Page 66 of Make Me Mean It

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

THEO

The puck whistles past me, cracking against the boards, the glass shuddering, but by the time I react, Lucas is already on it, catching the rebound clean on his stick and cutting around me without hesitation.

“Fuck.”

I slam a gloved hand against the side of my helmet, rattling my skull hard enough that it should knock some fucking sense back into me. I shove off again, blades cutting into the ice as I force myself back into the drill, my head having other ideas.

I’m still in that freezing lake with Connor’s hand curled around my hip and his mouth crashing into mine before I’d even realised what he was doing. One second he was staring at me, furious and defensive, and the next he was hauling me back and kissing me hard enough to leave me standing there completely fucking useless.

Worse, I can still taste him.

I run my tongue along the inside of my lip, finding the spot his mouth caught against mine, and instead of getting rid of it, all I manage to do is bring the whole thing rushing back.

Marcus clips my shoulder, jolting me sideways, forcing me back into myself. I shoot him a glare, already bristling, only to find him looking back at me with one brow raised.

“Get your fucking head on straight, Knox,” he snaps, knocking into me again, trying to body-check the focus back into me.

I roll my eyes, shoving him off, irritation flaring hot beneath my skin. Better than whatever the fuck else has been crawling under it since yesterday.

“Yeah, I fucking get it, asshole.”

I push off, digging my skates into the ice as I take off after the play.

I lock onto the puck, tracking it as it moves from stick to stick, letting the familiar scrape of blades and shouted calls fill my head. This is easy. This makes sense. I’ve done this so many times my body knows what to do before I have to think about it.

I cut across the ice, closing the gap on Lucas fast and slamming into his side, sending him crashing into the boards. The puck breaks loose, and I rip it away cleanly, barely losing speed.

“Christ, Knox,” Lucas grunts behind me, shoving himself off the boards. “You trying to take me out of the season or what?”

I barely hear him.

My knuckles blanch around my stick as I tear towards the goal, pushing my legs until my thighs burn, using the ice to drown out everything I don’t want to think about.

Connor is still there the second I leave even an inch.

“You take harder hits than that in the bedroom,” I throw over my shoulder.

The taunt comes easily, the same cocky bullshit I’ve been throwing at these assholes for years, and the ice erupts around me.

Lucas tells me to go fuck myself. Marcus is already shouting for the puck, the familiar noise settles over me, everything slotting back where it belongs.

This I know what to do with.

Hockey. Taking the piss.

Anything but thinking about the way Connor kissed me.

I lean into it, winding up for the shot, and send it wide.

The puck cracks into the glass nowhere near the net, the sound ringing across the rink as I carve my blades into the ice, spraying across the boards with the force.

A fist closes around the back of my jersey.

Marcus hauls me backwards, knocking me off balance, and I stumble into him with a growl already building low in my throat.

He’s one of the only fuckers on this team who can actually pull that shit off.