Page 51 of Puck Lust

He rubs the back of his neck then unzips his bag without answering my question. He’s quiet for a long minute before speaking again. “Do you think I’m any good, Coach?”

I furrow my brows. “Yeah, of course you are. You’re one of the best forwards here. You know that.”

He looks at me, his lips quivering the tiniest bit. “Here, sure. But what about outthere?” He motions to the door with his hand. “Do you think I can really do this?”

“Sure, I do. You work hard, you’ve got talent.” I lean closer. “Where’s this coming from?”

His eyes glaze over. “I just need to get out,” he mutters. “I need to be the best so I can make it to the NHL. It’s the only way?—”

He shuts down then, the tear in his voice makes my breath catch and my heart shudder. “The only way to?”

I can barely get the words out.

Because I know exactly what comes next in that sentence.

It’s the only way I can survive.

Jeremy just looks at me, his lips twisting. “It’s fine. I know it’ll be fine.” His fingers grip his stick.

And it sounds like he’s trying to convince himself as well as me.

I put a hand on his shoulder and he winces. “Jeremy, do you?—?”

“Jack,” Sam calls out.

Fuck.

“Give me your number,” I say.

He looks at me blankly. “Why?”

“Because if something’s bothering you or you need to talk, I don’t want you to have to wait until we see each other here. You can always call me.”

“Okay,” he says. He gives me the number and I type it into my phone, then send him a message.

“Now you’ve got my number. Use it whenever you need it. Never worry about it being too early or late. I’ll always be around.”

“Thanks, Coach. I’m gonna go warm up with the guys,” Jeremy mumbles, pulling his eyes away and heading for the blue line where the other guys are stretching.

I stare after him for a long minute before turning my attention to Sam.

“What’s wrong?” His eyebrows knit together.

I give my head a swift shake. “Nothing. I just…I was talking to Jeremy and I think…” A hiss of air leaves my lips. “I think he’s got some shit going on at home. Some bad shit.”

“Did he say something to you?”

“Nothing specific. It was just a feeling I got.” I rake a hand through my hair, looking back at Jeremy. He warms up a little bit away from the other guys, on the outskirts of the talking and laughing. His face takes on a wistful look and my throat tightens. “Something doesn’t feel right. I don’t like it.”

“You can’t just assume something is going on at home, especially if he didn’t say anything about it.”

But everything around me fades to white noise, my past lancing my brain like poison-tipped knives.

“Are you listening to me, you little prick?”

My father grabs me by the hair and shoves me into the back wall next to the front door to the shit box I call my house.

House, never home.

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