Page 72 of Holiday Interference
I circle again, slower this time, chest hammering like I’ve taken a hit that rattled my ribs loose.
I shouldn’t care that she’s here.
Ishould’veasked for her number. Should’ve said something. Should’vedonesomething other than let her walk out with nothing but a silent goodbye and the ghost of her kiss still burning on my lips.
But I didn’t.
Now she’s here, and I don’t know what the hell it means.
All I know is that she’s close enough to see me fall apart.
And that might be the worst part of all.
The game gets started and for the first two shifts, I feel like I’m skating through fog.
I’ve got the puck, but not the control.
Got the legs, but not the fire.
Every move is a beat behind. Every pass feels like I’m borrowing someone else’s hands.
Then, just before the second period, I glance over to where she’s sitting with Sloane.
Her green eyes meet mine, and what I see there mirrors mine.
I know she remembers. It meant something to her too.
The memory of her, curled in my sheets with that mouth on mine and her breath in my ear, whispering things I’ll never forget even if I try, slams into me.
Along with an adrenaline spike that has hope bursting in my chest.
And when the puck drops, there’s a flicker in my chest.
Like I’m starting to wake up. The fog is lifting.
I push off harder. Sink into the turn andfeelthe edge of my blade bite clean into the ice.
The puck lands on my stick like it was always meant to be there. I snap it back to Riley without thinking, shift wide, and he feeds it back.
My chest flares, tight and hot, and Idrive.
Denver’s goalie blinks and the puck’s already behind him, the light going off.
I don’t smile, even when my teammates come up and bang on my helmet, congratulating me.
I just skate through it, heart hammering, breath cutting ragged through the cage.
This is what I know.
The glide. The burn. The thunder of the crowd bleeding into the heat crawling down my neck. My thighs ache in that deep, familiar way—like they were built for this. My chest heaves, sweat cooling too fast against the back of my neck.
I don’t look at her again, but I canfeelher.
Like gravity. Like a flame I can’t see but still get burned by.
Finn yells something from the bench—something aboutfinally waking up—and I ignore him.
I can’t hear anything but the slap of my stick, the hiss of my blades, the pulse pounding behind my ribs like war drums.
