Page 27 of Captured Love

Beck sits opposite me, glaring from his own penalty box. His laughter from earlier has twisted into a glare. The game might be ending shortly, but I know this fight isn’t over. Not by a long shot.

The final whistle blows, and we hold on for the win. My team pours onto the ice in celebration, their sticks raised high as the crowd erupts into cheers. I step out of the box slowly, dragging my stick along the boards, the sound of it faint against the noise of the arena. My shoulder throbs with each slide, but I refuse to not celebrate this.

Beck doesn’t move immediately, staying in his box for a beat longer. His glare burns into my back as I finally turn away, leaving everything behind on the ice.

“Good game, boys!” I hear Coach yell and his eyes stare at me for a moment as if to say that we’ll need to have another talk later.

That’s fine. I’m willing to deal with it when the time comes.

As I make my way through the tunnel, the ache in my shoulder grows, but I push forward. I pause for a moment near the locker room, leaning against the wall to catch my breath. The physical pain is manageable, but the emotional turmoil feels insurmountable. I press a hand to my shoulder, testing the range of motion, and wince at the sharp jolt it sends through me. I shake my head, trying to focus, but thoughts about fighting Beck out back and fighting for Selene’s attention are all that’s up there.

I push off the wall and continue walking with a bigger sense of determination. With every step, I try to convince myself that the fight with Beck was worth it. That standing up for myself, for the team, was the right thing to do. But doubt begins to grow with in me. What if I’ve just made things worse? Not to mention I know Coach Johnson is already questioning my judgment.

I reach the locker room, my hand still pressed to my shoulder and let out the biggest sigh.

Because I know that none of this is over.

12

SELENE

Itake a deep breath as I try to push away the urge to run in the opposite direction. The last thing I want to do is be here, but I came here for moral support.

And look what that got me.

“Stop looking like you would rather be any place but here,” Isla says as she steps in front of me and gives me a look.

“But that’s the truth. I would rather beanyplace but the mall right now,” I throw back at her.

She cocks her head to the side, studying me like I'm a fashion misfire. “Selene, we’ve been to the mall before, and you’ve had no issues with it. What’s wrong?”

“It's just... really crowded today. You know I'm not great with crowds.”

Isla raises an eyebrow. “But you have no issues with going to college parties where we are jam packed in a room like sardines.”

“That's different,” I protest, though I know she's right. College parties have a kind of chaotic, familiar energy that I can handle. The crowds here actually have nothing to do with why I don’t want to be here.

Isla gives me a sad smile and hooks her arm through mine. “Selene, if you don’t want to be here, just tell me. I can come back another time.”

I meet her gaze, and for a moment, I’m tempted to tell her the real reason why I’m doing my best not to freak out, but I swallow the urge. No, I can handle this. I need to handle this.

“I’m already here,” I say, forcing a smile. “You need some new clothes, and I’m here for moral support.”

“Okay, but if you get too overwhelmed, we can bail. Promise.”

“Promise,” I say, hoping I won’t have to break it.

Isla stares at me for a split second and then pulls me forward. “Fine. But you owe me a giant pretzel for this stress.”

I laugh, feeling some of the tension ease from my shoulders. “Deal. A giant pretzel is a small price to pay for your expert fashion advice.”

Isla grins. “Flattery will get you everywhere, my dear.” She tugs me, and soon I’m following her toward this trendy boutique. “Now come on, I saw the cutest top in here last week that I think would look amazing on you.”

My stomach twists at the thought of trying on clothes, but I paste on a smile and let Isla pull me inside. The store is filled with bright colors and bold patterns, racks packed with the latest styles. Isla makes a beeline for a display of flowy blouses, and I’m left trailing behind her.

“What about this one?” She holds up a blue top with delicate embroidery along the neckline. “It would pop because of your hair.”

I barely glance at it before shaking my head. “Not really my style.”

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