Page 44 of Puck Lust

But fuck that.

I tighten my grip around my stick and skate back to the line.

I’ll never give anyone that power over me again.

“Larson, VK,” Enver points to us. “I want to see some two-on-one action. Just like those drills we did. I wanna see you take control of that puck. Work together. The rest of you make sure they’re protected.”

I swallow hard and sneak a look at Carter, something I’ve tried hard to avoid since I walked away from him before the game. He gives me a little nod and we take our positions. We work the puck up the ice and Carter shoots it to me, but my stick clips the side of the puck instead of hitting it straight on.

Mike Hayes, one of the Iron Hawks defensemen, skates by, a cocky smirk on his face. “What’s the matter, Larson? Not used to all the boos? Is the Ice King finally melting down?”

My jaw tightens, a rush of ire flooding my body. I skate up close to Hayes, my vision colored with a deep red haze.

Carter skates over and wedges himself between us. “Come on, let’s get back to the game.”

He nudges me away from Hayes, who is still chuckling.

“Fucking asshole,” I mutter, glaring at him over my shoulder.

“Hey,” Carter says to me as he pushes me toward the line. “Don’t let him get in your head. We’ve got this, okay? You’re not alone out here. Remember, it takes all of us. We wintogether.”

I shake off his hand. Ironic that Carter’s telling me not tolet Hayes get in my head since he’s the one who’s taken residence there ever since he spoke those words before the game.

Words I wanted to hear for so long, words that make me think there might be more to his actions than just a desire for friendship.

Words I just can’t trust because I’m afraid there won’t be anything behind them other than what I’ve built up in my mind.

I want so badly to believe there was intention loaded into every touch, every look.

But I know I’m just setting myself up for disappointment, just like I did years ago.

He will never be what I need.

And I can never have what I really want.

For a brief second, our gazes tangle, a rush of heat charging my insides. My breath hitches, the intensity in his expression all-consuming, and I lose myself in the deep blue pools of his eyes, wondering, questioning.

Is it really only in my mind? Because, Jesus, it feels so real.

Carter slaps my helmet when the buzzer sounds, jerking me from my thoughts. “We’ve got this.”

I adjust my helmet and square my shoulders as I skate to the line. There are only seconds left and the game is tied. If I hadn’t shit the bed over the past few minutes, we’d be ahead, but thinking about that isn’t going to help us claw our way to victory.

This is it.

And here we fucking go.

The crowd goes wild when Carter intercepts a pass and starts a rush. He turns slightly, sees me in position, and grins, shooting the puck in my direction without a second’s hesitation.

I take the puck and drive forward, my thighs burning, heart swelling in my chest.

When I near the net, I fake the shot, drawing out their goalie. Then I shift to my backhand and the puck sails right past him, hitting the back of the net.

The arena erupts as the final buzzer sounds. The guys rush me, the whole mess of us slamming into the boards, our sticks held high in victory as we yell and cheer.

Carter skates over, smiling so wide, his eyes crinkle in the corners. “Nice shot, Larson.”

“Thanks.”