Page 19 of Well That Happened

I grip my stick harder, breathe once, then push off again.

We finish the drill. Caleb fumbles the puck on a drop pass. Grayson’s off by a stride. It’s not just me—we’re all unfocused. The whole team feels loose, sloppy. Like our brains are somewhere else.

Or onsomeoneelse.

The second I think it, I grit my teeth.

Rilee.

Of course, it’s her.

It’s the pink scrunchie on the bathroom counter. The cereal that somehow tastes better when it’s in her bowl. The way Caleb’s been smiling more. The way Grayson’s suddenly in the kitchen more. On the couch. In the living room when she walks through, like her footsteps pulled him there without asking.

And the worst part? Igetit.

I see her, too.

Every curve, every eye roll, every goddamn fitted T-shirt she wears like it’s nothing.

It’s not nothing.

It’s a distraction I can’t afford.

Coach blows the whistle. “That’s enough. Hit the showers. Maddox—stay.”

Of course.

The guys skate off, muttering, towels already slung around their necks. I pull off my gloves, breathing hard, heart still in my throat.

Coach waits. Lets the silence stretch.

“You good?” he finally asks.

I nod. “Fine.”

“You sure? Because you look like you’ve been skating through concrete the last two weeks.”

“I’m working on it.”

“You’re the leader,” he says. “You don’t get the luxury of distraction.”

I nod again. Jaw tight. Eyes forward.

“There’s a scout from Tampa coming to the game this weekend. You ready for that?”

I want to say yes.

I want to sayI’ve been ready my whole life.

But I don’t. I just say, “I will be.”

He studies me. Then nods once. “Get your head on straight, Maddox. Fast.”

I hit the showers, steam hissing around me, and try not to think about anything except what’s next. The game. The season—my final one at Michigan before my future’s decided. The weight of everything I’ve worked for.

But somewhere between shampoo and rinse, my brain betrays me.

I see Rilee.

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