Page 5 of Puck Lust

TWO

carter

My pulse throbshard against my throat as our icy glares tangle in the darkened silence of the corridor.

I shouldn’t be here right now. I should’ve gone straight to the locker room.

But the press assault on Jack Larson grabbed my attention and yeah, I wanted to see the asshole squirming in the hot seat. He fucking deserved to be knocked off his throne, walking around here like his hockey stick is a goddamn triton. He’s not the only one on this team with what it takes to be a winner, not the only one who got paid a shit ton to relocate out here.

So I followed him.

Cornered him after the press lashed out.

And fuck me, memories of that night years ago hit me like a brick to the chest.

Anger rumbles deep inside, knotting in my gut, ready to erupt. My lips twist into a snarl, my breaths shallow as Jack’s arrogant expression darkens.

That kiss we shared…shit, it scared the hell out of me.

And yeah, I may have reacted badly, but he had no idea why.

He didn’t give me a chance to apologize or explain before he cut out my heart and exposed my deepest fears.

I fucking hate him for that.

“You should have kept your showboating shit in New York,” I say. I grind my teeth together as unwarranted, fiery rage shoots into my limbs. Years of pent-up anger course through me.

I went to him that night because he was upset. We were close, or so I thought. And I knew he needed a friend.

Shame on me for thinking he had the capacity to give a shit about anyone but himself.

Something about Jack intrigued me from the second I saw him. I studied him, his shooting style, the way he moved on the ice, his workout regimen, everything. I wanted to be just like him, to shine like he did. The other guys on our junior hockey team kept their distance because he was aloof and quiet. They assumed he just had a superiority complex. But I couldn’t stay away. His aura, his confidence, his swagger—it all pulled me in. And we became friends. Close friends.

He never really opened up about his past, though. Only about what he wanted for the future. We spent a lot of time talking about how we’d play in the NHL together someday.

Jack pretty much kept to himself when we weren’t together. Only one guy on the team knew of Jack because he lived in a neighboring town. Kyle Donovan, one of the biggest, entitled pricks I’ve ever met. He joined the team midway through the season and being jealous as hell of Jack, was determined to outshine him no matter what.

So when Coach Dalton announced that Jack was drafted by the AHL San Mateo Condors, Kyle lost it because he wanted that spot. On the last night of junior hockey camp, he spewed some shit about Jack’s deadbeat dad and broken family, just totear him down. Jack went nuts. Beat the shit out of Kyle, and then took off.

I went after him.

I had no fucking idea what would happen next.

And him kissing me wasn’t even close to the true cause of my shock.

I wrap my gloved fingers tight around my hockey stick. “Actually, you should have just stayed in New York with the rest of the league’s assholes. Nobody wants you out here.”

I swallow hard, pent-up ire bubbling up to choke me.

He left me drowning that night.

And ever since I heard we were both drafted to Oakland, all that anger and pain completely consumed me again. Just like it is right now.

Jack’s green eyes flash with the cockiness that only comes with having a Stanley Cup championship at the top of a long resume of athletic achievements dating back to junior hockey days.

My back stiffens.

It was always easier to hate him than to process what happened between us.

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