Page 29 of Pucked Up

I nodded, watching him from the corner of my eye as I pretended to busy myself with something—anything—else. Words formed in my throat and then died before reaching my tongue. I had no script for this. No playbook for what came next.

Noah pulled my shirt—his shirt now, by use if not by ownership—over his head in one fluid motion. He dropped it to the floor without ceremony. He stood smooth and bare-chested in the half-light of morning, all lean muscle and winter-pale skin.

"I should—" I gestured vaguely toward the bathroom, needing escape. I needed distance before I did something irrevocable.

"We should talk about it."

"About what?" I played dumb even though we both knew better.

"About why I'm really here." His expression was open and unguarded. "About why you let me stay. About last night."

My jaw clenched so hard I heard my teeth grind. "Nothing to talk about."

"Bullshit." He took a step forward. "You know why I tracked you down. And it wasn't for some half-assed apology."

"Then what was it for? Revenge? Closure? Some fucked-up therapy session?"

"Understanding." He moved closer still, closing the gap between us inch by deliberate inch. "I needed to know if what I saw was real."

My heart hammered against my ribs. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes, you do." Another step. Close enough now that I saw the flecks of darker gray in his irises. "You saw something in me. Something no one else has."

I didn't push him away. Instead, I froze in place, discarding the idea of flight.

"You taught me how to split wood today. Are you going to teach me what to do when it burns?"

My hand reached out of its own accord, reaching up to trace the faint scar that curved along his jaw—my handiwork, evidence of the collision that had brought us here. His skin was warm beneath my fingertips. Alive. He didn't flinch from my touch.

"I'm not your teacher, and this isn't a lesson anyone should learn."

"Too late for that."

We stood at the precipice of something neither of us fully understood but both recognized. It was something that could destroy us both.

Or save us.

I dropped my hand. Stepped back. Put distance between us before the gravity of want pulled me under completely.

"Go take your shower." I forced my voice to be calm. "We've got work to do after."

He studied me for a long moment, eyes searching mine for something I wasn't sure I could give. He nodded once and turned toward the bathroom.

"Micah." He paused at the threshold. "Wood doesn't have to burn to be useful. Sometimes, it only needs to be shaped into something new."

The door closed behind him. The sound of water hitting tile followed moments later.

I stood alone in the middle of the room, sweat cooling on my skin, heart still racing. The power was back, and the heat was on, but the storm hadn't passed. It had only just begun.

Chapter ten

Noah

The sound came first—steel cutting ice, echoing through my skull like a bone saw. Each precise stroke counted down toward the collision. My body remembered what was coming before my mind did.

The hollow, vacant rink stretched around me, cavernous and wrong. There was no crowd noise and no teammates on the ice. It was just the two of us in the artificial cold.

I tried to turn and skate away, but my legs betrayed me. Bolted to the ice, my skates fused with the rink. My arms hung leaden at my sides, gear suddenly ten times its normal weight.

---