“Ally—”
“Just put the baseball back on.Please.Tate Sorenson is the only man I want to see get injured.Speaking of, did you see when he got run over with the ATV?”
Kinsey sighs, switching the channel back to the baseball where we're greeted by Wes blowing a bubble with his gum in the outfield.
I head back to the kitchen and grab my ice cream before returning to my bed.With my legs crossed, I watch the Catfish game with feigned interest, completely ignoring Kinsey's stare.
I shove another spoonful of cookie dough into my mouth and try very hard not to think about the fact Jay is out there playing tonight.
It doesn't work.
Jolts of pain shoot up my thigh, but I ignore it.What else am I supposed to do?Sit on the bench while my team plays Southern Collegiate without me?Let them think their captain is too broken to show up when it matters?
Let her think I'm broken without her?
Not a fucking chance.
“You good?”Cade glides up beside me, his eyes scanning my face with that annoying perceptiveness he pretends not to have.“You're skating weird.”
“I'm not skating weird.”
“You're favoring your right leg.”
“I always favor my right leg.It's my dominant side.”
“Jay.”
“I'm fine, Bright.”I push off harder, forcing my stride to even out even though it makes my thigh scream in protest.“Focus on your own game.”
He doesn't look convinced, but he also doesn't push it.Smart man.
The arena is packed tonight—Southern Collegiate is our biggest rival, and everyone knows this game could make or break our playoff seeding.I've already got my contract with the Monterey Leviathans locked in for next year, so the pressure isn't about impressing scouts.It's about something more important.
Legacy.
This is my last season at Covey.My last chance to bring home a championship before I go pro.Every game from here on out matters, and I'm not about to let my team down because my leg decided to stage a rebellion.
Scott Hendricks and his son are in the crowd tonight, watching to see if the investment in the hockey dorm is worth it.Let them watch.Let them see what Covey hockey looks like when our backs are against the wall.
I take a few more laps, testing the leg.It holds.Barely.The tape Mark applied yesterday is doing its job, but it's not the same as when Ally did it.Her wraps were tighter, more precise.It always felt like she knew exactly what I needed, even if she would never admit it.
Mark's good.He's just—not her.Ally has a way of cutting me down and then building me back up.
Stop thinking about her.
I shake my head, trying to clear it.I've spent the last week thinking about Ally Hart, and it's gotten me exactly nowhere.She won't respond to my messages.She quit her placement.She's made it abundantly clear that whatever happened between us was a mistake she'd rather forget.
As if that's fucking possible.I felt how wet she was.She's into me as much as I'm into her.But whatever.If she wants to pretend I don't have the ability to get her off in just a few seconds, fine.I'll give her something to ignore.
I'll play the best fucking game of my life, and she'll have to watch from wherever she is, knowing she can't take credit for taping the best player's thigh.
Coach McKibbon calls us in for the pre-game huddle, his face set in that grim determination that means he's either confident or terrified.With Coach, it's hard to tell.
“Listen up,” he barks.“SoCo's going to come out hard.They're desperate.They've had two losses in a row, and they need this win to stay in playoff contention.They're going to play physical, they're going to play dirty, and they're going to try to get in your heads.”
He looks directly at me.
“Don't let them.”
