Page 55 of Puck Fest
CHAPTER 15
DANNY
Three minutesinto the Edmonton game and I’m already playing like shit.
My timing’s off. I’m a half a second behind on every play, my mind spiraling. Carter’s wide open on the wing, ready for an easy pass, and I miss him completely, shooting it right over to Edmonton.
The crowd groans. I heave a deep sigh when the puck sails into our net.
Coach yanks me after two minutes.
“What the hell was that?” he bites out. “What the hell are you thinking about, Masterson? Because it sure ain’t beating Edmonton.”
If he only knew.
“My bad, Coach,” I say.
His nose is bright red from the cold, his eyes narrowed to slits.
“Your bad? Masterson, you just handed them that goal. Wake the fuck up.”
I nod, but I’m not waking up. Can’t. Because my head’s not on the ice. It’s in the press box where Alex Naylor’s sitting withhis stupid little press badge and his notebook, watching everything.
Watching me. Watching Noah.
I saw him before warmups. He stood near the tunnel with the other journalists, his eyes tracking Noah across the concourse like he’s already writing the story in his head.
Noah saw him too. That’s when he disappeared.
Fuck, we’re giving Alex exactly what he wants just by being in the same building.
Coach puts me back in for the second period. We’re down one to nothing, thanks to yours truly, and I need to get my shit together. I have to focus on my team and the fucking puck, not Noah and Christ only knows what kind of shit Alex is planning to expose.
Edmonton’s center flies past me in the wing. I chase him down the ice to cut him off but I’m too late. He whips around me and feeds the puck to his teammate, who shoots. Tate makes the save, but barely.
“Masterson!” Coach yells from the bench. “What the fuck are you doing?”
I adjust my helmet and square my shoulders. I can’t give him an answer because I don’t have one.
I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.
Then, as if things couldn’t get worse, I take the dumbest penalty of my life.
Edmonton’s winger starts talking shit aboutPuck Fest.As if I need to battle any more noise in my head. And instead of skating away like I’ve been practicing for weeks, I shove him into the boards.
Not even hard. Just enough to be stupid.
The ref’s arm flies up, and he gives me two minutes in the box for roughing.
Coach covers his face with his hand. He won’t even look at me. My teammates are pissed. The game’s slipping away because I can’t keep my head straight.
And Alex is in the press box watching the whole thing, smug-ass grin on his face because I’m feeding him his story, word for fucking word.
My penalty ends, and now we’re down by two. I get back out on the ice determined to fix this, to do something, anything that’ll prove I’m not the liability everyone thinks I am.
Edmonton dumps the puck. I’m the first one there. I grab it, look for my pass. Jack’s open on the wing. It’s the easiest fucking play in hockey.
Except I don’t see the Edmonton forward coming from my blind side.
