Page 64 of Married As Puck
That alone is enough to shut me up. We fall into step, the gravel crunching beneath our shoes as we cross the lot. Keith’s shoulders are tense, his jaw locked like he’s working himself up to something. By the time we push through the doors into the empty locker room, I know whatever’s coming isn’t good and I’m already anxious.
“Okay, what’s going on Keith? You’re acting strange.”
Keith waits until the door swings shut behind us before he speaks. “You need to watch your back.”
I dump my bag onto the bench. “Care to explain, or is this supposed to be cryptic advice?”
His eyes narrow. “I’m serious. Jack’s been running his mouth in the locker room, to anyone who cares to listen. He has this crazed look in his eyes when he talks. I’ve seen the way he looks at you like he’s waiting for the chance to screw you over. And I don’t just mean on the ice. It’s like he’s obsessed with the thoughts of killing your dreams and that’s not something we want to happen.”
The words hit harder than I want to admit.
I laugh, but it comes out dry. “Wouldn’t be the first time he tried to get under my skin.”
“No, Cam.” Keith steps closer, his voice low, sharp. “This is different. He’s planning something. I can feel it and I want youto be alert. Not paranoid that you’d have to stumble but alert enough that you would guard yourself before he comes in.”
I sit down and drag my skates from the bag, wanting the simple motion to ground me. I flip one over, running my thumb along the blade—and my stomach drops. A nick runs across the steel, barely visible but deep enough that, at high speed, it could’ve blown my ankle to pieces.
A cold chill slides down my spine.
Keith notices the shift in my expression. “What is it?”
I hold up the skate for him to see. His eyes darken.
“Son of a—” He cuts himself off, dragging a hand over his face. “See? This is what I’m talking about. That wasn’t an accident.”
I set the skate down carefully, my hands tightening into fists. “If Jack thinks he can end me by pulling this kind of crap, he’s got another thing coming.”
But even as I say it, the hairs on the back of my neck stand. Because Keith is right—this isn’t just trash talk anymore.
This is war.
Keith swears under his breath, pacing a short line in front of the benches. His fists keep clenching and unclenching, like he’s two seconds away from storming out to find Jack and make it physical.
“We need to tell Coach,” he says finally, his voice hard with conviction. “This isn’t just locker-room rivalry anymore, Cam. Tampering with your skates? That could’ve taken you out for months. You’d be done before the season even started.”
I shake my head, jaw tight. “No.”
Keith whirls on me. “No? Are you serious right now?”
“Yes,” I snap, louder than I mean to. The walls of the empty room throw my voice back at me, making it sound angrier than I feel. “I’m not giving that lowlife the satisfaction of running to the coach like some scared rookie. He wants me rattled. He wants me distracted. If I make noise about this, he wins.”
Keith stares at me like I’ve grown two heads. “Or you win by shutting this down before he escalates. Christ, Cam, you can’t just skate over sabotage like it’s nothing.”
I pick up the skate again, running my thumb over the jagged mark, the edge biting at my skin. It makes my blood run hot, fury mixing with something else I hate admitting—fear. But I force my tone flat, steady. “I’m not weak, Keith. I’m not going to be the guy who tattles because Jack’s desperate for attention.”
“This isn’t about being weak or a tattletale,” he shoots back, stepping into my space. “This is about being smart. Do you think anyone’s going to call you weak if you protect yourself? You could’ve been crippled today, Cam. Crippled.”
His words hang heavy between us. My chest tightens, but pride digs its claws in deeper. I shove the skate into my bag and meet his glare head-on.
“You don’t get it,” I mutter. “If I tell Coach, he’ll bench me until they ‘investigate.’ And while that happens, Jack gets what he wants—a clear path. I’m not handing it to him.”
Keith lets out a harsh laugh, no humor in it. “So what? You’re gonna play Russian roulette with your career just to prove you’re tougher than him?”
“I’m gonna beat him where it counts, which is on the ice,” I fire back. My voice is steel now, even though inside I’m still rattled. “He can try to cut my blades, mess with my head, whatever. Atthe end of the day, I’ll still be standing, and he’ll still be a bitter little prick in my shadow.”
For a moment, it looks like Keith might argue again, but then he exhales sharply, shaking his head.
“You’re impossible,” he mutters, grabbing his own gear. “Fine. Do it your way. But don’t say I didn’t warn you when this blows up.”
