Page 56 of Don't Puck Him

Wren wrinkles her nose, studying my expression. Those hazel eyes are all consuming.

“I know that you know how important this is to me,” she says softly, hands resting against my lower back and caressing kindly. “You are important, too. I promise you that.”

I want her to know that I want to be the only important thing in her life. But I’m not sure she can handle it.

Does she even want to know the truth about how much I need her to need me?

I smile, kissing her forehead. She kisses my chin, and for the moment, Cash doesn’t even exist.

“I need to get to class, babe. Talk later?”

I drop the issue for the time being, and we part, giving each other a peck on the lips before we fade into the haze.

29

WREN

Irush out of my last class with a surge of excitement even though I'm late for hockey practice. Not even the cold wind whipping at my face can slow me down. The lecturer just kept droning on and on. Hopefully I haven't missed too much of it.

They’re still doing drills when I get there.

I slip into a bleacher not too far from the glass and try to spot my guys.

My guys?Who would have thought?

I spot Cash first and wave enthusiastically. He raises his visor and makes an ‘I see you’ gesture with his fingers. I smile and do it back at him before he returns to skating backwards.

I don't have to look too hard to find Hunter. First I sense his gaze on me. Check. Next I pick out the motionless guy staring directly at me. Got him. He doesn't lift his visor, but I beam at him anyway. He waves with just his fingers, and I blow him a kiss.

“Fowler,” the coach shouts, and he gets back to practice.

It's funny being here not just for Hunter but for Cash as well. A few other people litter the stands, nobody I know, so I stay by myself and watch the team.

They switch from skating drills to shooting and passing. Puck after puck flies between players and is shot mostly into the net. The team isn't so coordinated at first. There are a few misses and tumbles.

My eyes switch between my half brother and my man. They are trained on Cash as he aims at the net when I hear a loud bang. Hunter and another guy have both smashed into the board. My heart leaps but calms down again when they both get up and continue.

“He’s fine,” I say to myself.

The drills go on until someone else crashes onto the ice. This time it seems serious. A stretcher comes out, and he's taken out of the rink.

The coach calls for a break, and Cash comes flying over towards me. I go down the steps to meet him by the glass. He's handling his hockey stick in a snapping motion, flipping it from hand to hand in a flashy, dramatic manner.

“Did you see all the shots I got in?” he says without looking up at me.

“I didn't realize you were that good.”

“Never mistake me for mid, Wren.”

He smirks, and it takes me a minute to realize that this is his way of joking.

I throw my hands up in mock surrender. “Forgive me, Great One.”

He smiles at me. A quick one. One of those blink and you miss it type of smiles. But I'm glad I catch it.

He does something I don’t quite catch, and the puck comes flying up in the air. The next thing I know, he’s clobbering it with his stick as though it is a baseball, and the puck is streaking through the air. He grins when he sees my baffled expression, trying to understand how he did it.

“Don’t ever mistake me for mid,” he teases again, skating off in a lazy circle.

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