Page 37 of Puck Lust

I want him to tell me I’m not making any of this up in my head, that it was never just a stupid, one-sided teenaged fantasy, that he felt all of the same things I did that night when we kissed, that it wasn’t a huge fucking mistake.

But he doesn’t say any of that.

He doesn’t say anything.

And with each passing second, my heart sinks deeper and deeper like it’s weighted down by cement blocks.

Dealing with that whole mob scene in the lobby doesn’t even come close to causing the kind of ache in my chest thatonly Carter can soothe. And I hate admitting that because it opens me up to things I can’t control.

For my entire life, I’ve kept people out to protect myself against anything that can hurt me. I’ve felt unimaginable pain caused by the two people who were supposed to love me most, how the hell can any random person possibly bring me happiness?

And I ended up hurting Sam because I held him off, too. Probably the best, most honest person I know, and I still couldn’t trust him one hundred percent.

I have zero reason to trust Carter. Christ knows, he can’t stand me, and rightfully so. I was a total dick to him years ago after he rejected me, said a lot of things I know I’d never want to forgive if it was me on the receiving end.

He’s obviously trying to make the best of our shitty situation by breaking down my walls. But all those old feelings were dredged up the second he cornered me after that first game against New York. I can’t explain why he still has this effect on me, why the connection between us is so intense that it makes the line between lust and hate fizzle the fuck out. Being stuck with him like this has been nothing short of torture for me and it’s only been one night.

How the hell am I going to survive an entire season of this? I can barely look the guy in the eye because if I do, he’ll see my truth clear as day. And it scares the shit out of me to even think these things, much less make them real by putting the words out there.

“I need this win. Not all of us have the ability to skate through life without any black marks against us. Win, lose, you always come out on top,” he finally says, his voice tight, eyes dropping to my hand on his chest.

The tingles that attack my fingertips shoot straight up myarm.

There’s no way he doesn’t feel this, doesn’t feelanyof this.

Swallowing hard, I stare at him, the voices in my head getting louder.

If he does feel it, then where the hell does that leave me?

Open to more pain?

Because if I couldn’t give myself to Sam after he gave everything to me, then who the hell else would be worthy of that risk?

Swallowing hard, I ball the fingers of my free hand into a tight fist, the hairs on the back of my neck prickling, the flickers of desire igniting into full-on rage. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

He pushes my hand away. “You know exactly what I’m saying. You’re one of the lucky ones who never has to worry about his career getting tarnished. Your talent makes you invaluable, don’t you get that?”

“Nobody is invaluable.” My jaw twitches. “Don’t tell me you’re really naïve enough to believe that.”

“You’ve always gotten away with shit because people know you’re a star. Not all of us have that luck.” He pauses, the brief silence deafening me. “I made it to the NHL by the skin of my damn teeth and had to claw my way to this team. And I’ll do anything to stay, work as hard as I can to keep my spot. But you…you never had to work. It always came so easy to you. And then you left. You left me. The team. You got out, scored the biggest win when you made it to the AHL.”

“You think leaving was all about an opportunity,” I grunt with a shake of my head. “You have no idea what I was runningfrom.”

I close the space between us, our breaths intermingling in the chilly air. “I had my own shit to deal with, things you can’t even possibly begin to understand. Things I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.” My palms sweat, dark memories long buriedexploding in my brain. Sweat beads pop up on my skin despite the cool air blowing through the stairwell.

I don’t want to think about this. I can’t think about this. Not now. Not fucking ever.

My heart thrashes. I wipe my damp hands down the front of my bare legs.

“If you needed help, you could have asked. We were friends.” His eyes narrow. “Except you didn’t. You took care of yourself and left me behind.”

“That’s what you think,” I rasp, tugging at my hair. “I left because I had no choice other than take care of myself because nobody was gonna do it for me.”

With one final glare, I edge past him and climb the last flight of stairs before slamming through the door leading to our floor. The heavy metal door crashes closed behind me, the shuddering sound scrambling my brain for a few seconds.

I scrub a hand down the front of my face, chest heaving as I lean back against the door.

I see how it is.

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