Page 5 of Puck Me Back to Life

Sure enough, somebody mutters from the back of the line. “Yeah, because Hacker Hayes can apparently do no wrong.”

The words aren't loud. They don't need to be.

I keep my eyes on the ice. The easiest way to survive comments like that is pretending they don't exist.

Before I can move on, another voice cuts through the rink. “Shut the fuck up.”

The entire line goes quiet.

I look up.

Ashford is staring at the Davis with an expression that could strip paint off a wall. The difference in size between them is honestly ridiculous.

“Excuse me?” the player asks.

“You heard me.” Ash pushes off his stick. “Don't disrespect your teammates.”

Davis bites his cheek and immediately looks away.

Smart decision.

Ash isn't technically the captain. Nobody seems interested in telling him that. A few uncomfortable seconds pass before practice resumes. The moment is over almost immediately.

Everybody moves on.

As the line shifts forward, I skate past Ash.

“Thanks,” I say quietly.

His eyes flick toward mine. For a second, I think he might make a joke.

Instead, his expression softens almost imperceptibly. “No problem.”

Then he pushes off and joins the next drill. The conversation lasts less than five seconds. Still, as practice continues, I find myself thinking about it.

About him. About the fact that somebody stood up for me without being asked.

It's a strange feeling. One I haven't experienced in a very long time.

And for reasons I don't entirely understand, it follows me for the rest of the morning.

2

Ash

“Red. Red!” The safe word comes ten minutes into the scene.

Everything stops immediately. One second, I'm focused on Riley and the dynamic we'd spent nearly two weeks discussing over text messages and coffee dates. The next, the word leaves his mouth and every part of my attention shifts toward making sure he's okay.

“Hey.” My voice softens instantly. The change is automatic. Years of experience, I guess. “What's wrong?”

Riley looks embarrassed. He combs back his brown hair, avoiding my eyes. Which is never a good sign. He shifts on the couch and rubs the back of his neck. “I don't know.”

I sit down beside him, dropping the riding crop to the floor. I pull a blanket from the back of the couch to cover his naked body. The room suddenly feels very ordinary.

No tension.

No anticipation.