Page 4 of Hot Shot
“Yes! We do. It’s the first piece other than the original apartment block and these offices we can actually use. I’m so excited to get out there and see how it feels under my blades.” Letting go, I link our arms and turn to the others. “All right, ladies, let’s go see what four kick-ass women have achieved.”
Branton
“Laura!”
I’m on the lake.
“Laura!”
It’s always the lake.
I know I shouldn’t be out here but I’m chasing Laura. She’s just up ahead and I know it’s not safe.
“Laura!”
Neither of us should be here. It’s thin ice I’m skating on and it won’t hold my weight for long but every time I reach out, my fingertips barely brush Laura’s clothes before she pulls away again.
“Laura!”
It’s always the same. No matter how fast I skate, how hard I push, it’s never enough.
“Laura!” My shout comes out more of a whisper. The sound raw and raspy. My voice hoarse from calling her name over and over.
It’s always like this too, she never stops, is alwaysjustout of reach.
I need to push harder, get closer but my thighs ache, my muscles screaming from exertion.
My right leg gives under me, my foot breaking through…
Crashing through the ice into the cold water shocks the shit out of me and yanks me from the nightmare, except the water dripping off my head and running down my back is all too real and not a figment of my subconscious mind.
“Jesus fucking Christ!” I swipe a hand over my face and blink at the woman standing in front of me. “Who the hell are you?”
“Your savior or your worst nightmare.”
“Huh?” Am I still asleep? Still dreaming? Drops of water fly around as I shake my head in an effort to clear my confusion—or wake my damn ass up! “What?” The word comes out a croak, pain lashing my ravaged throat.
“Your savior or your worst nightmare. You choose.”
I don’t have time to make sense of her words before Walker Alcott, the captain of my hockey team—no, no longer mine—stands beside her.
“Bran.”
“Cap? What the hell?” I have to be asleep. There’s no way he’s here. In Gannon’s house…
“When did you eat last?” Walker asks, his hand stretched out toward me.
“Eh… Dunno.” My mind still in a fog from the nightmare, I reach out, grip his hand for a quick shake. He feels real enough, but then all my nightmares are life-like. “What time is it?” I ask, my voice still a rough grumble.
“Almost midday.”
My gaze swings back to the woman who’s still a mystery. “What day?”
She sucks in a breath, and I can tell she’s not happy about the way this conversation is going. Or maybe it’s the subject. My obvious confusion.
Good for her. I don’t want to be having this conversation either. Or have either of them here in my living nightmare, my personal banishment.
With a clenched jaw she grinds out, “Thursday.”
