Page 11

Pheep!

The whistle slices through the arena, and the game erupts into motion.

I barely register the puck hitting the ice before Scotty has it.

I surge forward, dodging players as I try to keep pace with him.

When Scotty spots me, he fires the puck my way, and I take it in stride, my skates carving the ice as I fly down the boards.

One of Brighton U’s defensemen, a brick house with more muscle than brains, moves to cut me off, but I see it coming a mile away, shifting my weight and slipping past him with a deke so filthy it should come with a warning label.

“Move it, Cade!” Erik’s voice cuts through the noise from somewhere behind as he trails the play.

I don’t need the fucking encouragement. I’m in the zone where nothing exists except the ice beneath my blades and the net ahead.

Their goalie squares up, trying to track my movement.

I wind up for a shot, see him flinch, and at the last second slide a pass across the crease to Scotty, who buries it in the open net.

The goal horn blares, and my teammates swarm me as we celebrate the first goal of the game.

“Nice feed!” Scotty says, slapping my helmet as we skate back to the bench and the next line is up.

Coach McKibbon slaps my shoulder as I walk past. “Good start,” he mutters and I tip my chin in acknowledgment before taking my seat.

Even though I should be watching the play, my eyes betray me, drifting to the Covey Crusher’s mascot, Crushie, and the two painfully empty seats next to him.

She’s not here.

Yet.

There’s my overly hopeful brain hoping for something that clearly is nothing.

When Coach calls our line back into the game, I switch my focus.

Winning. That’s the most important thing to do when I’m on the ice.

Shift after shift, I feel like I’m flying.

The puck seems to follow me. My every pass is crisp, every shot is sharp, and halfway through the first period, I intercept a lazy breakout pass from one of their defensemen and find myself alone in the slot.

Without hesitation, I snap a wrist shot toward the top corner of the net and it sails past the goalie.

“Bright scores!” The announcer’s voice echoes through the arena and the crowd erupts.

“Dude, who sucked your dick to make you play like that?” Erik asks when we’re heading into the locker room after the first period. He slaps me on the back hard enough to dislodge a kidney as he grins from ear to ear.

“No one,” I say, trying to casually glance over my shoulder at the stands without looking like a lovesick moron. Unfortunately, there are too many bodies in the way for me to see the only seats I give a damn about.

Erik whacks my ass with his glove, pushing me forward into the locker room.

“Then give your hand an extra clap tonight because it’s doing an impeccable job.”

I shake my head, making my way over to my cubby, and start to tape my stick with more focus than the task deserves.

“It’s not my hand,” I mumble under my breath, knowing damn well it’s the green-eyed girl who isn’t even here that’s got me playing like I’m possessed.

“Then what’s the deal?” He playfully nudges me on the shoulder before chugging down his water.

“Yeah,” Scotty chimes in from the other side of the locker room. He’s sitting next to Dash, who hasn’t taken his helmet off since the start of the game. Sometimes he doesn’t. He’s weird like that. “You’re acting differently.”

“In what way?”

“Well, you aren’t scowling at our goalie, for one thing.” He nudges Dash, who answers with a grumble.

I do my best to tame the twitch of my lips. “Just feeling good, I guess.”

“Feeling good, huh?” Scotty smirks, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Does this have anything to do with that girl?”

“Savannah,” I quip without really thinking.

“Oh, shit. Did you finally make a move?” Erik asks excitedly, pushing me in jest.

I sigh with a nod, realizing I’m going to have to give them something now that I opened the door. “Asked Coach if I could have the family tickets next to Todd tonight and offered them to her.”

“Wait, you gave her the best tickets in the house just to ask her out. Bold move.”

“It’s not like that,” I mutter. It’s exactly like that, but I’d rather get cross-checked into the boards than admit it. “I told her to bring her boyfriend, but I’m hoping she shows up alone.”

“Her boyfriend?” Scotty looks at me like I’ve lost what’s left of my mind.

Erik lets out a low whistle. “I think I’m going to need to see this girl who has my friend pussy-whipped without even kissing him. Wait, you haven’t kissed, right? You’re not trying to be invited to their threesome, or something, are you?”

“You invited her boyfriend to watch you play?” Scotty asks, trying to bring some normalcy to the conversation.

