Page 16 of Blindside Me (Cessna U Hockey #3)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Drew

ICE. SKATES. PUCK. That’s all I’m supposed to care about, three things at morning practice.

Not the burning in my legs or the sweat trickling down my spine.

Not the voice in my head telling me I could be better, faster, stronger.

And definitely not the blonde sitting in the third row, sketching away with those sharp, focused strokes.

But my eyes keep betraying me, flickering up to her for the fourth time in ten minutes. Damn it. I can’t afford distractions.

The cold clean ice smell is the same as always at six a.m. Skates cut through the surface and echo off the walls. This is my sanctuary. My proving ground.

“Klaas! Position!” Coach Howell barks from the bench, slicing through my momentary lapse in concentration.

I snap back, realigning myself for the defensive drill. Blake sends the puck flying down the ice. I intercept it easily, my muscle memory kicking in as I dodge Ryan’s attempt to steal.

“Good! Again!” Coach calls out.

We reset. My eyes sweep the ice, calculating angles and positions. Perfect. Except?—

My gaze strays to Jade. Is Coach still making her clean up after practice? If so, she’s early. Practice doesn’t end for another hour. Why is she?—

The puck slips between my skates.

“Klaas! What the hell was that?” Coach’s voice booms. “You letting your mind wander during a game, too?”

Heat rushes to my face. I don’t mess up. Not on simple drills. Not until this season.

“No, sir. Won’t happen again,” I grit out.

Coach’s eyes follow my earlier gaze up to the bleachers. He spots Jade, and his expression hardens further. Their eyes meet in a silent standoff before he turns back to the ice.

“Everyone, line up! Suicides. Now!” he shouts, and the team collectively groans. “Thank Klaas for the extra cardio.”

As we line up at the goal line, Ryan glides up next to me.

“Careful, Klaas. Don’t bruise your ego like you did your cock.”

“Shut it, Sorenson.” My voice comes out low and dangerous.

Blake glides to my other side, a smirk playing on his lips. This can’t be good. “You talking about the night of the ‘Vacuum Incident’?”

That night at Beats flashes hot in my mind. Jade’s sexy-ass eyes as she made her way to the dance floor. Her body pressed against mine. How I followed her to the bathroom. Her attempt at sucking me off.

My jaw tightens. The memory should be nothing. Just heat and bad timing. But the way Jade looked at me after, like she regretted it more than I did, that part still stings.

“Both of you can fuck off,” I mutter, bracing for the drill.

Coach blows his whistle, and we’re off, sprinting to the lines and back. My lungs burn, but I push through, determined to finish first. No weakness, not after screwing up.

Between sprints, I glance back at the bleachers. Jade’s face is an impressive shade of red. She’s hunched over her sketchbook, but her pencil isn’t moving. She heard them. Fuck! Of course she did. Sound carries in an empty arena.

I finish the suicides first, as planned, though Ryan is close behind. My breath comes in controlled bursts. Never show how hard you’re working. That’s the rule.

“Again!” Coach shouts. We line up, legs already heavy.

By the time practice ends, my legs are concrete, and my lungs feel like they’ve been scrubbed with steel wool.

Coach worked us harder than usual, partly because of my mistake and partly because we have a big game against Westlake this weekend.

After the others head to the locker room, I stay on the ice, taking extra shots at the empty net.

This is my routine. I always stay late and work harder. It’s how I survive.

From the corner of my eye, I watch Jade make her way down from the bleachers with her sketchbook tucked under one arm. She waits at the edge of the rink, watching me. I pretend not to notice, focusing instead on my shots. Top left corner. Top right. Bottom left. Each one hits its mark.

When I finally skate to the boards, she’s still there, those sharp blue eyes taking in every detail of my face.

“You look like hell,” she says, blunt as ever.

I smirk despite myself. “Nice to see you, too.”

“No, seriously.” She leans against the boards. Her vanilla, clean scent wafts between us, and I want to bury my nose in her hair. “Does Coach always work you guys like that?”

“Only when I give him a reason to,” I admit, removing my helmet and running a hand through my sweat-soaked hair.

“Because you were looking at me?” she asks, one eyebrow raised.

Her directness catches me off guard. Most people dance around things, but not Jade. Never Jade.

“Because I lost focus,” I correct her, though we both know it’s the same thing.

She nods, eyes scanning the now-empty arena to confirm we’re alone. “I didn’t realize you were getting teased about…” Her face flames even redder as she drops her gaze.

“They don’t know who it was from,” I say quickly. The last thing I need is for Jade to think they know it was her. It was a mistake, a hot, incredible mistake that I can’t stop thinking about, but a mistake, nonetheless. Hockey comes first. Always.

“They don’t?”

“The surprise in your voice hurts.” I place my hand over my heart. “I thought we were at least at the trust level.”

“Oh, you have to do a lot more to unlock that stage.”

“I do, huh?”

“Yep. That’s only for serious contenders.” She grins, and damn, I like seeing her smile.

“So, what? It’s a competition now?” I ask.

“Isn’t everything?” She quirks an eyebrow.

Despite my exhaustion, I laugh. “Touché.”

She tilts her head slightly and studies me. “It looks like you could use a break.”

My shoulders instantly tense. Break isn’t in my vocabulary. “Can’t afford a break.”

“I think you can,” she persists, those blue eyes challenging me. “Trust me?”

The question hangs between us. Trust isn’t something I give easily. My whole life is built around control, controlling my schedule, my body, my emotions. Jade represents the opposite of control. She’s spontaneous and unpredictable. Dangerous, even.

But as I look at her, really look at her, something shifts inside me. Maybe it’s exhaustion breaking down my defenses. Maybe it’s the way she doesn’t flinch at my intensity. Whatever it is, I can’t stop myself from saying, “Thought we weren’t at that level.”

“Mm, we’re not. But there’s only one way to get there.”

“Yeah?” I lean in, despite smelling like death. “How’s that?”

“By showing up tomorrow night at six. And trusting me.”

“What are we doing?” The question slips out before I can stop it.

“Ah, that’s a surprise.” She turns to leave, and I catch the slight upturn of her lips, not quite a smile, but close.

As she walks away, boots clicking on the concrete, I stand there, still catching my breath.

“Wait,” I call, trying to catch up to her. “You never said where.”

She looks over her shoulder. “Art building. Room two-oh-two.”

“Still no hints?”

She grins. “That’s part of the trust exercise.” Her hair flips around as she heads for the exit.

I should say no. I should focus on the game, the scouts, and everything that’s riding on a win. But I hear myself agree. “Okay.”

“See? You’re getting the hang of it.” She starts to walk away again but stops and turns back to me. Her voice is softer, almost serious. “And Drew? Don’t let Coach kill you, okay?”

“Only if you don’t let your uncle kill you for hanging out with the enemy.”

She shrugs, casual as ever. But I catch it, the hint of something deeper behind her eyes. It’s a defensive mechanism I know too well. That shrug, that tone, is the same one I use when pretending something doesn’t still hurt.

“I’ve survived worse.”

And with that, she’s gone. I watch her go, wondering what I’ve gotten myself into. Then I head to the locker room, my mind still trying to process this new, unexpected equation.

For the first time in longer than I can remember, I’m looking forward to something that isn’t hockey.

Game on, indeed.