9
RAFF
I couldn't sit still and needed a distraction.
Other than getting Bodie’s flamingo and cuddling it, the most efficient method to untangle my messy thoughts was to get on the ice. So I grabbed my stick and a bucket of pucks and went to the rink.
The facility was quiet at this time of night. Most of the team had gone home for the evening and the overhead lights were dimmed, illuminating the ice and giving it that bluey-white glow. I laced up, dumped the pucks at center, and started firing them at the empty net.
The first few went wide. My shoulders were too tight, and I was muscling the shots instead of letting it flow. I adjusted my stance and found a rhythm. I started with wrist shots that were quick and precise before moving to slapshots. Each one landed harder than the last, and the snap of rubber hitting the back of the net echoed through the empty arena.
Each shot eased the tension inside me, and I'd gone through about half the bucket when a voice bounced off the boards.
“Are you planning on leaving any pucks for the rest of us or is this a personal vendetta?”
Kai Morikawa was leaning against the boards in full gear. He was our starting goalie and nothing rattled him on or off the ice. Kai was one of the best in the league at his position, and he’d been friendly to me since I'd arrived. Perhaps I’d thwarted his own private practice session.
“I thought I'd get some extra practice.”
“At nine o'clock at night?” I could have asked the same of him as he stepped onto the ice and skated toward the net. “Move over. If you're going to shoot, at least give me something to do.”
He settled into the crease and tapped his posts. I lined up a shot and fired it glove side. He snagged it without moving his feet.
“Is that all you got?”
I went harder. I went high with wrist shots, then low with snap shots. The slapshot I saved for last, putting everything I had into it. Kai stopped most of them, let a couple through, and didn't comment on the ones that sailed wide of the net entirely.
After a few minutes, he pulled off his mask. “Is there something you want to talk about or do you just want to keep punishing pucks?”
“I choose punishing pucks.” Right this minute I hated those damned pucks and wanted to smash them, but that was nothing compared to my internal battle.
“Fair enough.” He put the mask back on. “But whatever it is, you're wound so tight you're going to hurt yourself. And Coach will blame me for not stopping you.”
I fired another shot. He caught it and tossed it back.
"Seriously, Lowery. Whatever's going on will still be there tomorrow.”
Oh gods, my life might be fucked all the ways to Sunday if I couldn’t settle whatever beef Thorne had with my brother. Because that problem figured into my angst.
And yeah, the problem would still be there tomorrow and the day after and until I sussed out why my fated mate carried my dead brother's scent. My wolf wanted me to devote myself to Thorne, but I couldn’t ignore the hostility I experienced toward my fated mate.
It was so fucked up.
I was lining up another shot when a door opened at the far end of the rink. His scent gave him away before I turned around. It was late for him to be working because I was pretty sure the cafeteria staff started their shifts early in the morning and finished long before this.
He was in street clothes and had his hands in his pockets. I’d never seen him without the white jacket, and he appeared less intimidating.He stood at the boards glancing around but not catching my eye as if he wasn't sure he was allowed to be there.
My wolf reacted before I did. There was that same desperate wanting and the need to be with our mate before the defensiveness I couldn’t control yanked him back.
My grip tightened on my stick.
Kai glanced between us. “Is that the chef from the cafeteria?”
“Mmmm. I think he’s here to see me.”
“Planning on a career change?” Kai asked as I skated toward the boards.
There were shadows under Thorne’s eyes that hadn't been there a week ago. Perhaps whatever this was going on between us was costing him sleep too.