“Not technically, but if she shows up tonight with him…” I trail off, not wanting to spell out how pathetically I’m clinging to the hope she’ll choose me. “I want her to see what she’s missing.”

“So your brilliant plan is to skate circles around everyone, score goals, and what? Make her boyfriend look like a limp-dicked loser by comparison?” Erik asks, shaking his head.

“Something like that,” I admit. “If she even bothers to show up at all, that is.”

When the five-minute warning buzzer for the second period goes off, we head back out to the rink. The second my skates touch the ice, I freeze.

I blink a couple of times to check I’m not hallucinating.

Luke.

I grip my hockey stick so hard, I’m sure it’s on the brink of snapping.

He’s sitting in Savannah’s seat.

Fucking hell.

I really am a desperate fool, aren’t I? She practically told me she was dating Luke, yet I still hoped with every fiber of my being that she’d show up here alone.

At least I blew off the coffee invite yesterday, so I don’t have to suffer through an awkward chitchat with my old matchmaker in the ring.

Does she even realize I know she’s Scarlett Cherrywood? Was this her way of telling me she’s off-limits and to back off?

Oh, what a tangled, fucked-up web I wove myself.

“Shit,” I mutter under my breath when Luke looks up. She’s going to walk right in any moment, isn’t she? Just to crush my heart into a thousand pieces.

It’s only when I see Beardy McBearderson from the club that I realize she’s not here.

She’s not coming.

So she gave my tickets away.

TO HER BOYFRIEND.

Fuck. Me. Sideways.

This hurts worse than that time I got smacked in the face with a puck and my cheek blew up for a week.

As the ref blows the whistle to resume play, I force myself to focus. Savannah may not want to be here, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to lose this game.

We head into the second period with a two-goal lead, but Brighton U hasn’t given up.

They come out harder, more physical, trying to slow us down.

I take a couple of hard hits, but nothing rattles me.

Every time they try to pin me against the boards, I find a way out, either with a quick pass or by muscling my way free.

Late in the second period, we’re on the power play.

I take my spot on the left side with my stick ready.

Scotty holds the puck at the point, then dishes it down to Erik near the goal line.

Erik fakes a shot, drawing the goalie’s attention, then fires a no-look pass straight to me.

I catch it clean and rip a one-timer into the back of the net before the goalie even has a chance to move.

Three points. Two goals and an assist. We’re supposed to be fucking celebrating how good we played this period, but all I can do is snarl at the four-hundred-dollar seats occupied by a guy I hate.

When Luke catches me looking, he waves, only serving to rile me up more.

He knows.

He fucking knows how much I like Savannah.

He knew the day I tried to talk to her in the club and he knows now. He’s taunting me. Showing me I have no chance with her, and he’s probably right.

I can’t help myself. While all the other players are heading off the ice, I make a point to skate past Luke, glaring at him. He takes it in his stride, unbothered that I could beat the shit out of him and Beardy McBeardson with my hands tied behind my back.

The third period is a grind. Brighton U throw everything they have at us, trying to get back into the game. Dash makes some huge saves to keep us ahead, and I maintain my focus, doing whatever I can to keep the puck out of our zone.

With a minute left, they pull their goalie for an extra attacker.

The pressure is intense, but we hold them off.

I block a shot near the blue line and the puck bounces off my shin pad and lands just ahead of me.

I take off, skating as hard as I can toward the empty net.

A defenseman is on my heels, but I have just enough of a step to get the shot off.

When the puck crosses the line, the game is sealed.

Another win in the books.

“Hell of a game, Bright,” Coach says as I skate to the boards after celebrating.

“Thanks, Coach.” I peel off my helmet and take a sip of my water, watching as the crowd leave. Okay, I’m not watching the crowd. I’m watching Luke, the grip on my water bottle tightening as he leaves with Beardy McBeardson.

I hope you enjoyed those tickets, fucking asshole.

What does Savannah see in that idiot?

Maybe that’s the point. Maybe I’m never supposed to know and the more I try to figure it out, the worse I’m going to make it for myself.

I stand there, stewing in my own annoyance long enough that the only people left on the ice are a few of my teammates, including Dash, oh, and he just so happens to be with my sister.