Page 45 of Desperate Pucker
“Again.”
Chapter 17
Ryker
Coach Porter blows the whistle, signaling the start of the passing and shooting drill we’re running through during practice.
This is my first practice since I’ve been injured, and I’m buzzing with energy to be back.
I’m practicing with Del and Theo while our assistant coach, Jason, observes.
We take off across the ice. Theo passes to Del, who passes to me. I speed ahead, zeroing in on Blomdahl.
“Let’s see you shoot, St. George,” Jason hollers.
I close in on the net, wind up, and smack the puck. Blomdahl moves to block it, but it sails past his shoulder.
“Nice work,” Jason says.
We play two more times, trying out different passes and with Theo and Del taking shots. Sam and Camden join to run a three-on-two drill with us.
Del heads down the ice with the puck. I follow behind, watching Sam cover him. He passes to Theo, who takes off, but Camden is on his ass.
Theo passes it back to me. I weave around Camden and head for the net.
Blomdahl’s helmet weaves back and forth as he tracks the puck. Sam is headed for me, so I take a shot. The puck hits the crossbar and sinks into the back of the net.
Blomdahl lets out a low whistle and pushes up his helmet. “You’re really kicking my ass today, dude.”
“Mine too.” Sam huffs out a breath. “You got fast since you’ve been gone.”
Camden skates by and taps my arm. “Yeah, man. I’ve been running my ass off the whole practice trying to keep up with you.”
“Must be all that training with Madeline,” Del says.
I clear my throat. “Yeah.”
A heavy feeling lands in my gut. I can’t think about Madeline without remembering that uncomfortable-as-fuck conversation we had after hooking up in the elevator.
How nervous I was to talk to her about it. How I was going to apologize to her if I made her uncomfortable. How I wanted to make sure that she was okay, but then she got defensive and asked if I was planning to use her panic attack against her.
I was sick to my stomach when she asked me that. I would never do that.
I was so thrown off by how defensive she was that I didn’t know what to say at first. But when I tried to talk more about it, she shut me down. She didn’t want either of us to say another word—she just wanted to forget about it.
My stomach twists into a knot when I think about the broken look in her eyes after that conversation fell apart. And how she blinked it away and put up a tough, no-nonsense attitude for our lesson.
I hated watching her do that. And I hate that the one time she let me see her soft and vulnerable, when we were in the elevator together, she acted like it was a weak moment and refused to show herself like that again.
Because the truth is that I want to see that side of her again. Vulnerable, raw, open. I want to tell her that she doesn’t have to be tough with me. I want to tell her that she can be herself. I want to tell her that she’s enough.
I quiet the thoughts shuffling around in my brain, and refocus on my performance during practice. I need to show my teammates and my coaches just how far I’ve come and that I’m ready to hit the ice for our next game.
Practice wraps up, and Coach Porter gives us a pep talk for our next game this weekend. He dismisses us, and we all head to the locker room.
“St. George, hang back a sec.”
I turn to him.
