Page 14 of The Pucks We Freeze
“What the hell just happened?” he muttered, voice low enough only I could hear.
I didn’t answer right away. Deep down, we both knew what I was thinking, and I hated it.
“Not sure,” I said tightly. “But I’m gonna find out.”
We ended up winning. Final score: 4–2. Talon sealed it with a brutal slapshot that looked like it was aimed at more than just the net. Rowdy was unstoppable in the third, blocking every last Blue Devil push like his life depended on it.
After the buzzer, I peeled off my helmet and scanned the tunnel.
And there was Gavin. Walking just fine. Not limping. Not hunched. Walking.
My jaw tensed. “What the hell?” I muttered.
“Pretty quick recovery for a guy who needed help off the ice,” Owen said beside me, his tone unreadable.
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted her.
Wren Perry.
Talon’s eyes tracked her too, as she stood outside the locker room, clutching a binder to her chest. Blazer, boots, and a no-nonsense stare. She looked like she could ruin your scholarship with a single line of red ink.
One of the underclassmen nudged his buddy, muttering, “Babysitter from the governor’s office.”
No one said that to her face.
Wren didn't flinch. Just tapped the binder and made a note.
“What’s she doing here?” Rowdy asked, dragging a towel over his neck.
“Whatever it is,” I muttered, “she’s watching. Hard.”
Talon didn’t say anything, but his glare followed Wren down the hall like a threat.
I glanced back at Gavin. He was already gone.
Tomorrow, I’d be in the film room. And this time, I wouldn’t be watching the plays. I’d be watching him.
Chapter Five
Willow
I slipped out of the lodge under the pretense of covering the game for Black Bear’s socials, but the truth was… I needed to see him.
The cold bit at my cheeks the second I stepped outside, the air sharp and crisp after the storm. Beneath my boots, the snow had hardened into slick patches of ice and frozen slush. The world was still and quiet, save for the distant echo of the horn from the arena.
Mae didn’t question me when I asked for the night off. She just nodded, eyes knowing, and handed me a pair of gloves from the lost-and-found bin. Maybe she knew why I needed to go. Maybe everyone did.
Kade promised me a week. Just one week to pretend everything was simple. After that night, I was sure he would show up at my door. But the knock never came, and neither did he.
I figured he was staying at the hockey house. I told myself it really was just one night for him, and I’d read too much into the way he kissed me, the way he whispered my name as if it belonged to him.
So I told myself the game was about content. About work. Nothing more. I wore the hoodie he gave me anyway, the one with his name stamped across the back in bold, unmistakable letters. Maybe I needed a reminder that I’d mattered, even if only for a moment.
I stood at the edge of the rink, camera in hand, my press badge swinging lightly against my chest. Every time he hit the ice, my pulse jumped. He was ruthless. Focused. But in thequiet moments between plays, I caught him glancing toward the stands. Toward me.
I told myself I imagined it.
Back at home, or at least the cabin I was calling home for the night, I sank into the wooden chair by the window as I uploaded the photos to my laptop. The room was dim and quiet, the only light coming from the screen in front of me. I clicked through the shots, a few action ones. Some from the bench. Then I zoomed in on one sequence. Kade mid-play, eyes sharp. Gavin just behind him, hesitating.
