Page 38 of Puck Lust

It’s no different than it has been for my entire hockey career.

People always want something from me. They don’t need to be bothered with anything beyond what I can bring to the game.

What a fucking moron I am, thinking that maybe Carter might actually give a shit about me beyond my ability to play hockey. All of that “getting to know you” crap last night was just him manipulating me into thinking he gave a damn when really, all he cares about is keeping his own ass from being cut.

Him trying to get me to open up and me, being the needy asshole I am, allowing it to happen.

I haven’t learned a goddamn thing.

He’s not worth the risk at all.

I push away from the wall and stalk down the hall toward our room.

A pang assaults my heart and the nagging-as-fuck voice in the back of my mind rings out.

It’s not because you haven’t learned from the past. It’s because you want something different for your future.

I snort at the voice because, really?

How the fuck could that ever happen?

People always have an angle.

And that lack of trust in others is what ultimately drove me and Sam apart. I was afraid to let him in, instead craving the limelight because it was safer. Superficial. Helped keep my mask in place.

Sam wanted more.

I wanted more, too.

I just didn’t know how to make myself open to it.

Still don’t.

My heels dig into the carpet in the hallway as I make my way back to our room. I press the keycard against the lock and the door clicks. I kick the door open wide and step inside, my eyes landing on a white envelope under my sneaker.

It’s probably a receipt for the hotel room charges or whatever since we’re checking out soon.

I bend down to pick it up, narrowing my eyes as I open it and pull out the piece of paper folded inside.

A chill slides down my back and I suck in air when I read the typewritten words.

Nota fucking list of room charges.

“We warned you, superstar. You better strap in because we’re just getting started.”

FOURTEEN

carter

I don’t knowhow long I stand against the door in the stairwell.

Or why I chose right now as the time to unleash all of my fucking feelings of inadequacy on Jack when he was just attacked by those bigoted assholes.

But the lingering tingles in my fingertips scream that I’m a liar.

Because I know exactly why I did it.

Why I followed him in here a few minutes ago.

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