My heart stops beating. Time is frozen and so are we. After a second, he releases a ragged breath, lifting his head to press his lips to my forehead.
“Goodnight, Jade.”
My heart resumes, kicking into overdrive.
The rejection stings and I pull back, my eyes flashing to him. His eyes are hooded, an ember smoldering in his irises as he stares back at me. The intensity seeps into my core and I’m so damn confused.
My feet are finally working under my command again and I turn away from him, not looking in his direction as I reach for the door. Embarrassment burns my cheeks. I thought he was going to kiss me and I can’t believe that for a moment, I wanted him to.
That’s not what this is or will ever be. I can’t help but wonder if I misread this entire situation.
“Goodnight, Matteo,” I say, letting myself into the building, leaving him outside.
I don’t look back and I don’t stop moving until I’m on the elevator, pressing the button for my floor. I lean against the wall, the doors sliding shut as I drag my hand down my face.
Matteo Ford almost kissed me.
And I almost let him.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
MATTEO
“She was close… yet I wanted her closer.” - Julian Hart, Painted Inferno
The cold radiates from the ice below, seeping through my socks, cooling my skin. The surface is slick beneath my blades and I suck in a breath, my lungs burning from the sheer force of my inhale. I barely notice the stinging in my nostrils.
All I really see is the puck.
I pivot hard on my right skate, the outside edge biting the ice as I drive forward, checking the other team’s winger into the boards. Both of our sticks clash together, crashing into the boards. The glass shakes and I hear the faint buzzing sound of the crowd.
The cheering and the hooting and hollering—in moments like this, they all blend together. The only thing I can hear is the sound of my blood swooshing through my ears, along with my teammates and opponents yelling on the ice.
It all happens so quickly. I push forward, away from the boards, leaving the winger falling onto the ice as I skate away. There’s an opening in their defenders.
“Cross! I’m open! I’m open!”
I tap my stick twice on the ice. He passes the puck, sliding it across the slick surface. It moves directly to my blade, like there’s a magnetic force pulling it to the exact place I need it.
One of their defenders applies pressure, skating toward me. I fake to the left, quickly whip around the right side of him and flick my wrist, sending a powerful shot toward the net.
The puck lifts into the air, rocketing just past the goalie as he lunges to the side. He reaches out to catch it, but he’s just not fast enough
The light flashes and the buzzer sounds. Goal.
I pump my fist in the air, glancing up at the jumbotron. There’s still three minutes left in the third, and for the first time since the first period, we’re up by one.
We need to keep it that way or score more goals.
My linemates swarm me, shouting and slapping my back, but I keep the interaction brief. I share their excitement for a second and head to the bench, tapping everyone’s gloved hands with my own.
My heart’s pounding, the crowd’s roaring, and I barely register the pain in my ribs from a brutal hit I took earlier. There’s a chance I broke a rib, but during the game, if you can still skate and safely play, none of that matters.
I head back to my spot for the faceoff, waiting while Theo checks on me and my teammates before getting into position. The winger next to me starts talking shit but I block out his voice.
I need the puck. I need possession and we need to keep it from them. That’s all that matters.
“You good, Matty?”
