Page 139 of Secret Obsession
A big ol’ cocktail of adrenaline, fear, and wanting to be so close to someone it hurts.
“So?” Jacob questions. “What will you do?”
Willow isn’t leaving me. She’s not fleeing the country—she’s run home like a scared little girl. Which means she’ll hide there until I can come find her, and an hour, two, or four isn’t going to make a difference.
“I’ll play,” I decide, shoving his hand away. “Now get the fuck out of my face.”
“Get your ass back in the locker room, and I won’t need to be in your face.” He inclines his chin. “I’ll give you a ride to her house after, if Violet and Aspen don’t bring her back first.”
My chest tightens, but I force myself to nod and turn around. I head back to the locker room and try to focus, but my nerves are shot. In the half-circle-shaped room, I find Knox and Greyson framing my bag. They both look up when I come over and drop onto the bench beside them.
Coach strides in and blows his whistle. He gives his cursory speech about how we’re going to work as a team, execute what we’ve been working on, and whatever else he decides to include this time around. Me and some of the other guys are still getting dressed, putting on our pads and skates. I’ve got all my equipment laid out in front of me, ready to go.
“Ten minutes,” Coach ends. “Then we’re hitting the ice for warm-up.”
“You good?” Knox asks me, his voice low. “We need you for this one.”
“I know.” Jesus, my voice sounds like shit. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
He slaps my back and moves away. The seriousness from a moment ago fades away as he dances up to Steele and fake punches him. I watch their antics, the way Knox makes all the guys smile and laugh, and I’ve got to admit—he’s a good fucking captain.
“Violet will get her,” Greyson adds.
I shake my head and rise. I need to tighten my skates before I put on the thick pads that cover the front of my legs—once those go on, it’s a little more difficult to do much of anything. My helmet is on my bag in front of me, my sticks taped to perfection.
Everything is ready, except for my mindset.
I drop into a lunge, and the burn of my hamstrings helps narrow my focus. I stretch until Greyson calls a two-minute warning, and I put on the rest of my gear. Just the finishing touches. But I do feel more centered, which is…something.
BJ—definitely more of a Blue Jay kind of day, I think—holds out his knuckles for me. I knock them and grin.
Fake it ’til you make it, right?
“Ready?” Knox calls. “We’re going to go fuck up some Wolves’ assholes!”
I groan—and I’m not the only one.
“Hey, hey, I didn’t mean it like that,” Knox yells. “Jesus fuck, you perverted dicks. Those Wolves won’t know what hit ’em.”
“Because we’re taking them from behind!” Rodrigues calls.
“You’d know all about that,” someone else says.
“Yeah, it makes me an expert on fucking—unlike your virgin—”
“Boys,” Coach hollers. “Cut the shit. Let’s get to work.”
I elbow Steele, who catches my eye with a grin. We march as a huge unit down the hallway. There’s thunderous applause in the arena as the BU Wolves are announced. And then we’re bursting out and onto the ice. I lift my hand and touch peoples’ hands, then step onto the ice. Around me, my teammates are zooming around and warming up their muscles. I join them in the race, pushing off and forcing myself faster. They grab pucks spread out across the ice and drop into shooting drills, while others find space on the ice to stretch. I drift up toward the center line and go through my movements.
Muscle memory takes over, and it helps turn my thoughts toward the upcoming game.
The Wolves’ goalie is across from me. We trade a look, and I don’t like the flash of annoyance in his gaze. I hold the eye contact until someone skates between us, and I head back to the crease.
The center of my universe—for the next sixty minutes of game play anyway.
BJ comes skating toward me after a few minutes, and I move aside to let him take over the net. He’s not playing, but he warms up all the same. I glance around the arena, only vaguely frowning at the masses of black and silver. The Wolves are in mostly black jerseys, with pops of silver, and white lettering.
Since we’re the visitors, our jerseys are white, with blue and silver outlines. My helmet matches. It comes to a V, pointing toward my chest, to protect my neck. I drop to the ice and stretch my legs out to either side, basically the fucking splits.
