Page 22 of Arrogant Puck

He tosses the clipboard onto the desk with a little too much force.

“But he’s good,” Riley mutters. “That’s the thing. He’s so fucking good at playing. I care about him, you know? Want him to get better before it can get worse. It’s a tough love thing, I think.”

I wait, quiet. He’s not talking to me anymore—just letting it leak out.

“I’ve watched a hundred guys flame out after injuries. Come back too fast, try to hide shit. Slater hides everything. But you can see it. The way he favors his right hip, the extra stretch before he shoots. He’s not right.”

“So, bench him,” I say, before I can stop myself.

He huffs a dry laugh. “You don’t bench Slater Castellano unless he’s dragging a broken leg behind him. And even then, he’d just fight you for the ice.”

I don’t know what to say to that, so I don’t say anything.

Riley waves me off. “Just do what you can. Keep an eye on him. Let me know if he gets worse.”

I nod and leave, but his words echo behind me,he’s not right.

By the time I get home, I’m bone tired. My skin smells like sweat and disinfectant and effort, and all I want is to microwave leftovers and scroll mindlessly on my phone until I fall asleep.

But the second I open the door, I know something’s off.

There’s music—something slow and breathy, coming from the living room.

I step inside, and—

“Oh my god.”

Emma is on the couch. Naked. So is the girl straddling her.

There’s a limb situation I can’t decipher, and I don’t want to.

Emma looks up mid-moan and grins. “Hey, Sage.”

I spin around so fast I nearly drop my bag. “Nope. Nope nope—”

“Sorry!” she calls after me, not sounding sorry at all.

I bolt down the hall to my room, shielding my eyes like I’ve walked in on a horror movie instead of very consensual porn.

Once I’m inside my bedroom, I shut the door and breathe, unpacking my day.

I’m not shocked. Emma never pretended to be shy. But still.The couch.

The way she just looked at me sends anxiety ripping through me.

Maybe I need to find a new place to live.

Chapter 8

I hate leg day.

Not because it’s hard. Because it doesn’t let me lie to myself.

The burn starts in my right hip halfway through the second set. A low pull at first, then sharp as the weight shifts.

I add another ten pounds anyway. Sink deeper into the squat. Grind through it even when the joint protests.

Pain’s the only thing I can trust right now.

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