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CHAPTER12
RYDER
Isweep my stick across the ice as Garret Akeman races toward me with the puck. We’re scrimmaging, and even though he’s playing defense for the other team, he’s rushing for the net. Skating backward, I lower my center of gravity and watch his hips to see which direction he’ll move.
It’s just like Shakira said—the hips don’t lie.
The game of hockey has always come naturally. It’s not something I had to overthink. I instinctively knew what would happen. I was able to anticipate how a player was going to move. The play would unfold in my head seconds before it did on the ice. Kind of like a sixth sense.
That’s no longer the case.
My ability to read the situation has been disabled.
Unlike football or baseball, hockey is fast paced. It’s constant action. You get a second or two to make a decision and commit. As soon as doubt creeps in at the edges, it’s like a snowball rolling downhill, picking up momentum. A heartbeat or two can feel like a lifetime that’s over within the blink of an eye. There are no second chances, and then you live with the consequences of your decision.
I’ve never understood just how paralyzing that knowledge can be.
Until now.
Even during practice, I’m a mess of nerves.
My gaze lifts to Garret’s face.
Goddamn motherfucker.
In that moment of distraction, he pivots. Even though I take off after him, I’m a beat too late and he manages to fly past me. As a last resort, I extend my stick and attempt to catch him, but he manages to pull out of reach.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
He drives toward the net and fires off a shot. Wolf slides to the left before falling to his knees. Just when I think he’s caught it in his glove, the puck whizzes past and hits the net.
“Better luck next time, Westerville,” Garret laughs, circling around the back of the net before skating toward me.
A smirk twists his lips.
God, but he’s loving this.
Loving my fall from grace.
My fingers clench in my gloves with the temptation to punch him in the face as he continues to glide closer like a lazy shark. Already, I know he’s going to make a smartass comment. He’s been full of them lately.
“McKinnon’s sister looked good enough to eat at that party. Think she’s smart enough to know what to do with that pretty little mouth of hers?”
There’s a taunting edge to his voice as if he understands that she’s a weakness.
Instead of ignoring him the way every instinct is screaming at me to do, I snap, “Stay the fuck away from her.”
He skates closer as a satisfied chuckle escapes from him. “And if I don’t?” He notches his chin higher. “What are you going to do about it?”
Fucking beat him until he’s nothing more than a bloodspot on the ice.
My jaw is clenched so tight that it feels like my teeth will crack and shatter.
His grin widens as his voice drops so low that only I can hear. “Ever wonder just how soft her pussy is? Well, I plan to find out.”
