Page 17 of Pucked Up

He scoffed. It was a sharp, ugly sound. He brushed past me, shoulder nearly clipping mine, his heat a sudden, jarring contrast to the chill at my back.

"Ancient history," he muttered, crouching before the fireplace. He jabbed at the embers with an iron poker, sending sparks skittering across the blackened brick.

I followed, my sock feet silent on the worn planks. I stood close enough that my shadow fell across his hunched form. "I remember it in slow motion. Like film. Not the pain. It's that second before." I swallowed. "Your eyes. You looked right at me, Micah. And you hit me anyway."

The poker stopped. His knuckles whitened around the metal. For three heartbeats, he didn't move or breathe—just stared into the flames.

"So what?" His voice was rough at the edges. "I've hit a hundred guys who deserved it less."

"But you never looked at them first. Not like that."

A log shifted, collapsing into a nest of orange coals. In the sudden flare of light, I gazed at the muscle twitching in his jaw.

Micah rose from his crouch. "You're acting like it meant something."

"It did."

I stepped closer, hands hanging loose at my sides. The fire's heat pushed against my front while the window's chill clung to my back.

"You saw something in me. And you hit it." My voice dropped lower. "You chose to hit it."

Micah recoiled like I'd swung at him. He took two quick steps backward, his shoulders squaring and his jaw tight. His eyes—reflecting almost a midnight blue in the firelit room—flicked from my face to the door, calculating escape routes.

"Jesus, Langley." He raked fingers through his hair, silver threading the dark strands at his temples. "You're twisted."

I didn't flinch. Something was unraveling between us, thread by thread, and I wasn't about to cut it short. The fire popped and hissed, embers landing on the stone hearth. Outside, the wind picked up, moaning through the eaves like something wounded.

"I've played against a hundred guys who hit out of instinct. Reflex." I took another step, closing the space between us. I watched his eyes track the movement. "Not you. You made a decision."

"Yeah, a bad one that cost me my career."

"That's not what I mean."

Micah laughed bitterly. "Then what the hell do you mean? From where I'm standing, you drove eight hours through endless pine trees to tell me I fucked up your life. Message received. Now drop it. You leave when the storm settles."

"I drove here to understand why I can't stop thinking about it." It was a new confession. "Why, when I close my eyes at night, I don't see the hit. I only see the second before."

Something shifted in his face—a crack in the armor and a momentary glimpse of the man beneath the enforcer. His mouth opened slightly, then closed. For the first time since I'd arrived, he didn't have a quick response.

"What do you want from me?"

"The truth."

"Fuck. How many times are you going to say that?" The cabin groaned around us, the old beams settling under the accumulating weight of snow. Micah's chest rose and fell with quick, shallow breaths.

He was starting to crack, and I wasn't about to leave. Not until I knew.

"I needed it," I said, the words barely audible over the rising howl of the wind outside. "Not the bruise. Not the fallout. It was that moment before. You saw me, and I needed that."

Micah's brow furrowed. "You're not making sense."

"No one ever looks at me like that." I flexed my fingers, fighting the urge to reach for him. "Not my family. Not my teammates. You saw past the mask and decided to break something open."

A chaotic roar of memories drowned out everything else in my head for a moment. My father's voice—"Stand up straight. Smile. Make them like you"—while my mother pressed ice to the bruises he'd left. I remembered the endless string of performances as Noah Langley, the promising rookie with the right pedigree and the perfect smile.

And finally, Micah barreling toward me on the ice blotted the rest out. He set loose the hunger in me. The rage. The need to feel something real, even if it hurt.

"I spent my whole life being what everyone wanted," I continued, voice steadier. "The right words. The right smile. The right moves on the ice. And then you—" I gestured at him, at the space between us. "You looked at me like you knew. Like you could see right through it all."

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