The puck soared toward one of my opponents, and I coiled then slammed into him. He’d turned last second, and I instinctively knew I’d hit harder than necessary, but it was too late to undo it. I backed off, hoping against hope the ref didn’t see it.
The sharp whistle split the air—of course he’d seen it. Refs typically watch the puck, especially in games where the stakes were so high. He called me for checking from behind, declaring it a major that would result in a penalty shot for them, and sent me to the penalty box, my second trip of the night.
I skated to the box and sat down hard on the bench inside, muttering to myself. It was one thing to get that earlier penalty for charging, but that one I should’ve stopped—allowing a free shot was something I prided myself on avoiding.
Maybe holding back my emotions for most of my life hadn’t been good for me. The dam had opened, and out it all came, cutting and destructive, taking out everything in my path, good and bad.
I glanced up to the spot where Lindsay should be seated. My girl wasn’t sitting next to my teammates’ girlfriends, the way she had for two whole games before I fucked it up. Of all the good things that’d happened in my life, she topped the list.
Even after vowing to never let my dad take away something I loved again, I’d let him take Lindsay away.
Actually, that was letting myself off the hook too easily. I’d been the one to ruin it, and Lindsay meant way more to me than a fucking guitar.
Each second of the four minutes took a torturous eternity with my thoughts on Lindsay, and that became my main motivation to avoid another penalty. The fact that two more would get me ejected seemed inconsequential in comparison.
Finally I was released, and no surprise, Coach yanked me. He was too focused to yell at me with the game going on, but I knew it’d come. Especially since they’d scored the shot, bringing them within one of our once two-point lead. This game was our lowest scoring one by far, and considering it was the team we’d beat last year during this same match, they were clearly out for blood.
“Get him,” I said, leaping to my feet and leaning as far forward as I could so I could get a clear view of the action.
But number thirteen got past my fellow defensemen and shot.
“Don’t go in, don’t go—”
The crowd on the other side erupted as it soared in. Great. Now we were tied, with only seven minutes to go. I’d like to say that the high stakes cleared my head of everything besides hockey, but I glanced back at that empty spot next to Megan and thought about Lindsay living hundreds of miles away, and all I wanted to do was to go out onto the ice and level every player on the opposing team, penalties be damned.
Chapter Forty-Three
Lindsay
Every addict has their relapse, right?
That was why I was on the couch in my living room, glued to my computer screen, watching the quarterfinals game of the Division I Hockey Championship unfold. I’d told myself not to watch it—that it’d only be painful and make everything that’d happened hurt more, to the forever-scarred point.
I wasn’t wrong, either. Seeing Ryder out there on the ice, hearing the announcers say his name, it all dug at my beat-up heart, and my chest felt so raw that even something as simple as breathing hurt.
But I couldn’t find the strength to click the X at the top of the screen that’d make it stop.
He wants this win so bad. He works so hard, just please let them win…
Confession #23: I can’t bring myself to hate Ryder Maddox.
Last year after everything with Hudson had gone down, I’d chosen the vindictive route, cheering for the hockey team to crash and burn. But this was Ryder, the guy who’d tutored me after I’d pushed him away. The guy who’d taken a hit for me on the paintball field. The guy who’d cooked me dinner and then…
Blips from our shared shower flashed through my mind. Ryder, naked and wet, his large hands roaming over my body as he soaped me up, my skin slipping against his, that intoxicating mix of tenderness and taking charge…
I tried to swallow, but found it impossible. Thanks for that, brain. You obviously hate me.
But it wasn’t done torturing me yet. I relived the moments before the shower, when he’d insisted on finding out more about me and said he wanted to know everything. Then my memories turned back to the shower, because, well, once naked Ryder was in my head, it was hard to not indulge in that image. Being curled up in his arms afterward had made me rethink my entire stance on love, and I couldn’t help recalling how strong I’d felt in that moment.
Of course reality had to come crashing in and ruin it all, like the bitch she was.
You’ll never move on if you keep dwelling on it.
“Move on,” I said aloud, adding a snort-laugh. Might as well add insane to fails to learn her lesson. I wasn’t so great at keeping goals, either. “Like that’s even possible.”
Several of the guys on the bench skated onto the ice, subbing in for other players, and my eyes searched for the number three jersey to see if Ryder was among them.
There he is.
Anger at him for what he’d said at the party, for not calling me after, and for making me fall in love with him in the first place churned through me. Yep, I was definitely a glutton for punishment, because watching this game was akin to torture.
But right on anger’s heels came a confusing surge of affection, the thing that made it impossible to shut off the game. The emotion that made me continue to cheer for BC to win.
The crash of our relationship hurt like hell, but the pain meant I’d put myself out there again. It meant I was living instead of drifting through life. So I decided to give myself a break for at least making an attempt at a relationship with Ryder.
Even if it hadn’t ended the way I’d wanted it to.
Hudson gained possession of the puck, only to be double-teamed and lose it. The guy from the other team who’d recovered it raced toward the goal.
“Shit! Everyone’s too far behind him.”
But like a bullet shot from a gun, Ryder raced after him, gaining inches by the second.
