Page 30 of Puck My Stepbrother (Pucked and Possessed #2)

LEVI

I knew something was wrong the moment my blades hit the ice.

No, that’s wrong. I knew that something was wrong the moment I laced up my skates.

Hold on, even that’s not right. A nagging feeling had followed me around ever since last night.

That feeling had consumed my attention, leaving me feeling sluggish.

Instead of letting that feeling take control of me, I poured all my might into focusing.

The Larkin Lions had made the playoffs, not because of me, but in spite of me.

I’m sure Coach Hardison thought that, even though he hadn’t said it.

We’d dropped the first three games of a best-of-seven series.

One more loss and we could flush our season down the toilet.

And I knew damn well what Hardison would make sure I knew it was my fault.

When the teams lined up and faced the flags for the national anthem, thoughts of Quinn deluged my mind. He’d consumed my every waking moment for the longest time. I wondered what he was doing right now, if he was happy, and most importantly, if he’d thought about me at all.

Most of all, I wondered how we’d be going to the wedding with Jeff…

and I knew what they’d been doing at the house.

Maybe Quinn thought I was stupid, but I hadn’t missed a thing.

Their wrinkled clothes and flushed faces had said it all.

Their wide-open flies offered an exclamation point to the obvious.

Quinn had wanted me to know that I had no chance with him.

He’d given himself to someone else, and I could do nothing about it.

He wanted me to feel powerless. I couldn’t deny that he’d succeeded on some level, especially because he’d actually had sex with someone else.

That dork Jeff could never satisfy Quinn the way I could, but that almost didn’t matter anymore.

When the opening buzzer sounded, I skated to center ice for the faceoff against Stony Brook. Normally, I stared my opponent down. You’re supposed to keep your eyes on the ice, waiting for the referee to drop the puck, but I never did that.

Call it a psychological edge. I wanted my opponent to fear me.

I wanted them to feel outmatched from the start.

If I could knock them off-kilter mentally, I could snatch the puck the moment it hit the ice.

When I tried doing the same with Aaron Thomson, Stony Brook’s star player, I didn’t believe my own shit.

Laser beams didn’t shoot out of my eyes like I’d once believed.

I could no longer control another man the way I was used to doing.

When the ref dropped the puck, I recovered it immediately, which saved me from an immediate disaster.

But I couldn’t ram my way past Thomson and dart down the ice like I would have before.

Instead, Thomson drove his shoulder into my chest, knocking me off-balance and nearly causing me to lose the puck.

I steadied myself, ready to make a hard push toward the net, but Stony Brook’s Ben Hamilton zipped up beside me, stealing the puck.

The roar of the crowd seemed so distant, like in a dream, but I knew what they were thinking.

Last year’s national champions continued to look listless in the face of defeat.

I couldn’t allow the worst to happen. I charged down the ice, chasing after Hamilton, but he swung in front of the net, took a shot, and scored.

Ryan Detenbeck, the Larkin Lions goalie, remained on his knees in the crease, clearly in disbelief that he’d already let a puck slip past him.

That wasn’t his fault, though. If I’d held onto the puck, Stony Brook wouldn’t have reached the net to take that shot. Yeah, it’s a team sport, so everyone’s collectively responsible for everything that happens, but I couldn’t help blaming myself. I’d failed to get in the zone, after all.

Worse, I knew damn well that Coach Hardison would blame me for it. When I glanced at the bench, the coach kept his usual stony expression, but I knew what he was thinking. I sure as shit hadn’t forgotten that conversation in his office.

It didn’t have to be all bad. Even the coach always told us that it was just the first period, and there was a ton of hockey left to play. In other words, we shouldn’t panic just because the other team had drawn first blood. I just had to pick myself up and keep fighting.

And that was exactly what I did. On the second faceoff, I focused my entire energy on Thomson, snatched the puck immediately, and raced down the ice, taking one shot and missing the net entirely.

That didn’t matter, though. I had to try again.

So I grabbed the puck again, but Ben Hamilton came out of nowhere to check me into the boards.

I was dazed, but retained control of the puck.

Two more defenders tried to steal the puck from me, but I broke free from them and swung around the net.

I cocked my stick back and drove it forward with all my strength. The stick cracked against the ice, rocketing the puck into the net.

When the crowd went wild, I thought I might’ve regained some of the magic I’d lost in all of this. Even with Quinn heavy on my heart, I could still lead the Larkin Lions to victory.

But I knew better than to let my guard down.

After all, I understood that hockey was a sixty-minute game better than anyone.

Stony Brook came back with a vengeance, clearly wanting to put this series away.

My shift had ended, so I had to watch the next part of the game from the bench.

Stony Brook retaliated with a goal of their own almost immediately, and I could do nothing about it.

When Coach Hardison sent me and two other players back onto the ice, I used everything in my arsenal to stop Stony Brook, but they scored again.

Now they had a two-goal lead.

Coach Hardison chewed us out at the first intermission, but kept looking in my direction. I knew damn well he was addressing me individually as much as the entire team. I was supposed to be the leader, the guy who kept everyone on track, and I couldn’t let the team down now.

When we returned to the ice, I sucked in a deep breath and readied myself for a knock-down drag-out affair.

I might not have been playing like myself, but I hated the sting of losing more than anything in the world.

I’d already suffered that same feeling of defeat to Jeff, the dorky kid who’d stolen Quinn from me, and I couldn’t let Stony Brook deprive me of what I had left.

After the second period, Stony Brook scored yet another goal on us, increasing their lead to three, but I knew better than to write off the game.

I came back with grit and determination in the third period, landing one goal almost immediately.

And then, halfway through the period, I scored another.

We had our opponents on the ropes, and I understood that was when I needed to work the hardest.

With two minutes left to play, I felt like I had nothing left in the tank, but I pushed myself forward anyway.

I kept taking shots at the net and missing, but Stony Brook would have to kill me before I handed them a win.

We’d pulled Ryan Detenbeck from his position as goalie to give ourselves an extra man.

Even with the added help, we still couldn’t put the puck in the net.

Finally, the clock read all zeroes and the buzzer sounded.

The game had ended, and so had my dreams of leading our team to another title.

You could’ve heard a pin drop in that arena.

The place couldn’t have felt more deflated.

I fell to my hands and knees, but I didn’t feel ashamed.

I needed that time to process the loss…but I understood I’d need a long time to get over this completely.

When I got up, I joined the rest of the Lions in shaking hands with the Stony Brook players, who’d move to the next round of the playoffs, whereas the Larkin Lions wouldn’t repeat as national champions.

And I had myself to blame for that. Like I said, hockey’s a team sport, but I was supposed to be the one leading my teammates to victory.

I knew what was expected of me, and I’d failed.

I wouldn’t need another meeting with Coach Hardison to underscore that point—but I figured that meeting would be coming anyway.

I knew what would happen to my future, but none of that seemed to matter. All that mattered was Quinn Standish. I might’ve felt like I’d lost him before, but with hockey out of the way, I was determined to get him back no matter what.