Page 75 of Smitten Pucking Orc

“Oh no,” I whispered.

“What?” Simone asked, following my gaze.

“I think I’m distracting him.”

The third shot came with less than nine minutes left in the period. Top shelf, glove side. He dove, his form perfect, his reaction time sharp. But he was a fraction too late. The red light blazed behind him.

The crowd’s groan rolled through the arena.

I pressed my fist against my mouth.

He stood slowly, tapping his stick against the posts in that ritual all goalies do. Shaking it off. Resetting. But he turned toward the family section again. Finding me. Making sure I was still there.

I watched him miss the next shot too.

Coach Beecham called a timeout.

The team huddled around the bench, purple jerseys clustered tight. Crim was gesturing, probably trying to fire everyone up. Tolrek’s hand landed on Brashe’s shoulder pad.

Brashe stood at the center of the huddle like a statue, his mask still on, his body language screaming something I’d only seen in the treatment room when he thought he was disappearing.

“It isn’t his hip,” I said, more to myself than anyone else.

Kira heard me anyway. “What do you mean?”

“His movements are perfect. His angles are good. He’s not compensating for pain.” I couldn’t look away from him. “He’s in his head.”

The timeout ended. Play resumed.

He stopped the next shot, a clean save that should’ve built his confidence. But when the play moved back down the ice, his helmet turned toward the stands again. Toward me.

I wanted to disappear. Wanted to take off his hoodie and hide it under my seat so he’d stop looking. He needed to stop analyzing what it might mean that I was here, wearing his name, sitting with the women dating or married to his teammates.

The period couldn’t end fast enough.

When the buzzer finally sounded, ending the first period, the team skated off the ice with their heads down. Brashe was the last one off, moving slowly, like every stride cost him something.

I stood on shaking legs.

“Where are you going?” Haley asked.

“I don’t know. I’m ruining his game.” My voice cracked. “I shouldn’t have come or worn this.” I pulled at the hoodie’s hem. “If only I’d known better.”

Simone stood, catching my arm gently. “Hey. Breathe. This isn’t your fault.”

“Isn’t it? He keeps looking up here. He’s not focused, and it’s because I’m wearing his number like I have the right to.”

Because I didn’t know if I had that right. We weren’t together. We were in some undefined space where he’d slept in my bed and left before dawn. Where I’d rehabbed his injury and he’d brought me coffee and we’d kissed and ground together in a therapy pool like teenagers who didn’t know better.

But we weren’t teenagers. He was a professional goalie having the worst period of his playoff career, and I was the physical therapist wearing his hoodie in the stands.

What had I been thinking?

CHAPTER NINETEEN

ELLIE

While the teams were in their locker rooms, Simone tugged me back into my seat. “It’ll be okay. When they come back out, he’ll be amazing. He always is.”