Page 39 of Breakaway Goal

“Something in the stands got your attention?” Tuck’s question brings me back to reality, and I don’t miss the teasing lilt in his voice. I sure don’t miss the way his brow wiggles or the smarmy smirk on his lips when I slice my gaze back to him.

My jaw tightens.

Shit, does he … know? Does he notice the way I look at Maddie sometimes? Do other people? The nape of my neck prickles with tension.

“Don’t know what you mean,” I grit out. I push off the side of the rink and skate to the puck by the net. “Come on, let’s get back to it.”

I studiously keep my gaze away from where the girls are now sitting in the stands. I don’t glance up. Even though my brain is buzzing wondering if Maddie’s ever sparingmeany glances.

I wipe off Tuck’s smile real quick when I get the better of him on the first drill. We go at it for about ten minutes, both of our competitive natures coming out as we battle over the puck and deal out bodychecks to each other that have both of us taking turns falling ass-first onto the ice.

Tuck isn’t above playing mind games when he’s in the zone.

“Noticed you haven’t looked up at the girls in the stands for a while,” he comments, a sly, insinuating tone in his voice as he’s skating in slow, measured arcs just outside the reach of my stick.

My teeth grind together. “Why would I?” I keep my eyes on the puck.

His shoulder pads tilt with a shrug. “Just thought maybe you’d know who that guy up there is.”

My muscles go rigid. “What guy?”

The words come out with more urgency than I’d intended.

“That guy who’s been sitting next to Maddie and talking with her for like ten minutes now. He must be funny. She’s laughing like I’ve never seen her laugh before.”

Immediately, my brow darkens, my fists tighten around my stick, and a bitter taste fills my mouth. I couldn’t stop my eyes from whipping in Maddie’s direction even if I summoned every ounce of self-restraint I have.

And when I do … no one else is there. Just the three girls sitting together, chatting and watching the practice.

By the time I pull my eyes from them, Tuck’s already deked past me, and he’s sending the puck sailing into the open net.

Annoyance swirls through me as Tuck skates past, laughing. “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.”

What secret?That’s what I should say. But who would I be fooling?

Not Tuck. And sure as hell not myself.

19

RHYS

It’s the last week of September, and Cedar Shade is a glorious kaleidoscope of color. Bright orange, russet red, warm earthy browns, and greens of every shade fill the branches that line the streets.

Here there’s a tree whose leaves are all one tone, making a stunning pop of eye-catching color; here there’s a tree whose leaves are a mellow mixture of colors, creating a soothing autumnal collage.

This is my favorite time of the year. The first game of the season is just a week away, anticipation at its height right as the air starts to chill, the smells of autumn starts to hang heavy and sweet in the air, and the trees turn into a natural art exhibit.

I’m out taking a walk, just marinating in the atmosphere of this time of year that I associate with so many memories and feelings.

Growing up, I’d always be a ball of anticipation right before hockey season started, and it’s something I haven’t totally outgrown. Hopefully, I never will.

The air is crisp enough for me to have on one of my favorite thick flannel shirts, which I’m wearing unbuttoned over a white t-shirt. But a chill isn’t the only thing in the air.

Today, there’s a bittersweetness laced through my reminiscing as I stroll toward the outskirts of town.

This is my last college season.

The last time I’ll be playing with the guys who’ve become like a second family to me since I came here. Sure, maybe some of us will end up on the same team at one point once we’re in the pros, but it’s a long shot. No matter how you slice it, it’s the end of an era.

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