The guy pulled back to shoot.
Clearly he didn’t know anyone was behind him, but I wasn’t sure Ryder would get there in time to block the shot anyway. Don’t get another checking from behind penalty. We can’t afford another four minutes without you.
Ryder dove, like a baseball player sliding home, his stick out in front of him. The other guy swung, but his stick hit Ryder’s, preventing him from contact with the puck.
“Yes, yes, yes!”
The door to Natalie’s bedroom cracked open. “Do you have to be so loud?”
Maybe I hadn’t been the best roommate or tried when I first moved in, but I’d tried since, and it didn’t matter. I was beyond giving a shit what she thought, and a big part of that was because I had real girlfriends now. Ones who’d understand how excited I was over that last save—and I experienced a twinge at not being seated next to them right now, like I should be.
“Yes, Natalie, I do actually have to be this loud. It’s the quarterfinals, and our boys are going to win and get to play in the Frozen Four Tournament, which is kind of a big fucking deal.” I added a huge grin that probably looked more maniacal than happy, although I was feeling both, for the record.
Natalie sighed, shook her head, and then went back into her bedroom, slamming her door to emphasize her annoyance.
Pathetic or not, I leaned forward, touched the screen where Ryder was, and said, “Good job, babe. Just keep them from scoring for three more minutes.”
Needless to say, it was slightly more complicated than that. Shutting out a team as good as the opposing one wasn’t easy, especially since Ryder seemed to be lacking in the help department tonight—must be nerves, but come on! Where were the other defensemen during that play? Our boys also needed to score so we wouldn’t have to deal with overtime.
But between overtime or losing, I chose overtime. If only it was up to me.
I’d never loved anyone as much as I loved Ryder, either. Except maybe my mom, but that was different. This was consuming, I-cared-what-happened-to-him-and-wanted-him-to-have-everything-he-wanted love, even though I was still totally pissed at him. Pissed off enough I wasn’t sure I could forgive him, even if he actually asked me to.
I probably shouldn’t still love someone who’d let me go so easily.
But I did.
And I worried that no matter how much space I put between us, I’d never truly stop.
Chapter Forty-Four
Ryder
Hulk-rage took more energy than simply playing hockey. My nerves stretched tighter and tighter. I’d taken in the lecture on stupid penalties from Coach, but after blocking that last shot, I felt like I’d redeemed myself.
No proud, victorious feeling came over me, though. Exhaustion set in, but I couldn’t let it slow me down. Not for three more minutes at least. Game minutes, that was, which could stretch into a lot more, especially if we went into overtime.
Focus, Maddox. You’ve got to concentrate on something besides your pathetic love life for three little minutes.
Naturally, telling myself not to think about her only made it impossible to not conjure up her image. Memories from our relationship flickered through my head. How she’d hidden from me in the library, and how surprised she’d been to find out I tutored math. The night she’d made me dinner and curled up on my lap. How deadly she’d been at paintball. My blood heated as I recalled washing all that paint off her naked, slippery body in the shower.
Beck and the center from the other team got into position for the face-off.
As the ref lifted the puck between them, frantic tension vibrated through the air.
I was pretty sure I’d lost control of my life the first moment I saw Lindsay. I couldn’t hold back my emotions with her. The ugly possessive and jealous reactions came on so strong I hadn’t known how to handle them. But if it meant she would be in my life, who cared if I had control? I’d work on the other stuff, too, so I didn’t end up being an overbearing asshole she couldn’t take anywhere—I just needed her by my side so I could find the right balance.
My friends are right. I am an idiot. And I can’t just let her leave without at least letting her know how I feel.
Before I could figure out what to do about it, everyone on the ice sprung into motion, and on autopilot, I lurched forward, too.
Without everything else messing with my mind, my thoughts cleared and my world narrowed to the game and the puck, and finding a way to clear a path to the goal now that Beck had possession.
He passed to Hudson, but he couldn’t get a shot off, so he passed it back to Beck. They set up the offense. Ran it once. Set it up again.
I determined the weakest link was the guy I’d slammed into the first play of the game. He was guarding Dane, sticking to him when most guys couldn’t. He might have speed, but I had way more bulk to throw around.
I rushed forward and set up a pick for Dane’s defender.
It worked like a charm. I must’ve rattled his teeth good that first hit, because he barely put up a fight.
Dane cut to the middle, lined up his shot, and then swung.
The puck soared across the ice. The goalie’s knees hit the line, his legs going out to try to block every possible inch.
But he was too slow.
The red lights flashed and we edged ahead by one.
The other team made an attempt to score in the last minute and a half, but scoring had the entire team fired up and determined to do whatever it took to keep our lead. Coach constantly preached thinking as one, and it was the first time we’d done it so flawlessly.
Hudson came out from the mess of players with the puck, and the clock counted down as he skated back toward our goal. Six seconds…
Five…
Four…
He shot and the red lights flashed, bringing our lead to two.
Three seconds later, we advanced to the Frozen Four Tournament.
Two seconds after that, the rest of the team rushed the ice.
