the trainers yells like it’s not the first time he’s screamed my name.

I snap out of my mental spiral, then look at Sawyer, who’s watching me.

Jaw locked up tight, I skate backward toward the bench. The whole way there, I keep her locked in my sights, pointing my stick in her direction.

I see her. I see what she’s wearing.