Nobody questioned it.
Nobody ever did.
The puck skipped past my stick.
Not by much—inches, maybe. But on ice, inches were failures. The kind that showed up on film, got replayed in team meetings, turned into questions about focus and commitment and whether age was finally catching up.
Hades retrieved it, eyebrows raised. "You sure you're good?"
"Fine." I reset my position, shook out my shoulders. "Again."
But my blade caught on the next crossover. Minor. Barely noticeable. Except Jeremy noticed everything.
"Jones." His voice cut across the ice. "You're dragging."
"I'm warmed up."
"You're distracted." He fired the puck at my chest. I caught it, barely. "Whatever she did, forget her. We've got Minnesota in three days."
James circled back, grinning. "Speaking of forgetting—saw the prettiest thing yesterday. Brunette, legs for days, works at that little bookstore off Westwood. You know the one?"
My stick stilled against the ice.
"The one that sells used books?" Jeremy asked. "With the chalkboard quotes outside?"
"That's the one." James executed a lazy figure-eight. "Went in looking for a birthday gift for my mom. Girl behind the counter didn't even look up. I gave her the smile—you know, the smile—and she just asked if I needed help finding anything."
"Tragic," Jeremy deadpanned.
"Right? Not a blush. Not a giggle. Nothing." James shook his head, genuinely baffled. "Pretty sure she had no idea who I was."
"Maybe she doesn't follow hockey," Hades offered.
"Maybe she's dead inside," James countered. "Either way, never seen someone care that little about being charming."
The conversation drifted. Someone mentioned the Minnesota game. Someone else bitched about the new strength coach.
I kept skating. Kept my expression neutral. Kept my breathing steady.
Every woman I'd ever had was optional. Interchangeable. Another name, another hotel, another morning I'd forget before the next game.
Replaceable.
Belle wasn't.
She'd looked at me a year ago and seen through the smile, the charm, the carefully constructed performance I'd spent a decade perfecting. She'd measured me against some internal standard I'd never know and found me wanting.
Not good enough.
Not real enough.
And she'd walked away.
"Jones!" Hades called. "You coming, or you planning to live here?"
The others were filing off the ice. Practice over.
"Go ahead."
