Page 44 of Hidden Goal

Silas shakes his fist, with a whispered,‘Let’s go’.

“Pipe down. I was distracted.”

“You seem to bedistractedquite a bit lately, Kingy boy,” Maverick says.

I toss the PlayStation controller onto the coffee table, falling back onto the couch with my hands crossed behind my head.

“Meaning?” I look from Maverick, sitting on a stool in the kitchen with raised brows—blowing into his coffee cup, to Silas who is pretending to be focused on the game that no one is playing. “What the fuck?”

“It’s not a big deal, buddy. You’re just a little off your game lately,” Maverick says.

“My game has truly never been better.”

“I’m not talking about your game on the ice.”

“If you miss me, just say that.” I deflect with a grin.

“The only thing I miss is catching glimpses of the asses that leave here in the morning.” He throws a strawberry up in the air and catches it in his mouth, grinning at me.

He’s trying to bait me like he did last week but it’s not going to work today. He hasn’t seen anyone leave my room since I met Savannah and it turns out those things are mutually exclusive. I haven't wanted to see anyone else except the girl that didn’t want to give me the time of day. She’s at least admitted we’re friends now, and I find myself wondering when she’ll agree to more. This whole thing is a foreign experience for me. I’ve never been opposed to a relationship, but I’ve also never sought one out. The truth is, no one has ever caught my attention enough to consider it.

Until now.

Snippets of yesterday start drifting through my mind, andI squeeze my eyes shut, running an aggravated hand through my hair when I think about how close I was to fucking everything up. A shitty practice with my dad is nothing new, but my reaction to it—and the way I let it linger—certainly was. A few extra practices shouldn’t be affecting me the way they’ve started too, and it’s not like I can’t use classes as an excuse with my dad either, unless I want to get the world's longest lecture on how, if I were better, classes wouldn’t matter because I would have been signed right away.

I try not to think about it and instead focus on the fact that, by some miracle, I was able to fix things with Savannah by the end. It’s not lost on me that the time I get to spend with her, whether quietly in class, or the hours spent talking about everything and sometimes nothing at all, always ends up being the best parts of my day. I’m finding myself desperate for more.

Staying laser focused on the game, even while on the bench, has never been an issue for me.

The helmet is on, the lion is out. But tonight, every time the captain of Hartland skates by, my mind starts reeling. I’ve heard about this kid. Leo Alvarez has been the top prospect for this year's draft. Rightfully so. Hartland is a solid team, but their captain is in a league of his own. Unfortunately for me, it’s the letters across the back of his jersey that continue to keep me distracted tonight. I shake my head. Savannah’s not even here and she’s still occupying my every thought.

The Alvarez kid scores another goal, taking us into overtime, but since we're not in the playoffs yet, after one five-minute period we end in a tie game.

“How ya feeling, Kingston?” Coach Owens asks, patting me on the shoulder as I pass her on the way to the locker room. Sage Owens has been the team's athletic trainer since my freshman year. She’s tough, knowledgeable, and wellrespected. She’s not only the youngest coach, but she’s also the first female head strength and conditioning coach in the NCAA.

I rub at my neck while rolling my head side to side. “Just the usual amount of soreness,” I lie.

Her eyebrows furrow with suspicion, so I add, “I think I slept wrong last night. I got a new pillow and I don’t think it’s quite broken in yet.” That must not be a thing because her face doesn’t let up.

“Recovery tomorrow.” She points a finger at me, and I know she means business because her rural accent gets thicker depending on her level of seriousness.

I give her a two-finger salute and a sarcastic “Aye aye, Captain.”

“Scoundrel,” she murmurs with an eye roll before heading back down the hall.

Half the guys are already out of their gear. I hear Parker say something aboutRowdy’s,but it’s Maverick who catches my attention.

“No way. I asked Alvarez,” he says.

“Coach?” Silas asks.

“Nah, the kid.”

Silas nods his head. I toss my jersey in the laundry before sitting on the bench beside Mav.

“What do you think the deal is there? Coincidence?” I ask.

“I don’t know, I didn’t ask about his family tree.” He shrugs. “I just asked which teams he’s been talking to, and he said there hasn’t been a game this whole season that a scout hasn’t been at specifically for him.”

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