One second after that, I searched out my roommates and Beck, because it was time to try to win back my girl, and I had a feeling I was going to need a lot of help.
Chapter Forty-Five
Lindsay
I pulled into the parking lot of the paintball field and looked for Whitney’s car. I spotted it up front and maneuvered into the space next to hers.
As I climbed out of my car, my gaze moved to the field where I’d played paintball with Ryder, my friends, and the rest of the hockey team. The same pang that’d gone through me when Whitney told me they’d had a paintball war this afternoon to celebrate last night’s win hit me again, a sharp smack to my heart. As if it wasn’t already beat up enough.
They were all celebrating together while I was home alone, trying not to cry as I studied stupid, confusing math. I’d managed a barely B on my last test, so if I could just get one on the final exam, I’d pass with flying colors—or maybe like dull, floppy colors, but passing was passing.
Whitney had called and said she needed a huge favor. She explained that Hudson left to go to some victory dinner with the guys while she, Lyla, and Megan had stayed behind to gather the gear. Only when they came outside to leave, they discovered the car had a flat tire. None of them could get the lug nuts to so much as budge, so they were going to wait until their boyfriends could come take care of it, but in the meantime, they needed a ride home.
Since I didn’t see them, I called out their names. “Whitney? Megan? Lyla?”
The two tires I could see were fine. I started to circle around the car, but then the door to the gray square building opened and Whitney stepped out.
“Thanks so much for coming to get us.” She grimaced. “I hate to ask another favor, but can you help us lift this box of gear?”
“Sure, no problem.” It wasn’t like I had anything else to do today. Besides catch shade from my roommates while doing that studying I was in no hurry to get back to, even though I probably should be.
Going from outside to inside left my vision dark, and the shapes in front of me were hard to make out. I swore a few of them moved, creeping across the space like shadowed people, and I blinked.
Great, I’ve gone from talking to myself to seeing things.
“Is the indoor arena through there?” I gestured toward the open double doors, where a glowing square of white illuminated the floor and shed a bit of light on the booth with the cash register and row of rentable paintball guns.
“Yeah. It’s a little too small for when everyone on the team plays, but it could work for two people.” Whitney raised her voice super loud when she said the last words, like I’d suddenly become deaf. “Come on, I’ll show you.”
She walked behind me, urging me forward with a hand on my back. I registered the fact that Lyla and Megan were off to the side, but my attention went to the dimly lit arena, and how the black light made the paint glow.
A splattering of neon colors stood out on a tall, gray tower off to the right, and the height and small hole just big enough for a peek and the barrel of a gun near the top made me think it must serve as a lookout post. Junkie, paint-splattered cars with missing windows were situated among big wooden barrels and pallets, and several tires hung suspended from the ceiling with ropes, completing the rainbow, post-apocalyptic look.
“I think that more than two people could play. Maybe not the entire team, but—” I froze when I saw Ryder in the center of the room. A table sat in front of him, but I couldn’t quite make out what was on top of it.
“The target’s in place,” Lyla said from behind me. “Wait. Is that the phrase we decided on? It sounds kind of darker-intentioned than I remembered when we discussed it.”
I turned to my friends, eyes wide.
The three of them wore matching apologetic expressions
tinged with a bizarre excitement, and I wondered if I’d accidentally made friends with crazy people—that’d be just my luck.
A few of Ryder’s teammates came out of the woodwork. Beck, Hudson, Dane, and Daniel.
Daniel tossed Ryder the keys, and Ryder gave him a nod before turning back to me.
A tight band formed around my chest and my thoughts whirred, not finding anything logical enough to actually land on. “What the hell’s going on?”
“We’re sorry about this,” Whitney said as she, Megan, and Lyla slowly backed away, “and I hope you don’t hate us afterward, but just remember that we all think you’re awesome, and if you want to leave after he says what he needs to, we’ll be right outside.”
Their boyfriends, along with Daniel, who gave me a shrug, melted back toward the door.
“And if you decide you’d like to be left in here alone for an hour or so, text us and we’ll make sure no one interrupts,” Megan added.
Then they rushed out the doors we’d entered through, pulling them closed.
Way too late, I thought about making a run for the exit. That’d probably require the use of my feet, though, and they didn’t seem to be working.
“You’re not locked in,” Ryder said, holding up his hands. “But you might experience some resistance if you try to leave right now. Those friends of ours are hella meddlesome.” He cracked a nervous smile that made me think he’d tried to make a joke.
Every emotion I’d experienced this past week swirled through me, a tangled mess of sorrow, pain, and anger.
Mobility returned to my limbs and I walked straight for him, not sure what I was going to say or do, but my body was very determined to make some kind of action happen, and I wasn’t entirely sure I was in control of what it’d be.
The items on the table sharpened into relief. A picnic basket sat by a vase of red roses, and a paintball gun rested between the two.
Confusion set in, throwing a wrench in my unplanned plan. I glanced from the weapon to Ryder, smothering the thought about how sexy he looked, because sexy hadn’t done my any favors before. “What’s the gun for?”
Confessions of a Former Puck Bunny (Taking Shots) Page 23
