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carter

Using the back of my sleeve, I mop the sweat from my forehead as I skate toward the group waiting in the middle of the ice for instructions on our next drill.

The shrill sound of Coach Enver’s whistle echoes in the expansive space as we line up.

Blades cut into the ice, sticks clattering as we take off in the direction of the net.

“Keep those lines straight,” Enver yells.

“Your job is to move the puck together as a unit.”

My eyes flick to my right where Jack flies across the ice, his eyes glued to the guy in front of him.

He gets the puck, whips around, and passes it cleanly to the next guy.

When he looks up, his gaze tangles with mine.

“VK, wake up out there,” Coach bellows, jolting me.

“You just missed the pass from Masterson.”

Fuck.

But Jack doesn’t lose a second.

He’s already off, moving swiftly to the back of his line, again focusing solely on the guy ahead of him.

It’s like he’s a completely different player today than he’s ever been .

I remember when we’d run drills back in our junior hockey days.

He was always doing his own thing, half-paying attention, more focused on showing off and perfecting his moves against the direction of the coaches.

But nobody ever batted an eye because, hey, he was Jack Larson, hockey player extraordinaire.

It was total bullshit but everyone knew we needed him to win championships.

The practices with Oakland leading up to our first game were a lot like that, too.

He wasn’t as much of a dick with the puck, but it was enough to piss off the team.

There was plenty of trash talk at The Penalty Box that followed those sessions.

And after that first game, his ears must’ve been ringing like church bells.

I guess he wasn’t lying when he said Enver really laid into him after that loss against the Renegades.

The rest of the practice session goes the same way.

He’s locked in, doesn’t even look my way again.

I try to convince myself I don’t care, just like I’ve tried to make myself believe that the image of him all soaped up in the shower isn’t the reason I woke up with morning wood in my hand today.

“Make those passes clean,” Enver shouts.

“Watch Larson.”

And I don’t know who on the ice is more shocked at the ad hoc accolades, but Enver’s right.

Jack’s passes are crisp, sharp, and perfectly timed.

The old Jack would have tried to steal the show and try to dangle through the defenders himself.

And when he passes to me, I barely react in time to send it back to him.

Jack stops right in front of me, a smirk dragging his lips upward.

“Teamwork makes the dream work, right?”

“Yeah, so I hear. ”

He lifts an eyebrow.

“Then stop daydreaming and get in the game.”

My jaw nearly hits the ice.

“Okay,” Enver calls out after a sharp whistle blow.

“Let’s try some two-on-one drills. VK on defense, Larson and Masterson offense.”

He blows the whistle again.

It echoes loudly, rattling my ears.

I prepare for the play and for a second, it looks like the old Jack is breaking through.

He tries to toe-drag around me, but I see the move before it happens and poke the puck away from him.

“Gotta try harder than that,” I say.

Jack just laughs as he circles back around for a second attempt.

I lean forward, shifting my weight, ready for his next move.

He fakes me out with one of his showboat moves, the move I anticipated, and dishes the puck back to Masterson, who whacks it into the net.

Jack gives Masterson a high five, a shit-eating grin on his face as he circles me, kicking up snow as he makes an exaggerated stop.

He pulls off his helmet and closes the space between us, gold flecks making his green eyes glow under the bright overhead lights.

“Working harder was never your problem, VK,” he murmurs under his breath.

“Second-guessing yourself was.”

I almost choke on a breath as he skates away.

The fuck?

***

The locker room banter is in full force once practice ends, but my frenzied thoughts drown out the noise surrounding me .

Jack’s words latched onto my brain and refuse to let go.

Familiar bubbles of panic rise in my chest, the same ones that I felt years ago when he kissed me.

What the hell does it all mean?

I’d never felt a damn thing for a guy other than the crazy rush of sensations that seem to assault my body ever since Jack skated back into my life.

Hell, I’ve showered with maybe a hundred guys over the years and I’ve never saved those soapy images to my highlight reel.

Not till the other night.

Maybe it’s just envy, something so fierce that it’s messing with my head, making me feel things because I’m so fired up emotionally about being on a new team and proving myself to a whole new fan base while worrying about my old rival stealing the attention away from me.

