Page 104 of Offside Attraction

“Good,” Coach says, turning his attention to me. “And you, Miller. You’ve got just as much to prove. I don’t care how good you think you are—you’re not above this team. Understand?”

I nod stiffly, swallowing the retort bubbling in my throat. “Yes, Coach.”

”Now get out of my office.”

We both stand, the tension between us still crackling, but neither of us says a word.

“And one more thing,” Coach Rivera says, halting our footsteps. “I expect progress by the time we hit the ice next Monday. If you two can’t be cordial for the sake of the team, I will be forced to kick both of you off the team. I won’t have the two of you jeopardize the team because you can’t learn how to put your personal issues aside. Am I understood?”

“Yes, Coach,”

“Good. Now get out of my sight,”

As I leave the office, my mind races with the thought of being forced to spend more time with him, knowing it’s only a matter of time before everything we’ve been trying to avoid comes crashing down.

CHAPTER 27

Teambuildingexercise,aone-on-one scrimmage with Hayes, everything that screams bad. Everything that screams close proximity, something I’m not sure I’d be able to handle. The truth is I don’t trust myself when I’m alone with Hayes, and what happened last week at that lake is a true example of how he’s got me beneath his palm.

The memory of that night lingers like a shadow I can’t shake. The way his voice softened, the way his gaze burned into mine as if he could see straight through me—it’s been haunting me ever since. And now, Coach Rivera’s brilliant idea of forcing us into this team-building exercise feels like a cruel joke.

I throw my hockey bag into the trunk of my car and slam it shut. The school’s parking lot is calm, deserted except for the faint hum of the overhead lights and the distant rustle of trees in the cool evening breeze. I exhale sharply, leaning against theside of the car, my chest still tight from the scrimmage with Hayes.

The rink was one thing—controlled chaos, where the adrenaline could mask the frustration. But out here, in the stillness, it all comes rushing back. The way he looked at me, the tension in his voice, the heat of his presence on the ice—it’s too much, too overwhelming.

I run a hand through my hair, trying to shake off the lingering thoughts.

Fuck’s sake, Dakota. Get your shit together. He’s just a boy. Someone who’s not worth all this headache.

But the lie tastes bitter, and I know better. It means too much, and that’s the problem.

The sound of approaching footsteps pulls me from my thoughts, and I glance up to see Hayes striding across the lot, his own hockey bag slung over his shoulder. His dark eyes catch mine for a brief moment before he looks away, his expression unreadable.

Great. Just what I need.

“Don’t worry,” he says as he passes, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “I’ll make sure to let Coach know you tried your best.”

I scoff, pushing off the car and crossing my arms. “Funny, I was about to say the same thing about you.”

Hayes stops, turning to face me, his jaw tight. “You’ve got a lot of nerve, Miller.”

“Yeah, well, it’s easy when I’m not the one dragging the team down,” I snap back, the words leaving my mouth before I can think them through.

His eyes narrow, and for a moment, I think he’s going to say something cutting, something that will push this confrontation over the edge. But instead, he just stares at me, the weight of his gaze heavy enough to make my stomach twist.

“Is that what you really think?” he asks, his voice quieter now, almost… hurt.

The question catches me off guard, and I hesitate, unsure how to respond. The anger between us has always been easy, a shield against the mess of emotions I can’t quite untangle. But this? This feels different, and I don’t know what to do with it.

“I don’t know what I think,” I admit, my voice low. “But I know I can’t keep doing this with you.”

Hayes exhales sharply, shaking his head as he shifts his bag on his shoulder. “Neither can I,” he mutters, more to himself than to me.

He turns and starts walking again, leaving me standing there, the silence of the parking lot pressing in around me.

“We leave tomorrow around 10 a.m. and I expect you to be ready by the time I arrive at your house,” Hayes calls, not once stopping to glance at me.

“You don’t even know where I live.”