Page 39 of Enemy Games

I glided to a stop a few feet from him. Why did he care? I wasn’t his teammate, so it didn’t affect him at all.

“I stopped when I felt any pain.”

He snatched the last puck from in front of my stick. “But you were going to keep doing slap shots until you couldn’t.”

How did he know that was the only one I could manage? “How long have you been watching me?”

“Long enough to know that you were a few seconds away from a terrible decision. Just because it didn’t hurt when you started, doesn’t mean it won’t hurt eventually. Did you stop to think that maybe the other attempts did ache because you already pushed yourself too far?”

No. I hadn’t.

“I need to know what my limits are.” I didn’t owe him, or anybody, an explanation, but his hazel eyes felt like they were searching my mind and I wanted it to stop. “I know my body, and I know how hard I can push.”

“And now you do, so stop. Before you make things worse.”

He was right, but I didn’t want to agree with him. I really didn’t want to leave and let him think it was because he told me to.

“I’m going to do a few more laps,” I lied just so he would go away.

“I’ll wait.” He moved back to the bench, dropped the bucket, and dipped his chin like he was telling me to go.

“You know, I’m not the only one who could use extra practice.” I cocked my brows.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

I tapped my stick on the ice a few times. “Your wrist shot is weak. You rely too much on your slap shot, and you’re afraid to get in close to the blue. Either you don’t trust your teammates to do their jobs, or you don’t trust yourself. You’re becoming predictable.”

I turned before he could respond and took my time completing five then six then seven laps, waiting for him to go.

He still didn’t leave, so I marched past him, through the tunnel to the locker room. I ripped off my gear and headed into the showers. I realized a few nights ago it was easier to shower here than having to sneak into my room twice without waking Chris. Although, it was pretty creepy being alone here at night.

There were too many walls and curtains for people, or monsters, to be hiding behind.

I stepped back into the locker room with a towel wrapped around my torso and one around my hair on the top of my head.

I saw someone waiting for me. “AH!” I screamed, then huffed when I recognized Shaw. “What are you doing in here?”

He glanced over his shoulder, seeing me practically naked, and turned back around. “I wanted to walk you home.”

“Why?” I moved to my locker and pulled out the sweats and jacket I packed.

“Because I realized I should have done that the other night, but I didn’t.”

“I can walk five minutes by myself.” I hadn’t even seen another person out since I started my midnight training.

“It would make me feel better if you let me.” He looked straight ahead, not even attempting to sneak a peek at me.

That was a nice gesture, until I remembered all the times he told me I was ugly and no one would ever like me and it would be better if I wore my helmet at all times to hide my hideous face.

He wouldn’t be tempted to peek, not at me. One thing I would never, ever admit to anyone was how lasting the damage of his bullying was. The pain and embarrassment didn’t just go away when my headgear came off for good, or when my hair grew out.

I was always the ugly duckling. The friend, one of the guys. Even through high school, and college. I didn’t get asked out. I did my best to blend in.

Not that dating mattered. Having a prom date didn’t get me onto a Division 1 team. Not getting kissed until college didn’t impact my Olympic chances. Those things could all wait until my dreams were accomplished.

Plus, that was a long time ago. I shouldn’t hold it against him, but it was all such a shock. I never anticipated seeing him again. I thought I would never cross paths with him after he graduated high school and left. That was supposed to be the end of things.

Even though he didn’t look the same—he was an adult now—I couldn’t help but remember the kid he’d been.