Page 71 of Married As Puck
Keith comes by the house and insists we go out. He takes the liberty of analyzing my looks and says I look like a vampire holed up in my room all day.
He’s not wrong.
It’s our first real day off in weeks, no drills, no coach breathing down our necks, and the idea of doing nothing feels like a trap. My head won’t stop buzzing with the thought of the pregame tomorrow.
So yeah, fine. Ice cream. Something normal. Something stupid and light.
We’re standing in line at this little place near my place, the kind with sticky counters and too many neon flavors nobody actually orders. Keith keeps bumping my shoulder like he’s trying to jolt me back to life.
“You’re gonna go for chocolate again, aren’t you?” he says, smirking. “You’ve got zero imagination, man. Live a little. Try pistachio.”
“Chocolate works,” I mutter.
Keith groans, dragging a hand down his face. “You’ve got one of the biggest games of the season in a couple days, and you’re acting like the world’s about to end.”
I don’t answer, because maybe it is.
We grab our cones and step outside. The late afternoon air has that weird edge to it, crisp but carrying the smell of exhaust and hot pavement. We lean against the railing, watching cars pass. For a moment, it feels normal.
Then I hear the sound of the one person I dread the most…after my father.
“Well, if it isn’t our golden boy.”
The voice makes my teeth clench before I even turn my head. Jack’s striding up with that smug grin plastered on his face, the kind that says he’s already won something I don’t know I’ve lost yet.
Keith sighs audibly. “Not today, man.”
Jack ignores him. He stops right in front of me, eyeing the ice cream in my hand. “Chocolate? Figures. Safe choice for a safe player.”
I narrow my eyes. “You got nothing better to do?”
“Oh, plenty. Just thought I’d say hi.” He licks his own cone of something garish, bubblegum pink and shrugs like he’s innocent. “Big day in two days, huh?”
I keep my jaw locked. Don’t give him anything.
Keith steps in. “Cut it out, Jack. Seriously. Go bother someone else.”
Jack throws up his hands, mock surrender. “Relax, I’m just making conversation. Can’t a guy wish the star player goodluck?” His eyes flick back to me, glinting. “Who knows, it might be your last match. Ever.”
The words hit harder than I want them to. I feel them settle somewhere heavy in my chest, right under my ribs.
Keith bristles. “That’s not funny.”
“Who’s joking?” Jack tilts his head, like a curious kid. “Careful out there, Cammy boy. Ice can be a dangerous place.”
My grip tightens around the cone until I feel it start to crack. I want to say something, anything, but my throat’s dry.
Jack just grins wider, then backs away, hands still raised like he’s some saint. “Anyway, don’t let me interrupt date night. Enjoy your chocolate.”
He saunters off down the street, whistling.
Keith mutters a curse under his breath. “Ignore him. He’s just trying to get in your head.”
Too late. He’s already there.
The rink is colder than usual today, or maybe it’s just me. My breath fogs out in short bursts, chest already tight, even though warm-ups haven’t even started. Jack’s words from yesterday coil in my head like barbed wire.Might be your last match. Ever.
I shake it off, slap my helmet down tighter.