That has to be it.

I’m just going through a transition and it’s stressing me the fuck out.

And the fact that I haven’t had feelings for anyone else that even come close to the ones I had for Jack, not even for Livvie, my on-again, off-again girlfriend for years…

that’s normal, too, right?

I let out a shaky breath, forcing myself to stare at my locker as I undress instead of at Jack whose locker is a few feet away.

“So you do know how to pass the puck,” Masterson calls over to Jack as he tugs his jersey over his head.

“Thank fuck. Maybe we can try that in an actual game, like maybe the one in Ohio this weekend?”

All the guys eventually join in, lancing Jack with snarky comments.

But he doesn’t get angry.

Doesn’t dish it back.

He just goes with it, and I can’t say I’m not shocked to hell at his reaction.

Sure, the criticism is warranted but never in a million years did I ever think I’d see him at anyone’s mercy.

And the weirdest thing is that it doesn’t even seem to faze him.

Who the hell is this guy?

Jack chuckles as he pulls off his practice jersey and gear.

“Okay, okay. Get in now, guys. I’ll allow it.”

Some of the team starts disappearing into the showers and Jack turns with his towel wrapped around his waist. I have to drag my eyes away from the deep vee of his tan torso but not before he catches me staring.

My skin prickles as the corners of his lips lift the slightest bit.

I clench my jersey tight, my heart pumping hard.

“Hey, ah, if you guys are free on Thursday night, I have some passes to a private concert,” Jack says.

“Oh yeah? Who’s playing?” Masterson asks, grabbing a towel.

“Sin City,” Jack says with a roll of his eyes.

“My arch rival or whatever the press is saying about us these days.”

The guys laugh.

“No fucking way, that’s awesome,” Tate says.

“I love their shit. I’ll be there.”

Masterson nods.

“Yeah, I’m in, too.”

Jack looks at me with a bit of hesitation in his gaze.

“What about you, VK?”

Is it me, or is his voice a tiny bit strained?

Masterson nudges me when I hesitate.

“Come on, you got a hot date or something? Bring her along.”

Jack forces a smile but I don’t miss the shadow that darkens his expression.

“Yeah, sure. Whatever. Whoever.”

I give a quick nod.

“I’ll be there. Thanks.”

His eyes stick to me for a second longer than they need to before he looks at the other guys.

“I’ll text you the details when I get them. It’s a secret venue. They don’t want to alert the tabloids. Not even Sam knows where it’s gonna be.”

Masterson and Tate clap him on the back and walk to the showers, leaving the two of us alone.

Jack grabs his laundry from the floor and tosses it into one of the bins.

I bite down on my lower lip as his tattooed bicep flexes.

He does an about face like he’s headed into the showers, too, and I open my mouth to say something…

anything to keep him here with me.

“Is it weird being around them…you know, since the engagement announcement?” I blurt out, coming up with the first thing I can think of…

the animosity between him and Sam’s fiancé Brixton Scott.

How utterly fucking brilliant of me.

Jack brings a hand to the back of his neck and shrugs.

“It was. The press wasn’t wrong. Brixton and I didn’t like each other at first. Actually came close to throwing down a couple of times.”

“Really.” It’s not surprising, so it comes out as more of a statement than a question.

If he was the same cocky, arrogant asshole that I remember from junior hockey, who in his right mind wouldn’t want to beat the shit out of him?

He snickers. “You don’t sound shocked.”

“I’m not. Can’t lie.” I laugh.

“Things were rough in the beginning. A lot of dick-measuring contests. Not proud of that high school shit. But it eventually got better. When I saw how much Sam cared about him, I knew we were really over. Sam’s a great guy and he deserves to be happy. That’s the most important thing. So I backed off.”

“Pretty big of you.”

Jack steps toward me, his stubbled jaw tensing.

My pulse jumps into my throat at his nearness, choking me with a foreign rush of hunger that, for a long-ass second, consumes all of my senses and roots me to the spot.

“Sometimes what you want doesn’t want you back. I learned a long time ago that when you’re dead, lie down. That’s my truth.” He pauses for a long minute, sweeping a hand through his sweaty hair.

“Do you know yours, VK?”