Page 15 of Arrogant Puck

I don’t answer.

Lexi’s fine. She gets it. But I’m not in the mood.

I open Instagram. Scroll. Close it again.

The silence stretches long, and I let it. I don’t need noise to distract me. I already know what’s underneath the quiet.

Around eleven, I hit the gym in the garage. I throw on a hoodie, blast music, and lift until the edges blur. I like the ache. Like the routine.

After, I collapse on the bench and stretch my hip. It’s fucking killing me lately. I don’t know what the flare up is about, but I’m getting sick of this shit. Coach is yanking my ear to get evaluated, but I won’t bother.

I’ll play through it.

It’s past midnight when I finally settle in bed. I stare at the ceiling fan and count the spins.

I don’t sleep well knowing my brother is gone, and I’m the one here.

It should have been me.

I’ll sleep when I’m dead.

The next day, I’m at the rink by seven.

First in, last out.

Coach hates me, but he respects that part.

I keep my head down until I feel someone behind me—small frame, light step. New girl.

She’s restocking wraps and wipes down a bench before she sets a tray. Neat. Efficient.

She still hasn’t said a word to me, and it looks like she’s kept my secret.

Riley walks past and grunts, “Your stretch. Now.”

I groan, loud enough to make a point.

“I’ll get Carson,” he warns.

“I’ll take the new one,” I say before I think about it.

Riley’s brow furrows. “Sage?”

“Sage,” I say, looking dead at him.

She looks up. Her eyes finally meet mine.

Neutral.

No blush, no flirt, no nerves.

Interesting.

I nod toward the table. “You good with this?”

She nods once. “You cleared for stretch?”

“You asking or reporting?”

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