Page 27 of Lose You Twice

4

KAI

Coach blows the whistle, and half the team looks like they’re seeing God.

Weston drops to one knee at the blue line. Not because he’s hurt. No, it’s because he’s dramatic as shit.

“Tell my story,” he rasps, one gloved hand pressed to his chest. “Tell them I was brave.”

Asher lifts his mask from the crease. “You missed the net by six feet on the last rep.”

Weston winces slightly and points weakly at him. “Maybe revise history a bit before you tell anyone.”

“You shot at the glass.”

“I was sending a message.”

“To who?” Grayson asks. “The boards?”

“To my enemies.”

“You have one enemy,” I say, skating past him. “And that would be cardio.”

Weston looks up at me. “You forgot Sam Thompson, but still, that’s hurtful.”

I shake my head. We’ve been on the ice for almost two hours, and Coach ended practice the way he always does after a break—with enough conditioning to make everyone regret every choice they made over vacation.

Good.

Regret is useful if you know what to do with it.

I skate a slow lap while the rest of them drag themselves toward the bench. My legs burn. My lungs are tight. Sweat has gathered beneath every layer of gear I’m wearing, and my right hip has that dull, stubborn ache it gets when I overwork it and pretend I didn’t.

I ignore it.

There are too many other things to pay attention to.

One of the freshmen is pale near the bench, looking like he’s trying really hard not to puke all over the ice. Grayson is favoring his left side by maybe five percent, not enough for anyone else to notice, but enough for me to file away and ask about later.

Weston is still on one knee.

That’s less concerning.

Across the ice, Coleson Richards is already heading for the gate, helmet tucked under one arm.

Of course. Heaven forbid he even try to get along with the team for once.

“Richards,” I call.

He slows but doesn’t turn all the way around. “Yeah?”

“Team stretch.”

His mouth flattens. “I’m good.”

I skate closer. “That wasn’t a suggestion.”

His eyes flick over my shoulder, where the rest of the guys have gone quieter. Coleson hates an audience, unless he’s the one controlling it. Today, he isn’t.