Page 46 of Puck Fest
Noah followed me out. He explained about Alex, Chicago, and the player whose career got destroyed because Noah trusted the wrong person.
And I believe him. I do.
But it doesn’t change the fact that seeing them together felt like a knife twisting in my gut.
For the next two days, I avoid him.
We’ve got practice, team meetings, the usual routine. I see Noah around the arena talking to staff, handling media, doing his job. And every time our eyes meet, he looks like he wants to say something.
I don’t give him the chance. I duck away every time he flies into my airspace.
On Thursday night, we’ve got a home game against Seattle. It’s an easy win for us. I play clean, too. No penalties, one assist, exactly the kind of game Noah would approve of.
Not that I’m playing for his approval.
Except I am. And that’s the problem.
After the game, I’m in the locker room pulling off my gear when my phone buzzes with a text from Noah.
Good game. Can we talk?
I stare at the screen.
About what?
About the other day. About Alex.
Nothing to talk about. You explained. I get it.
Then why have you been avoiding me?
I haven’t been avoiding you.
You have. Can we talk? Please?
The “please” gets me. Noah doesn’t say please. Ever.
I let out a deep sigh.
Where?
My office. Twenty minutes?
I should say no. I should go home, get some sleep, forget about Noah Enver and his walls and the way he looked sitting across from his ex.
But I don’t.
Fine.
Twenty minutes later, I’m standing outside Noah’s office, my pulse jumping in my throat. I pause with my fist in midair for a second before I knock.
“Come in,” Noah calls out.
I twist the handle and push open the door. Noah’s at his desk, still in his suit from the game, tie loosened slightly. His eyes are tired as he raises them.
“You wanted to talk.”
“Yeah.” He stands up and moves around the desk. “I didn’t like the way we left things the other day at the coffee shop.”
