Kai hops over the boards first, center spot, stick tapping once like a metronome. Weston takes the left half-wall. I slot in on the right side.
It should be muscle memory, and it is—until it isn’t.
Kai wins the draw clean, and we set up. Puck goes up top, swings down low, quick bump back to the half-wall, then a seam opens for a heartbeat.
I hesitate, just a fraction, but long enough for the lane to close.
Coach’s whistle shrieks again. “Bennett. Shoot the puck!”
Heat crawls up my neck.
Kai’s head turns just enough to find me, and while he isn’t angry, his expression sends a clear message.
Get out of your head.
We reset.
This time I don’t think; I shoot the second the lane appears. The puck rockets off my blade and snaps the net behind Asher’s shoulder.
Asher doesn’t flinch. He just looks over like he’s bored with all of us.
Weston skates past, bumping my shoulder. “There he is.”
I don’t answer, because if I open my mouth, the truth might fall out. That I’m not here, at least not fully. I’m holding onto a secret, and the longer I hold it, the more it feels like a choice, and the wrong one at that. I’m starting to hate the kind of man that choice makes me.
Coach cycles us again, harder now, quick resets, constant movement, no time to breathe. I move. I skate. I execute.
But the lag stays.
Because once you know something that could potentially ruin a relationship before it even begins, especially one you want so badly, you carry it everywhere.
And Harlow?—
Harlow will feel the shift the second I’m near her again, and I hate the idea of causing her any pain more than I hate the idea of losing her.
Coach blows the whistle hard. “Line it up!”
We skate to the boards, sweat cooling too fast under our gear.
Coach’s gaze sweeps the line like he’s counting bodies. “Some of you look like you’re coasting,” he says, eyes landing on Coleson. “Some of you look like you think you’re above structure.”
Coleson’s grin doesn’t move. “All good, Coach.”
Coach’s eyes narrow. “You want to talk, Richards?”
Coleson shrugs like consequences are optional. “Just saying it’s a light day.”
Kai’s head snaps toward him.
Coach’s whistle hangs at his lips. “You want heavy, I can give you heavy.”
Coleson holds up his hands. “Relax.”
Kai’s voice cuts through, quiet and razor sharp. “Don’t tell him to relax.”
Coleson turns toward Kai, amused. “Cap?—”
“Don’t,” Kai says, his voice holding steady, but his tone giving away that he is royally pissed off. “On this team, we respect our coaching staff. If you think you’re too good for that, I’m sure you can find a very comfortable spot on the bench.”
