Page 112 of The Puckable Playbook

Ihad a hand in that.

Zaiah knocks his helmet with another teammate’s like they’re toasting with wine glasses. His sweat-soaked hair—still dripping—a testament to how hard he played. He owned that rink with passion, with determination. The sound from the crowd was nearly deafening, and Zaiah certainly played up to the moment.

Coach and I arranged cameras everywhere, not only for Zaiah, but for his teammates, too. Hopefully, this is the start of a better future for Warner hockey. They can use the footage for promo on social media, the Warner athletics site, and of course,it would be nice to have highlight reels to wow the crowd with before games.

Zaiah gets closer, and I walk out of the shadows. A few players block my way, so I sidestep around them. I can barely contain my excitement…

But when the path to him clears, I stop.

Someone else has their arms around Zaiah. Nails painted bright pink. Wearing a myriad of bracelets. No matter how badly I want it to be Iz, it’s not.

My stomach falls. It’s Trish.

Years of memories collide inside me with the force of a Mack truck. I back up against the wall, breathing heavily. She tries to talk to him, but he shakes his head and turns. Soon, he’s swallowed up by his teammates walking into the locker room.

As the tunnel empties out, she places her hands on her hips. Her gaze narrows, lip thinning.

What is she doing here?

I try to make myself walk away, but her presence freezes my feet to the cement as scene after scene of what I thought was our friendship plays out inside my head. What a farce. It turned out to be a master class in manipulation. Stringing me along like she did Zaiah. I’ve long suspected I meant nothing to her, only there for her amusement.

She turns, and my stomach clenches when she meets my gaze. I’m like a deer in the headlights. Fear ripples through me, but I force myself to stand up straighter.

You are stronger now.

You’re wise to her games.

You know who she really is.

She strides toward me and despite all my positive self-talk, I want to throw up.

“Wow. Never thought I’d see you at a hockey game. Never thought you’d write about one either.”

“I guess that’s a hello?”

She smirks. “You’re right. Hello, old friend.” She looks me over. “You look…good.”

It’s that. The little hesitation that says everything about her. I used to make excuses for it, but now I know it’s a way of elevating herself. The way I used to lie to myself and say she did it because she didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings. I was caught up in her web, and she was the master spinner.

Instead of shrinking down like I would have and asking for advice, I smile. “Thanks, I know.”

Her brows rise almost imperceptibly, but you don’t live with someone for years and not pick up cues. Sticking up for yourself only eggs her on, but I’m not the meek little friend anymore.

“So, I was in your apartment—”

“What the hell, Trish?”

She shrugs. “I figured you’d weasel your way into Knightley this year and told the front desk I’d forgotten something in our room. They gave me a key. I had to see it for myself, and I have to tell you, I didn’t see you as the dating-my-leftovers type. Then I thought about it some more and wondered why I thought that way at all. All of that stuff you said to me before—about Zaiah—and what you really wanted was him to yourself. Kudos. Well played.”

“I’m not playing a game. Only sad people like you play games.”

A flash of something pings in her gaze. It’s not that the truth hit her, Trish is more complex than that. Or maybe it’s the other way around. Maybe she’s simpler. She operates on her wants, kind of like a toddler. Superficial. Spoiled.

“I’m sure Zaiah will be interested to hear how you orchestrated all of this.”

I laugh, and she tilts her head in confusion which amps me up. “Trust me, Zaiah’s aware, and from what I saw whenyou desperately threw yourself at him, he wasn’t having it. So, please, tell away. I’m more than interested to see him put you in your place for cheating on him. Or are you delusional enough to attempt to pull off the lie that I also orchestrated that? Did I put that other guy’s dick inside you? I’m curious. Is that the lie you’re going with?”

Her face turns red, and I imagine her simmering like a pan of water about to boil.

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