Page 106 of Shots Fired

“Nothing. I’m just a hormonal mess that’s going to miss her man.”

I decide to let it go. Maybe it is nothing. Maybe she’s struggling with me going away just as much as I am.

If she is, then she definitely loves me.

“Are you going to see the girls while I’m away?”

“Yes. We’re heading out for cocktails—or in my case, mocktails.”

A seed of jealousy blooms in the pit of my stomach, but it’s possession that overtakes it. “Out, as in around town?”

She nods, smirking just like she did that first time she came to my apartment.

“Don’t play with me. One man even so much as looks at you, and I’ll be on the first fucking flight.”

“Oh, Archer.” She brushes her lips across mine. “Maybe it’s time for a little lesson of my own?”

Now I’m the one smirking. “What’s that?”

Reaching up, she wraps a hand around the nape of my neck, bringing our foreheads back together. “You should be able to recognize a girl when she’s falling for a boy.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

ARCHER

No one can tell I’m grinning like a fool behind this helmet. But I totally am.

She’s fuckingfallingfor me.

I’ve worn this smile for four days straight, and it shows no sign of fading. Neither does my performance on the ice this season.

We’re three goals up against the Dallas Destroyers—a team that’s nearly always kicked our asses, especially in away games—but not tonight.

Just like Darcy’s heart, this shutout is going to be mine.

In a rare turnover, the Dallas captain collects the puck at center ice and wastes no time as he comes racing toward me. It’s possible he’ll lay off to his forward and the only other player in a position to support him.

It’s also possible he’ll use him as a decoy.

Memories of the preseason game come crashing back, but so does the advice Jensen has given me since we started working together. He identified that I was committing a fraction tooearly, and this was because of my anxiety around rebounds. Every goalie wants to gain possession, but flying pucks four inches from the ice aren’t that easy to bury, and sometimes, you just have to call the opposition’s bluff.

It was a genius call, and one that’s given me more control over the puck. Jensen concluded there was nothing wrong with my ability to rebound to the corners; it was all in my head. Years of psyching myself out. I had made it big in the NHL because of my unmatched puck possession, but everyone knew my weakness revolved around distribution. And now I’m standing my ground at the crease a split second longer, and I’m psyching out forwards instead.

On this occasion, I don’t need to call on my newfound confidence as Sawyer checks their center before he has a chance to shoot and the buzzer sounds.

Another W.

Sawyer skates across to me as I head toward the benches. The arena noise is muted while home fans leave, feeling underwhelmed by the result.

I grin bigger.

He pulls off his glove and taps the top of my helmet once. “Now, that was a motherfucking performance, buddy.” He shakes his head in awe. “I can’t put my finger on what it was out there, but you just felt more …”

“In control?” a voice calls from behind Sawyer, and he spins to look at Jensen when he approaches us.

Hands in the pockets of his black dress pants, he smiles at us both. “Seriously, I think my work here is done.” He points to the crease. “Bryce got a hit on him because their center hesitated. My best guess is, you’ve thrown a lot of teams’ pregame prep for a loop with your performances early season, and the oppositions just don’t know how to handle it.”

I pull off my helmet—smiling, of course. “I feel different out there. I mean, I’ve always felt composed and like the crease is my home, but something’s definitely changed.”

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