Page 48 of Rush the Edge

“You ready?” Malaki sits right next to my phone to lace his own skates.

I angrily toss the annoying device into my locker, hopeful that I’ve cracked the screen so I physically can’t respond to the text.

“I’m always ready.”

He eyes me suspiciously, sensing my already angry mood.

I ignore him to grab my stick and black tape. Starting at the heel, I sink into a type of solace no one would understand as I begin wrapping it.

Fifteen times.

I smooth the edges methodically and sink into the quiet.

My nostrils flare whenever something other than the game starts to peer over the mental walls I’ve thrown up, but as soon as they’re in place, I stand and head for the ice. My heart rams against my ribs as I stride through the tunnel. The arena comes into view, and I inhale deeply.

Home.

I find a puck after stepping onto the ice, the crowd clapping in the background.

I block the noise easily, like it’s second nature. I fiddle with the black biscuit until I send it soaring into the net.

A few of my teammates are stretching, while others are skating around, getting familiar with the puck.

Rhodes is near the glass, talking to his daughter—who is admittedly the cutest pain in the ass ever—and her nanny, who I guess is his girlfriend now too.

I learned that the hard way.

It’s fun to piss him off, though, so there are no regrets there.

Malaki skates over to me, and I do my best to ignore him as I bend down to stretch. One leg goes out in front of me and then the other. He follows my moves, and as soon as we make eye contact, he smiles like a fool.

“What?” I snap.

“I like the energy, man.”

I scoff. “What energy?”

He begins stretching against the ice like he’s starring in a pornographic video.

“Stop dry-humping the ice.”

He points his glove at me. “That energy. You’re more testy than usual. We’re going to need it. Have you seen who the line ref is?”

Hopefully not the one I almost put through a wall the other night when I found him salivating over Daisy.

“Who?”

Before he can answer, the crowd starts to make a ruckus.

Minnesota must have taken the ice.

I stand and shake my arms out before cracking my neck.

“What the hell—” Malaki’s dry chuckle snags my attention. “Who is that?” He pauses. “Ohhhhhno.”

Not bothering to turn to see what he’s staring at, I sigh. “What?”

“Uh…” Malaki’s mouth forms a straight line, like he’s trying not to laugh.

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