Page 20 of Exes That Puck (The Honey Badger Puckers #4)

I watch the Uber’s taillights disappear around the corner, my sister and Kara inside, probably talking about what a piece of shit I am. The worst part? They’re right.

Everything Ava said hits like body checks I should’ve seen coming. Controlling. Jealous. Making Kara miserable. And here I am, still expecting her to come back, still expecting her to forgive me because that’s what she always does.

There’s this arrogant part of me that wants to say fuck it.

Kara keeps coming back, so maybe I’m not that bad.

Maybe she likes the drama, the intensity.

Maybe she loves who I really am. But I know that’s bullshit.

I know that’s why she broke up with me in the first place.

Even if it’s the reason she was attracted to me, it’s now the reason she’s not my girl. And that’s playing games with my head.

Dylan and Westley emerge from their rooms like they’ve been waiting for the coast to clear.

“That was brutal,” Dylan says.

Westley nods. “I heard what your sister said. You okay?”

I shake my head. “It’s bullshit. I’m just trying to help my sister, you know? But she’s got a strong personality and there’s no convincing her otherwise.”

“You good?” Dylan asks, studying my face.

“No, man. I’m not. I need to fucking move my body or do something.”

I grab my gym bag and head for the door before I can do something stupid like text Kara or drive to her dorm. The campus gym is nearly empty, just a few dedicated lifters and someone running on the treadmill.

I keep checking my phone between sets, but there’s nothing from Ava or Kara. No updates on how much my sister hates me or whether Kara’s finally done with my shit.

Halfway through my workout, I remember the therapy homework I need to do whenever I’m triggered. I pull out my phone and open the notes app, typing quickly.

Trigger: Sister calling me an asshole, telling Kara she deserves better

Physical response: Chest tight, wanted to punch something

What I did: Nothing but went to gym

Better than stopping them from leaving or staying home and making this feeling grow. Definitely better than calling Kara or Ava right now.

I load the bench press heavy and push through three sets until my arms shake. Then I hit the treadmill, cranking the speed until I’m sprinting full out. My lungs burn and my legs scream, but it’s better than the noise in my head.

Ten minutes in, Dylan appears on the treadmill next to mine. He doesn’t say anything, just matches my pace. We run in silence, and the acknowledgment that he’s here means more than I can put into words.

When we’re walking out, towels draped around our necks, I finally speak.

“I’m trying to change, but I don’t know if it’s going to stick.”

Dylan considers this then he nods. “The effort matters. And if it doesn’t work with Kara, it’ll be better in your next relationship.”

Next relationship.

The words hit like ice water. I don’t want a next relationship. I don’t want anyone else. The thought of being with someone who isn’t Kara makes my stomach turn.

“I don’t want anyone else,” I say quietly.

Dylan nods like he gets it, and we don’t talk the rest of the way home.

Back in my room, I stare at my phone for twenty minutes before saying fuck it and text Kara.

Zeke:Sneak out tonight to come see me?

Kara:That’s crazy talk. I’ll see you at the party tomorrow.

Zeke:Are you coming to my game?

Kara:Your sister will decapitate me if I go, so I’m sorry but no.

Zeke:Thank you for housing her tonight. Sorry I didn’t tell her we broke up. Just didn’t want it to be real.

The dots appear and disappear twice before nothing comes back.

I fall onto my pillow, stuffing my emotions down deep. I can sleep this off and wake up better tomorrow.

Game day hits different when you’re already on edge. We’re playing State, our biggest rival, and the energy in the locker room is high. Everyone’s hyped, talking trash, getting their heads right.

Except Coach decides to put me on a line with Liam Cross.

Liam’s talented but he’s got an attitude problem that makes everyone want to punch him. He thinks he’s better than the rest of us, talks down to younger players, and has this way of making everything about him.

“Great,” he says when Coach announces the lines. “Babysitting duty.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask.

“Nothing, man. Just hope you can keep up.”

The locker room goes quiet. Rocky, Carter, Dylan, and Scott all turn to watch.

“You got something to say to me, Cross?”

“Just that maybe if you spent less time worrying about your ex-girlfriend drama and more time focusing on hockey, you’d play better.”

I’m across the room before I realize I’m moving. “Say that again.”

“Guys,” Carter starts, stepping between us.

“You heard me,” Liam says, not backing down. “Everyone knows you’re a head case. Team’s better off when you’re focused.”

Rocky and Scott grab my arms before I can swing. Dylan plants himself in front of Liam.

“Enough,” Rocky says firmly. “Save it for State.”

Coach walks back in and sees the tension. “Problem, boys?”

“No problem,” I say, shrugging off Rocky’s grip.

“Good. Because if you can’t play together, you’ll sit together. Both of you.”

I’m fuming, but I know I need to cool it.

The game starts rough. State comes out hitting everything that moves, and the refs are letting them play. By the second period, everyone’s chippy.

Liam and I can’t find any chemistry. When I call for the puck, he ignores me. When he needs support, I’m not where he expects. It’s like we’re playing different games.

Then, with six minutes left in the third and us down by one, Liam decides to be a hero. Instead of passing to me on a two-on-one, he forces a shot that gets blocked. The puck comes back the other way, and State scores on the counter.

“What the fuck was that?” I shout as we skate back to center ice.

“Hockey,” he shoots back. “Maybe you’d recognize it if you played it more.”

“You selfish piece of shit—”

“That’s enough!” The ref skates over, but we’re already dropping gloves.

Liam throws first, but I’m ready for it. We go down hard, rolling on the ice while the refs try to separate us. When they finally pull us apart, both our jerseys are torn, and my lip is bleeding.

“Fighting, both players! Ten-minute misconduct!”

I skate to the penalty box, the crowd booing, my teammates staring in disbelief. Coach won’t even look at me.

We lose 4-2. In the locker room afterward, nobody talks to me. I shower quickly and get dressed while the rest of the team goes through their post-game routine.

“Zeke.” Coach appears beside my stall. “My office. Monday morning.”

I nod, not trusting myself to speak.

By the time we’re on our way to Rocky’s party, I’m ready to drink until I can’t think straight. The house is already packed, music pounding, people everywhere. I push through the crowd toward the kitchen, looking for anything that will quiet the noise in my head.

Time to get shitfaced.