“Mia,” I croaked, stepping into her. When she didn’t move, I couldn’t help myself — I reached for her, cradling her face in my hands and forcing her to look up at me. “Please. Tell me what’s going on.”
She closed her eyes for a long moment, and when she opened them again, two tears slid down to hit my thumbs where I held her.
“We already got the shot, Aleks,” she whispered. “Please… just let me go.”
My heart thrashed in my chest. My body screamednoin every fucking language I knew.
But I did what she asked me to — even when it killed me to do it.
As soon as I released her, she turned, rushing toward the house without so much as a backward glance.
And I watched her tear that ring off her finger just before she disappeared inside the front door.
All Business
Aleks
October
“Look alive, Brittzy!” I baited, keeping the puck steady with my stick tapping on either side of it. I skated right up to him, blades slashing into the ice, and I read him like a book in just a split second. He was moving to my left to steal the puck.
So I went right.
He nearly fell as I whizzed past him, and I laughed all the way to the net as I broke away. Daddy P was in a low squat in front of the net, glove hand positioned, poised and ready to block my shot. That beastly body of his looked nearly impossible to bypass.
But I was on fire today, and not even he could stop me.
I slapped it in, the puck flyingjustbetween his left knee pad and the glove on his hand and rewarding me with the satisfied sound of hitting the back of the net.
“Fuck!” he cursed as I threw my hands up, and I barreled out a loud buzzer noise with my mouth.
A few of my teammates gave me high fives or nods of approval when Coach McCabe blew the whistle, while the rest shook their head and skated over to the bench. They were drenched in sweat when they peeled their helmets off, and they glared at me both with appreciation and annoyance.
I couldn’t blame them.
I was being a bit of a showoff.
But I also wasn’t sorry for it. Preseason was over, the real season officially underway, and I had served my punishment time. In two days, I would play my first game of the season.
And I was fuckingready.
“Looking sharp, Suter,” Coach said when I slid up to the boards. He arched a brow. “Maybe consider passing to your teammates from time to time?”
“Need one of these bastards to catch up to me in order for that to happen,” I quipped.
Coach flattened his lips, and Will clapped me hard on the shoulder before squeezing. “Easy,” he muttered in my ear.
I shrugged him off.
Why was it alwaysmewho had to calm down, slow down, simmer down? Why was it never asking other players to match my energy? To step up? To fucking play like a pro?
“Sorry, Coach,” I muttered, even though I wasn’t really sorry at all. I think Coach knew it, too, but to his credit, he didn’t make me skate laps or grill my ass for the lack of respect I’d just shown him.
“Fabio,” he said, turning his attention to Carter. “You looked better today, but you’re still—”
“Passing like a fucking toddler handling a ball for the first time, I know,” Carter interrupted, sitting back on the bench with his jaw clenched.
Good.
