I rested my arm over my eyes and heaved a breath.
Being with Millie had been exhilarating.She was smart, funny, and truly interested inme.Me, Luka Stol, the dumb kid who’d barely finished high school and still struggled to finish a novel.
She’d mesmerized me, and then she was gone.Ihatedher leaving even as I pined for her.And now knowing she was literally gone from this city—this country—somehow made it worse.
I hated her.
Focus on that emotion.Harness it.
It was time to get off my ass and focus on what I could control: my conditioning.Next year was a contract year for me.I needed to show my coach, Silas Whittaker, and Gunnar Evaldson, owner of the Wildcatters, that I was the best player in my position.
Plus, maybe the run would clear my head of Millie fucking Jones.
It did,and it didn’t—story of my life.Cruz had set a punishing pace to torture me for waking him up.But I appreciated it, because I was worn out—sweat drenching my torso and sucking in great gulps of air—by the time we finished.
Today was a practice day.By the time we got to the arena, I’d tried to call Millie again.And she’d ignored me.Again.Which pissed me off.No doubt that was why I went in for the hard hit on Naese, shoving him into the boards.He pushed me off with a roar, dropping his gloves and pummeling my chest.
Coach blew his whistle, but it was Cruz and Maxim who plucked us apart—as if we were dolls in their big-ass world.
“Stop being a dick,” Maxim growled.
“Tell Naese to stop being so quick to react,” I snapped.
“Pot meet kettle,” Cruz muttered.He shoved Naese into the boards, causing him to grunt and curse.
“Both of you need to get your heads out of your asses and back in the game where they belong.Hear me?”Cruz glowered, looking like an angry bear with all that bristling facial hair.
I hung my head.“Yes, Father.”
He shoved my shoulder on the way past, but I caught a hint of a smile tugging at his lips—or it was a nervous tic?Probably a lip quirk because Cruz didn’t do nerves.Lucky bastard.
“Stol, Naese, I want fifty laps.Then meet me in my office,” Coach Whittaker yelled.He wrinkled his nose.“After you shower—you both smell terrible.Shit.I can’t stand this BS.”
Cormac Bouchard skated over, concern on his handsome face.It sucked having a team captain that looked like freaking Prince Charming and acted…well, like a charming fucker.
I couldn’t live up to that standard.
I scowled as I dropped my chin to my chest, moving toward the exit.Maxim settled in for the skate next to me, matching my stride as I sped around the ice.
“Gonna do a cute little jump and spin?”he asked as I turned backward.
I rolled my eyes.The guys wereso funny.“No, but I was thinking about shoving you under the zamboni.”
Maxim pushed ahead of me.“You can try.”
He didn’t even say it with any heat.I wanted a fight, a release of tension.But no.Maxim, who was now with Ida Jane, Millie’s best friend, couldn’t even give me that.Just a matter-of-fact reminder that he was bigger, stronger, and more experienced than me.
I gritted my teeth and skated on.Cormac was still talking to Naese, who appeared agitated.At least I’d gotten under someone’s skin.
“You gonna admit you’re acting out about the nerd girl you hooked up with at his party?”Maxim tipped his head toward Naese.
“Her name is Millie, and no,” I said.My legs felt like deadweight; I could barely lift my skates.
This conditioning had better help in our game this weekend.I needed a win—both in my stats and for the team if I wanted to stick around with Houston next year.
“Nothing wrong with a little vulnerability,” Maxim offered.
“Have you traded personalities with Cruz?And yes, thereis.You get hurt.”
