Page 17 of Puck My Life
I push up from the chair and pause, looking down at the ice. My boys are watching me, I can feel it, and, sure enough, when I find them, they aren’t watching the coaches; their furious glares are fixed on me.
No, they aren’t mine, and they never will be.
“Just for a little longer,” I murmur and swallow hard on the lump in my throat. I sidestep and turn away, intent on leaving this all behind and getting some sleep.
“VAE!”
My shoulders tense, but I don’t turn.
“HOOK!”
Damn it! I whirl on the stairs and glare down at the ice. Deacon bangs on the glass with a pad, his face a mask of contained fury.
“Come here!”
I contemplate ignoring him and walking in the other direction, but Deacon will come after me. I make my way down to the ice. The team resumes practice, but Deacon and Malcolm ignore Coach Wilde screaming at them.
I almost feel sorry for him, but I know how obstinate they can be, and if I ignore them, it will make everything worse.
“Where are you going?” Deacon asks when I get close. A puck hits the glass beside me, and I flinch, glancing past Deacon to where Chase Warner is gliding around.
What an ass.
“Home,” I say, answering Deacon.
“No, wait for us.”
Such an air of command, like I should just stop what I’m doing and obey. I narrow my eyes.
“I have things to do-”
“Vae!” Deacon cuts in, growling. “I need you to help us buy Indy a gift. So, just stay. I’ll drop you home after we’ve been shopping.”
I recoil. Is he serious? I’m so shocked I can’t even think of an argument. Surely, he wouldn’t make me do it?
“I’m busy today,” I whisper.
“Vae, please. Help us; you’re already leaving. It’s the least you can do.” Deacon knows he’s hurting me; I can see it in the malicious glare he’s sending my way. He always knows how to hurt me best.
I glare at him for a long, hard moment and turn my gaze on Mal, who refuses to look away from that invisible spot over my left shoulder.
Betrayal. Okay, boys, you win.
“Fine. I’ll wait.”
I sit down beside the coach when they make it clear that my sitting in the stands isn’t good enough. He glowers at me. I don’t blame him; I don’t belong here.
“I thought I banned you from my practices?”
“You did. And I’m here, but not for long. If I could leave without a war, I would do it,” I mutter as my cheeks get hot. I clench my fingers hard enough to turn them white and ignore a couple of giant players who stalk past me, barely batting an eye to see me.
Coach looks at me curiously. “You all right?” he asks gruffly.
“All good, Coach. Have a plan and everything. I’m going to achieve miracles, you just watch,” I mutter.
He nods. “Good for you, McMillan.”
Coach Wallace might not like me and the influence I have on my boys, but the fact is he admires my work ethic. In that we have a lot in common. He is one of the hardest working alphas I’ve seen in my life, he’s dedicated his whole life to this club.
