Page 21 of Pucking Unhinged
And he’s looking down at her the same way.
I’ve only ever seen Tristan’s coach crashing out with a clipboard and a slew of curses. But he looks soft right now. Focused only on the girl in front of him.
Coach Kav’s back is to us, so he doesn’t know we’re here. His voice is low, calm, meant just for Eleanor. There’s an intimacy in it that makes me feel like we’ve walked in on something we were never meant to see.
“Are they like…?” Lilac whispers, her brows raised.
Madi leans in, keeping her voice just as hushed. “I think she lives with him. I heard he’s best friends with her dad, and her dad’s missing or something? Her mom too. Don’t quote me, though. You know how the whisper network works around here.”
Lilac nods. “Yeah, I heard the same thing.”
I let out a small laugh, the sound quiet. “I’d have to talk to anyone other than you two to hear anything.”
That earns me twin giggles from both of them. But the sound dies fast when the coach turns abruptly, catching sight of us.
His expression hardens. “Get to your seats. You shouldn’t be back here.”
We shuffle forward immediately, like guilty kids caught sneaking cookies. Behind us, his voice drifts down the hall and he sounds more annoyed than angry.
The number eighty-eight on the back of Madi’s jersey must catch his eye because we hear him grumble, “I didn’t know that was Lockwood’s girlfriend. Now I’m going to have to deal with his ass.”
That sets us all off again, laughter bubbling out as we hurry away. Of course Hayden’s reputation precedes him.
I glance over my shoulder once, curious despite myself.
Coach Kav isn’t looking at us anymore. His head dips low, his mouth pressing to Eleanor’s forehead in a gesture so reverent it makes my chest ache.
WINTER
The roar of the crowd slams into me the second we step into the arena. Lights glare off the fresh sheet of ice, and the announcer’s voice is booming over the speakers. We weave down to the front row, right against the glass, and I can already hear whispers about our pink jerseys.
Lilac and Madi are playfully making bets beside me about which one of their guys is going to be the biggest problem during the game. Neither Hayden nor Callum take hockey, or this school, seriously, and they’ll both get into random fights for fun. I have to say though, if I had to put my money on it, Hayden is always the biggest problem in any room he’s in, and sometimes even in ones he’s not.
Tristan skates out finally, and his eyes find me as soon as his skates hit the ice and stay with me until he finds his spot in the crease, crouched low, pads strapped tight. His helmet hides most of his face, but I don’t need to see it to know that something’s off.
I can tell in the way his shoulders rise too fast with every inhale. The way his eyes… my God, his eyes…keep finding me. It’s not over what happened last night. Something else hashappened since we parted when he went into the locker room to get ready for this game.
The whistle blows and the game starts with a fight as soon as the puck drops. Hayden and some St. Augustine player who didn’t even see it coming. The whole game is a clusterfuck of fights, missed goals, and literally no one scoring a single point. The puck flies from one end to the other, bodies slamming into the boards with bone-rattling thuds. Madi and Lilac are into it, yelling for their respective guys to murder the other team.
I’m completely silent because Tristan isn’t locked in at all, and it’s not because he didn’t like the ref’s call or because he’s bored.
Something is really wrong.
I grip the railing in front of me as the first goal slips past his blocker side. The red light flares, the horn blares, and my stomach drops.
One goal.
Fine. It happens.
But when it happens again, barely two minutes later, I start to worry.
The St. Augustine players swarm, high-fiving, smacking helmets together. Their center circles back toward the crease, grinning wide, chirping. I can’t hear the words, but I know the tone. I’ve been to enough games to know when someone is talking shit.
And then his glove comes up, pointing into the crowd.
He’s looking right at me.
I don’t dare to even breathe because he just signed his own death note with that gesture.
