Page 71 of Puck to the Heart
“You wanted to see me, Coach?”
“Ash. You’re up for captain next week.”
A hundred emotions distilled to one—dread. It should’ve been excitement, but something deep inside me tied itself into knots.There’s no way I can do this.
“You good, Wilder?”
Gravel coated my throat. “Yes, sir.”
Coach leveled his steady brown gaze on mine, steepling his long, mahogany fingers on the desk in front of him. “It’s okay to not be okay, kid.”
“What? No, I’m okay. Just… tired,” I lied.
Again, the coach caught me in his stare.“Come to me if you need anything.”
“Yessir.” It came out as one word, speeding up with my heart rate. I needed to leave this office.
“Well.” Coach leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Like I said, let me know if you?—”
“I will,” I interrupted and winced. “Sorry. Excited.” On autopilot, my hand reached for the back of my neck to pull the hair there, but all I found was shorter strands. Fuck, I had to stop fidgeting. “I’m gonna—” I jerked my thumb toward the door.
“See you tomorrow, kid. Rest up.”
With a nod, I left.
Olivia
Can we talk?
Getting an ominous message on top of the axe hovering over my head was the opposite of what I needed. Ahead, the fluorescent-lit hallway stretched endlessly as my feet kept trying to go forward. My first game as captain.What do I do? Why did I think I was capable of anything other than slinging a puck across the ice and starting shit?It was a joke—Iwas a fuckingjoke.
Teal walls pressed in closer, squeezing all the air out with them. If I didn’t get outside soon, I might puke. Or, hell, I might pass out. Cold sweat dripped down my back, and finally, the door appeared.
Outside, the blast of wintery air helped shock me enough to jar my mind back to reality, but I still counted my breaths while walking to my car.
I should turn around and tell Coach he made a mistake. I can’t do this. Why did I think I could do this?
“Ash?”
“Barnes?” What was Olivia doing leaning against my car? And was she crying? “What did Brad do?”
“Brad? What?” She scowled, scrubbing her face against the shoulder of her jacket. It was too light; she should’ve worn an actual coat. I shrugged mine off and draped it over her shoulders before pulling her into my chest.
This part, at least, I was good at. I had a proven track record.
“What happened?” If itwasBrad, I had a sudden urge to crack the idiot’s skull. Okay, maybe it wasn’t sudden, but it would probably help my foul mood.
“I lost my job,” she muttered through clenched teeth. Tears shone in her eyes, angry ones, the way someone cries when everything is out of their control.
Damn, her day might have been worse than mine. What did I even say? “What… what?”
Wiping her eyes, she leaned back to look at me. “This fuckingday. They fired me over poor performance or something?” She rammed the toe of her sneaker into a car tire with enough force it had to hurt. “They said there were cutbacks, but I don’t know who else they let go. I don’t even know why. And,” her eyes went tear-bright, filling again, “shit, I left all my stuff in my office. I just left. I didn’t know what to do. And then…”
And then she dropped an even bigger bomb.
“I have to go back to Raleigh to help my dad. And I don’t know when I’ll be back.”
The manin front of me was so unrecognizable after the past couple of months that I nearly dismissed him as a stranger, but no, it was my father. He’d trimmed his salt and pepper hair much shorter than I remembered ever seeing it, and he had a mustache instead of his usual beard. He wore a pressed button down and khakis rather than his standard vintage band tee and flannel.
