Page 33 of Puck Off, She’s Mine

"For us," he says. "It's the right thing to do for us."

Chapter Nine

Phoenix

Being benched is a motherfucker. I'm also fully aware that I deserve every second of it. But by the time the game is over on Wednesday, I'm ready to crawl out of my skin. We lost. Big time.

Like Cara said the other night, though…that's on me.

I think the team knows it, too. They're all subdued in the locker room, going through the motions without the usual post-game chaos. Even Corey is quiet, staring into space like his mind is a million miles away.

I watch him for a long moment while I dress, trying to slot into place everything Cara said about him. How the fuck she knows so much, I don't know. But I don't think she's necessarily wrong, either.

I've always known that he's not really into her. At least, not the way I am. Is he jealous? I don't know. Maybe Cara has him pegged to a T. But…I think she missed the thing that was right in front of her face. If he's jealous, it's not because I'm reaching for what I want when he can't. It's that the thing I want—the person I want—is fucking perfect.

Cara is everything. And I'm guessing he regrets not falling for a woman like her instead of one who put him through hell.

"Yo, Michaud."

I glance up, surprised to find him standing in front of me, his hands shoved into his pockets, looking like he's got something to say. The rest of the team is dead silent, watching us like they aren't sure whether to intervene or let this play out.

"What?"

"You got a minute?"

I hesitate for a split second and then mutter a curse. "Yeah, I've got a minute. What's up?"

Corey jerks his head toward the door, motioning for me to follow him.

I haul myself upright, adjusting my tie before striding after him.

"Don't kill each other," someone mutters half a second before the door swings closed behind me.

Neither Corey nor I say anything as we navigate the hall. It's too crowded for whatever conversation is about to go down. Instead, we head for the player exit, stepping out into the garage.

He stops several feet from security, leaning up against the side of the arena. For a long moment, he doesn't say anything, and then he mutters a curse. "I just wanted to say that I shouldn't have said the shit I did the other day," he says. "I took it too far."

"Yeah, you did." I stare out into the night. "But I'm not fucked up about what you said, Simms. I'm used to you running your mouth. It's the fact that you put your hands on her that pissed me off."

"I know. I took it too far," he mutters. "You want the truth?"

I jerk my chin in a nod.

"I think I wanted you to hit me. I've been spoiling for a good fight for months. You looked willing to deliver, so I pushed the buttons I knew would get you there." He laughs without humor. "How's that for self-reflection and growth?"

"Kinda fucked," I grunt.

"Yeah." He tips his head back, his eyes closed. "She's good for you, Michaud. You aren't nearly as fucking boring with her around." His lips twitch. "You're breaking all kinds of rules now. I like it."

"I've always broken rules."

He snorts. "Motherfucker, you've never broken a rule in your life. You've been too goddamn busy trying to skate in Papa Michaud's ruts to break a rule."

"I'm not trying to be my father."

"Oh, I'm aware." He laughs without humor again. "Your dad actually knew how to fucking live. The only place you've ever existed has been on the ice." He turns his head, pegging me with an amused smirk. "Shit is different now, isn't it?"

"Yeah," I mutter, blowing out a breath. "Fuck, yeah, it is."