Page 104 of Scarred

A grin spreads across her face as she pockets the money. “Thank you, Cayden,” she blushes. “You too.”

Handing the drinks to Luna, I set the bag down on the floorboard by her feet.

“You know, you just made that girl’s entire year, right?” Luna says, watching Sarah walk away. “She’s got a major crush on you.”

“Sarah? She’s seventeen,” I laugh, backing out of the parking lot to drive us somewhere private to eat.

“I’m pretty sure you’ve got all ages covered with crushes,” she chuckles. “But, I think it’s really sweet how you know her name and tip her well,” she smiles.

“She’s here every time I come. She’s a hard worker and deserves it,” I shrug.

Glancing over, Luna is still smiling.

“What?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Nothing,” she shakes her head. “You just keep surprising me, is all. I have a feeling most people see just a goalie when they look at you, but I’m realizing there are a lot more layers to you than you let people see.”

My fingers flex on the steering wheel as I stare straight ahead. Something tightens in my chest, and I glance down when I feel her hand wrap around mine on the console.

“I only let people see what I want them to see,” I quietly say, as my fingers intertwine with hers. The feel of her touch immediately relaxes me as I slowly stroke her palm.

“I guess that makes me the lucky one,” she whispers.

My jaw tightens as her words slip past the armor I’ve spent years building.

It’s like every emotion I’ve locked away deep inside wants to claw its way out all at once.

So, I do the only thing that makes sense.

I take her to the one place that understands me the most.

The rink comes into view a few minutes later, and I turn into the empty parking lot before pulling up front.

“Which rink is this?” She asks, peering up at the massive building.

“It’s our practice facility,” I say, shutting off the engine and taking the drinks from her. “If I’m going to let you see more of me, then this is part of it.”

A smile touches her lips as she gets out of the car with me. Taking our food with us, I hold out my hand, and she doesn’t hesitate to take it as I lead her to the side door.

Using my key card, I get us in and lead us down the hallway toward the rink. With a flip of a switch, it comes alive, and the ice gleams under the soft glow of the lights.

I watch her eyes take it in and smile. Even though she doesn’t play hockey, I can tell she feels it. Her stage may be made of wood, but this thin layer of ice is mine.

“You can almost feel the energy of the crowd and hear the roar,” she whispers, closing her eyes briefly to the imaginary sounds before smiling broadly.

“I know,” I grin, pulling her with me. “We can eat over here.”

Sitting on the team bench, we pull out our food, and when she takes her first bite, her eyes go wide.

“Holy shit, this is a good burger,” she says, with a mouthful.

“Why do you think I know the staff by name?” I grin, taking a big bite. “Fuck, that’s good,” I moan, taking another.

“How did you get started in hockey? Does your dad play?” She asks, bringing the straw to her lips and taking a drink.

“No,” I chuckle. “He’s a big fan, though, and I started watching games with him by the time I could walk. Once he saw me mimicking the players on the living room floor with a plastic hockey stick and puck, he got me into lessons. I was hooked from then on out.”

She smiles at the memory and asks, “Why the goalie?”