Page 39 of Scarred

But she’s not and can never be.

Doesn’t matter anyway. She’s clearly with fuckboy next to her.

I do a quick glance in her direction and see their heads together, whispering frantically to one another before I turn away, dropping in front of the net to do a couple of quick hip stretches.

Why the fuck didn’t she mention a boyfriend?

Did I imagine everything I felt between us?

And the bigger question…

Why the fuck do I care so much?

I don’t want to care this much.

Getting on my blades again, I get in position as the ref gets ready to drop the puck. Closing my eyes briefly, I use every fucking technique I know to clear my mind. The crowd noise eventually fades away, and when I open my eyes, all I see is the puck.

She wants to come see a fucking hockey game?

Then I’ll give her one she will never forget.

The puck drops, and I watch the ice spray as players bust into action. My gaze is sharp and unwavering, knowing the slightest deviation or glance her way will shatter all of my control. It’s damn near impossible to ignore the fact that she’s here when I can feel her eyes on my every movement.

It makes me want to dig deeper than I’ve ever done before—stop a hundred pucks for her tonight if I have to.

We’re playing the Wildcats tonight, and they came for blood, but tonight I’m feeling a craving for it.

My body tenses on high alert as one of their players gains control of the puck, rushing down the ice toward me on a breakaway. He’s one of their leading scorers and hard to read sometimes on where he’s aiming for, but I use every skill I’ve mastered when I notice he’s wanting the bottom right.

I move with speed, doing a T-push to the other side and dropping my leg to stop the puck. It ricochets off my leg pad, sending it back into the game before another slap of the stick has me diving to the ground for a long reach catch.

Getting enough of the puck to stop it from crossing the line, it drops with a heavy thud onto the ice before I throw myself on top of it. The ref’s whistle blows for the save, and I gather myself back up to standing.

“Holy shit!” Hayes grins, stopping abruptly in front of me with a spray of ice. “That’s going on a highlight reel later,” he cries, tapping my helmet to his.

“Fuck man, that was beautiful,” Stone says, coming up behind him with the rest of the team and giving me their praise and quick helmet taps before skating into position for the faceoff.

Adrenaline is coursing through my body on a high that nothing has ever been able to touch. Not even sex feels as fucking good as a save like the one I just did.

Turning, I flip my mask up and squirt water over my face to reset my focus before aiming for my mouth. The crowd is still cheering for me as my eyes find Luna again. She’s flushed and excitedly clapping with the rest of the arena.

A grin spreads across her face, and for a moment, I wonder what it would feel like to have her cheering for me like this at every game, standing here knowing that when the game is over, I have something else waiting for me.

Something that tells me not even this save will be able to fucking touch it. A small smirk plays on my lips as I flip my mask down, breaking eye contact and turning around.

At least for tonight, I can pretend.

Pretend she came here for me.

Pretend that I’m not scarred beyond repair.

If pretending she’s mine gets me through this game and allows me to breathe easier with her in the stands…

Then who am I to try and fucking stop it?

“Please tell me you’re going to Breakaway,” Foxx asks, coming up next to me as I button up my white dress shirt. “After a game like the one you just played, it would be fucking unjust not to celebrate. Even Stone and Savi are coming.”

“Yeah, I’ll be there,” I grunt, shoving my arms into my dark grey jacket.