Page 22 of Revenge Puck

It’s loud.

Voices boom as if they’re in an echo chamber. Pucks cracking against boards. Skates carving the ice. Players grunting and talking over one another as the coaches shout out drills.

I hover near the entrance, doing my best to remain unnoticed.

I spot Declan immediately.

Then I see Aaron, looking delicious in pads and a practice jersey stretched taut across his shoulders, eyes homed in on him. He chooses that moment to chase an errant puck, slamming into the boards close to my brother. Hard.

As if he’s done it on purpose…

No sooner do I flatten myself against the wall to become invisible than Declan shoves him out of his personal space, and I watch as words are exchanged—not friendly ones—and Aaron says something that makes my brother stiffen, sticking his gloved hand in Declan’s face.

I wish I knew what they were saying.

Declan shoves him again, harder this time, glove to Aaron’s chest. Their foreheads nearly touch through helmet and visor, bodies tense and tight, one second from becoming a full-blown brawl.

My heart lodges in my throat.

Is this my fault?

A whistle blares.

Everyone stops.

“What is going on with those two?” I whisper, pressing my back against the cold, cinder block wall, my wide eyes glued to the scene on the ice. The spell is broken when a pair of dark brown eyes meet mine, startling me.

Coach is barking about getting their asses on the bench, but Aaron stands there, chest rising hard beneath those stupid, perfect, sexy pads.

Staring at me.

FOUR

AARON

Practice ends the way it always does, with my lungs on fire and a violent craving for the cold plunge bath.

Except for the small detail where I nearly introduced Kennedy’s face to the boards and wanted to make him bleed…

Yeah.

That.

The locker room is quiet for once, not filled with the usual post-practice trash talk. No music, no one arguing over whose body odor smells the worst. Nothing but a shit ton of sidelong glances of my teammates pretending not to watch us.

Everyone is staying out of our way. As if any sudden movements might detonate me like a bomb.

I drop onto the bench and start stripping off my gear.

Shake off my gloves.

Helmet.

No one says a word.

The snake stands two lockers down, towel slung low on his hips, grinning at a defenseman like he wasn’t caught fucking my girlfriend over the weekend and we almost got into a fight.

Huh.Must be nice not to give a shit.