Page 36 of Pucked Up

I shrugged, uncomfortable with what might have been praise. "Just needed to move."

He nodded like he understood completely. "Mind company?"

I glanced at him, then at the second axe leaning against the shed—unused since I'd arrived at the cabin. It had belonged to the previous owner, the handle worn smooth from years of use. "There's another axe if you want to try again."

Noah retrieved it without hesitation, testing its weight with a practiced grip that hadn't existed days before. He'd learned quickly, his athletic intelligence transferring seamlessly to this new skill.

We worked side by side, establishing a rhythm almost immediately. I positioned a log on the chopping block, split it with a clean stroke, and then stepped back as Noah moved in to gather and stack the pieces. Our exchange was wordless and efficient like we'd choreographed it beforehand.

After twenty minutes, Noah took his place at the block. I watched him settle into the stance I'd taught him—feet planted shoulder-width apart, back straight, grip relaxed but firm on the axe handle. He raised the tool, muscles tensing beneath his jacket, and brought it down in a fluid arc.

The log split with a satisfying crack. Noah looked up, and a flicker of pride crossed his features before he tamped it down.

"Not bad for a rookie."

"Had a good teacher."

I paused for a sip of water. "A city boy like you. I wouldn't have figured you'd take to this."

"City boy like you," I said during a brief pause for water, "wouldn't have figured you'd take to this."

Noah wiped his mouth with the back of his gloved hand. "I can adapt."

"So I see."

I positioned another log on the block, but as I raised the axe, a vicious spasm tore through my shoulder. The pain was sudden and blinding, radiating down my arm and across my back. I couldn't hide the grimace that twisted my features or the sharp intake of breath that hissed between my teeth.

Noah was beside me instantly, not hovering but present. "Shoulder?"

I nodded once, tight-lipped. "Old news. It'll pass."

He didn't offer useless platitudes or insist I stop. Instead, he stepped to the block and picked up where I'd left off, his movements now precisely calibrated to minimize strain—the stance slightly wider, the grip higher on the handle, letting the axe's weight do most of the work.

When he glanced back, I saw no pity in his eyes. "Anderson was like that," he said casually, naming a veteran defenseman we'd both played with. "Left shoulder, right? Separated it three seasons ago against Boston."

I watched him work, appreciating how he directed the conversation away from my immediate discomfort. "Four. And it was Detroit."

Noah grinned briefly. "Right. Big hit on Stahlberg into the boards."

"You were still in juniors."

"Watched every game." He brought the axe down in a perfect arc, the log splitting cleanly. "Same shoulder's been bothering you since before the suspension."

It wasn't a question. He'd been watching me long before I drove him into the boards—studying, learning, seeing things others missed.

I flexed my fingers, willing circulation back into the numbing extremities. "Comes with the job."

Noah nodded, positioning another log. "My mom used to say pain is only the body's way of taking attendance."

The unexpected humor set loose a laugh I couldn't stop. "Smart woman."

"She had to be." He paused, axe resting on his shoulder. "My dad wasn't exactly a model of restraint."

The casual admission hung in the air between us. I accepted it with a nod, respecting the boundaries of his disclosure.

After several more minutes, the pain in my shoulder receded to a manageable throb. I stepped back to the block, testing my range of motion. Noah moved aside without comment, falling into place beside me rather than retreating entirely.

We worked together for another hour, establishing a new rhythm—one that accommodated my limitations without dwelling on them. When my swing faltered, Noah stepped in. When his technique slipped, I corrected it with a quiet word or simple gesture. The pile of split wood grew steadily.

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