Page 82 of Scarred

I don’t hear the coach’s whistle or Stone barking out plays and instructions.

No, I hear the scrape of blades against ice.

The click-clack of the puck striking against the wooden stick as it gets tossed back and forth.

Air whooshing when a sudden stop brings small ice particles raining down on the rink.

The sudden crack of a high-powered hit sending a puck aiming directly toward my net, sometimes at a deadly speed of over 100mph.

My heart thudding in my chest and the rush of blood pummeling through my veins with each anticipated move as I study every arm raise, every slight curve of the stick…not a single movement is done near my net that I don’t notice.

I’ve been tracking the puck clean this entire practice, my glove whipping out without hesitation.

No second-guessing. No wavering.

Pure, trained instinct.

It’s the best I’ve felt in weeks.

The hard crack of the puck against my stick rings out as I deflect the shot away from the net.

“I bet that one jarred you,” Kane grins, coming to an abrupt stop in front of me. “The shot had some fucking heat on it. Still don’t know how the fuck it didn’t get past you, though. You couldn’t even see the damn thing at that speed,” he laughs.

“I could,” I smirk. “Tracked it all the way to my stick.”

“And that’s why I never want to play against you,” he chuckles, skating away.

“You’re going to give the guys a complex if none of them score on you today,” Stone laughs, coasting behind my net as he studies me. “Nice to have you back, Blade,” he grins, skating back to the center line.

I don’t respond as I reset in my crease, getting in position for the next round of hits. It doesn’t go unnoticed to me that I’m having one of the best practices I’ve had in weeks, just two days after my night with Luna.

It’s unnerving to me that I brought her onto the ice with me to begin with, and how pushing her away affected my game. It’s even more unnerving that I’m now playing better since I’ve let her back into my life. Well, into my bed at least.

I purposely haven’t texted her since I left that night, even though I’ve caught myself wanting to check in with her and see how she’s doing…ask her about her day.

But then I remember why this has to stay casual.

I would be lying, though, if I hadn’t been checking the clock all morning, counting down the hours until my appointment this afternoon.

I’ve been telling myself it’s because the yoga sessions actually do work. I felt fucking fantastic after each one, and in just those two sessions, I’ve noticed a difference in my hips. The past few weeks, I’ve incorporated some of the poses and breathwork into my daily routine, and whatever woo woo spell she has me under is working.

Under it all, though, deep down where I’ve tucked it away and don’t have to acknowledge its truth, is the real reason why I’m looking forward to this afternoon.

I just want to see her.

I…I miss her.

The thought sits heavy on my chest, but I don’t have another moment to think about it as Hayes takes hold of the puck and digs his blades into the ice as he rushes toward me.

Not a chance in hell is he getting past me.

His little stunt at the wedding reception is still burned into the back of my mind.

He may have succeeded in making me jealous, but he’s entering my territory now.

It’s payback time.

The lights are dim when I enter the room, and the heat from the panels is already warming up the space as I study her from across the room.