Page 89 of Revenge Puck

If anything, I should be thanking the prick.

30

Elle

“Oh my god, I’m so freaking nervous,” I tell Maya as the two teams face off for the puck drop.

“Even if the Warhawks lose this one, it’s not over,” she says cheerfully, giving my knee a comforting pat.

“No. I know. That’s not what I mean.” Rubbing my sweaty palms on my leggings, I tell her, “I’m worried that I may have jinxed Preston.”

“Jinxed him?” she repeats, turning to face me with her brow furrowed. “How could you jinx him?”

“Uh, well, you probably don’t want to know this, but Preston has a rule about not…indulgingbefore a game.”

“Yuck,” she mutters, her nose scrunching up. “And let me guess, you think you were solely responsible for himindulgingduring your sleepover?”

“Yes.”

“Come on, Elle. Look at him,” she says as the Warhawks get possession of the puck, and charge toward the Bobcats’ goal.“Preston has an extra pep in his skates. He’s practically floating out there. I bet he’ll play his best game ever tonight.”

“I hope you’re right,” I tell her. Then, shaking my head to clear the thoughts about last night from it, I say, “Enough about me. We need to get you back out in the dating world.”

“I don’t know…”

“There must be some decent guys on the Warhawks. I bet Preston could introduce you tonight at the party.”

“No. That’s not a good idea, considering how the last time ended when he introduced me to a teammate.”

“Oh. Right. Well, you’re a grown woman. You can choose a man to date all on your own.”

“Right,” she agrees with a heavy sigh, her eyes locked on a player, not the puck. I don’t have to even follow her line of sight to know who she’s looking at. She’s still not over Christian, even after all the trouble he caused her five years ago.

“Hey, Mom?” Finley asks, tugging on the sleeve of her black Preston Lawrence jersey.

“Yes, sweetie?”

“How does that guy skate so fast?”

Again, I don’t have to look to know who the boy is talking about. The fastest man on the ice is always Christian if he’s out there.

“Wh-which one?” Maya stammers as if she already knows too.

“The one who keeps stealing the puck from the Warhawks. Number nineteen.”

“I don’t know, sweetie. Maybe because he doesn’t have a soul,” Maya replies, then winces.

“Huh?” Finley asks, turning to her with a raised eyebrow.

“I meant, he probably has light soles, you know, in his skates that weigh less than everyone else’s.”

Finley nods as if that makes perfect sense before his attention returns to the game. “Uncle Preston must have soles like bricks in his skates. He’s not very fast, and he barely touches the puck.”

Maya and I both laugh at that keen observation.

“Uncle Preston’s job isn’t to be the fastest, but to be the biggest and toughest, so he can prevent the other team from scoring.”

“Oh. Okay.”

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