Page 6 of Power Shift

Too frustrated, I don’t say another word about it. Not in the garage or the SUV or on the drive home. And once we step inside the pack house, I’m beelining it into the gym, claiming the treadmill for the fifth night in a row.

The yearning in my chest is impossible to stifle, but at least when my lungs are on fire, I don’t feel it as badly. For now . . . that will have to be enough.

3

DASH

Another puck sailsinto my pads before I shake myself out of the net and pass it off to the ref. My pixelated team celebrates on the flat screen in front of me with slaps to the back of my player’s helmet as the commentators praise the easy save.

My palms sweat around the controller. I grip it tighter, leaning forward on the couch. I’ve been playing this game for hours while the rest of the pack does their own thing. It’s the norm for us as of late.

I pass my thumbs over the controller and signal to the refs that I’m ready to continue. The other players on my team are made up of random online users like me. Some are good, but the majority of them aren’t ready for the level I like to play on. I’m not sure if that’s more embarrassing for them for still trying or for me because I’ve spent so much time getting this good.

My mom loves to say that I play video games so often she’s shocked my brain hasn’t leaked out of my ears. Somehow, she’s still the most loving beta out there. Her sass is a love language that I’ve become a pro at distinguishing from real annoyance.

“I could have called for a review on that save,” one of the opposing members says, his voice a nasally drawl in my ears leaking from my headset.

I have no idea who he is behind the username he chose, but he sounds like a sore loser.

“Why didn’t you, then?” I ask, tracking the tiny puck on the screen as it moves between players.

“Not worth it.”

I huff a laugh. “Yeah, okay.”

“You got something to say?” he snips, sending his player plowing in my direction.

He can’t see my smirk, but I make sure he can hear it in my voice. “Nah. Not worth it.”

In the span of half a second, he’s got his player winding back for a slap shot in front of my net. His breathing grows in volume, so loud I can hear it clearly through my clunky over-ears as I track the movements of his player.

I’m ready when he lets the puck fly. One jab of my finger on the controller has it in my goalie’s glove.

“Fuck off, man!”

“There’s no shame in turning on aim assist,” I coo, stretching my legs out in front of me.

The couch in my bedroom is extreme and big enough for the entire pack to sit on, which they never do. I’d hoped that by having the space, I’d be able to convince them all to take a night off and hang out, but nights like that have been far and few between, especially recently.

If we’re not all at practice, Landon is at the rink putting in extra time, and Ronan’s in the gym working himself to death. Jasper likes to pretend he’s not as affected by our withering pack relationship by spending his spare time pruning the massive green bush he keeps in his room. I’m pretty sure it’s notsupposed to be an inside plant, but I’m not going to be the one who tells him that.

“Aim assist is for pussies!” the guy hisses.

“Has anyone ever told you that using pussy in a derogatory way is incredibly sexist?”

“Oh, fuck all the way off.”

“Therapy is always an option, sweetie. Losing in a video game shouldn’t affect you so deeply.”

“Coming from the guy that probably lives in his mom’s basement.”

“Not even close.”

“Whatever! I’m blocking you. You’re not good enough to play with me.”

“See ya, Breadlover69,” I sing.

With a roll of my eyes, I cross my ankles before exiting out of the game and pulling my headphones to drape around my neck. It’s too easy to get a rise out of some people, especially guys like that.

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