Page 42 of Puck Lust

There’s still an hour or so before game time, and the guys are going to warm up before taking the ice.

But not Jack.

He likes to take it all in before each game. I remember watching him back in junior hockey before we were friends, how I tried to understand his process, yearning to be as good as he was and desperate enough to imitate him.

Turns out, pregame visualization is really effective.

Security swarms the entrance but they let me through with a silent nod. I find Jack hunched over on one of the benches, his hands on either side of his face, just staring at the ice.

I drop next to him but he doesn’t acknowledge me.

“You doing okay?” I ask in a low voice.

It’s a long minute before he turns to look at me. And for the first time in as long as I’ve known him, the cocky spark in his gaze has been replaced with something else.

Alarm.

And that just about shocks the hell out of me since I’ve never known Jack Larson to exude anything but confidence and swagger.

I once saw the slightest hint of vulnerability the night he kissed me. And since it disappeared almost as fast as it came, I might’ve even made it up in my head.

But I’ve never known him to be rattled.

Not ever.

And there’s no mistaking what pools in his gaze right now.

“Why won’t you just leave me the fuck alone?” he finally says in a voice that makes my heart dip low in my chest.

I sweep a hand through my hair and lean forward. A lump lodges in my throat. “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. You can turn your back and walk away. No matter what you think you know about me, you’re wrong. About all of it.” His jaw twitches as he pulls his gaze away from mine. “I’m not looking for a friend.”

“Neither am I,” I say, my heart wobbling in my chest.

He shakes his head, a dry laugh slipping from his lips. “Why can’t you just walk away, VK?”

“You just went through something traumatic. I want to make sure?—”

“Lemme tell you something. You have no idea what trauma is, okay?” He springs off the bench and thumbs the air. “You think that bullshit was traumatic?” he scoffs. “Jesus, you really are fucking sheltered.”

He leans down, his face inches from mine. “I don’t need to be saved. So take your white knight crap and use it on someone who does.”

I rise on shaky legs, my pulse having a fist fight with my throat.

“I know you don’t mean that.”

“The fuck I don’t.” He glowers at me but doesn’t make a move to leave. “So why are you still here?”

I swallow hard, blood rushing between my ears, muffling the sound of my voice.

Close your damn mouth, Carter.

Walk the fuck away, Carter!

Get out before any more damage is done.

He was gone before you got the chance to tell him the first time.

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