Page 45 of Crease Collision

The thought lands sharp, then immediately trips.

I didn’t tell him either.

“Great,” I whisper. “That’s helpful.”

I dig my nails into my thighs, trying to hold on to something solid.

This doesn’t mean anything. It was only a week.

We took a stupid fucking walk through Central Park where I talked too much, and he listened like I mattered.

We fucked like rabbits for a few days. That’s what you do with hookups.

But were we just hooking up? The ache in my chest tells me it was more than that.

Don’t do this. Don’t make it bigger. Don’t let a gorgeous Swedish goalie with dangerous hands and terrible timing wreck your game.

Fat chance.

The worst part isn’t even the shock. It’s knowing the Condors will play the Fury four times this season. I’ll stand in my crease and watch Oskar in his, and I will have to help beat him. Part of my job is to identify his weaknesses and report to our coaches.

Fuck me.

When I leave the stall, the mirror catches me off guard. I look like me, another shock. The way things are exploding around me, I should at least have bruises.

I turn on the water and splash some on my face. Focus. Win the game. Then deal with him.

Gripping the edge of the sink, I meet my own eyes.

I can do this. The third period will go better.

But the third does not go better. If possible, I play even worse than I did in the second. How could I do anything else since I spend most of the time staring across the ice at him?

Trying to analyze his technique doesn’t work. I’ve been reading other goalies since I was a kid, and all it takes is Oskar showing up for me to lose that skill. I try again. He drops into his butterfly, sitting back a little.

Which means fucking what?

Six minutes in, the Fury score their third goal. Number four comes with only two minutes left in the game. The Condors do not score again.

Game to the Fury, 2–4.

I go through my post-game ritual on autopilot. The locker room is quiet, and my teammates are watching me. In the shower, Tarasov claims the nozzle next to mine. We don’t exchange five words because the mantra in my mind has me too busy to talk.

Find Oskar. Find him.

And I will. Not after I’ve slept and turned back into a person with reasonable emotional regulation, but right now. I get dressed and head for the door.

Nico catches me. “Kai.”

“I can’t.”

His mouth tightens. “Can’t what?”

“Do whatever you want me to do.”

He glances toward the room, then back at me. “You’re going somewhere?”

“Very observant.”