Page 76 of Ash and his Dragon

He hadn't texted either, and while I understood perfectly well that I'd asked him for space, I'd discovered there was something uniquely infuriating about getting exactly what you'd requested from someone when it wasn't remotely what you wanted.

Yesterday he'd kept his distance.

Today was different.

I'd caught him watching me several times before warm-ups, and there was none of the hurt I'd seen when I'd told him I wasn't coming home with him after Game Three. If anything, he looked worried.

I was still trying to decide what that meant when Dante shouted my name.

The Vegas forward had slipped past me.

I recovered quickly enough to get back into the play, but Baelor had already covered the gap I'd left, and Taz had to knock the resulting shot wide with his blocker.

We got lucky.

By the time I reached the bench, I was angry enough with myself that the look Dante gave me was unnecessary.

“Don't,” I muttered as I reached for my water bottle.

Dante sat beside me and took a drink from his own. “I wasn't planning to say anything because judging by your face, you've already called yourself everything I could come up with. Just make sure you're actually here for the next shift, because Baelor nearly had to climb inside Taz's pads to cover for you.”

I resisted the urge to tell him where he could shove his helpful advice, mostly because he was right.

My next shift was better.

Vegas scored first eight minutes into the period, but we answered before the intermission after Max forced a turnover along the boards and Cole got a stick on the resulting shot through traffic.

The roar when the puck crossed the line was loud enough to shake the glass.

1-1.

Back where we started.

Except I still couldn't settle.

Every time I returned to the bench, I was conscious of my phone sitting in the dressing room. My father had texted me at the last game and I couldn’t help thinking he would again.

That was the problem with him. I'd spent years learning his rules only to discover they changed whenever he found a better way to frighten me.

By the first intermission, I was sweating for reasons that had very little to do with hockey.

I reached my locker before I'd consciously decided to.

No messages.

Relief hit first, followed immediately by irritation at myself for feeling it.

I glanced across the room and immediately wished I hadn't.

Max was watching me.

Again.

This time, when our eyes met, he didn't look away.

There was something about his expression that made my stomach tighten, because it wasn't curiosity. It looked too much like concern from a man I'd spent the last twenty-four hours trying to convince I didn't need him.

Vegas took a 2-1 lead midway through the second.