A Perfect Distraction(81)

Ike yelled across the rink for them to get their asses in gear.

Tru tapped his stick against Jake’s pads. “She’s not perfect when she affects your play. Personal problems have no place on the ice.”

His stomach dropped to his blades. “I’ll handle it.”

“Then do it. Fast. If you don’t, your ice time will be cut.” His friend’s voice was serious. “This kind of thing costs teams championships. I know you don’t want to let yourself or the guys down, but if you keep this up, you’ll become a liability.”

Jake set his jaw. “Consider it fixed.”

He took off, skating at a furious pace, pushing to get his rhythm again. Forcing his body to feel right. When sweat streamed down his back, he stopped and grabbed a water bottle.

He drank, then poured water over his face. “I’m ready. Let’s go again.”

A muscle twitched in Tru’s jaw. “Sure.”

With gritty determination, Jake pushed aside the memory of last night’s disagreement and what it meant for his relationship with Maggie. He’d deal with that later. For now, he had work to do.





CHAPTER FIFTEEN



MAGGIE STILL WASN’T in her seat.

Jake swore under his breath as he climbed over the boards for the start of the second period the following afternoon.

When he’d skated out for the beginning of the game and seen her sitting in his allocated seats with Emily and Tracy, his heart had jolted. Hope had soared when she’d smiled at him before the opening face-off. Everything would be okay.

Instantly, his skating had clicked back into sync.

His concentration had been absolute during a frenetic first period. He’d played out of his skin, blocking shots, intercepting passes, back checking and throwing his body around.

But as he’d headed off the ice for the first intermission, he’d seen her vacant seat and sick dread had filled him. He’d tried to convince himself there was a logical explanation. After all, Emily and Tracy had still been there, laughing and talking as normal.

Now the sight of the still-empty place hit his chest with the force of a slap shot, shaking his focus. What had gone wrong? Nothing had happened—a little chirping, but no fights, no big hits.

He adjusted the tape on his stick and tried to park his concerns. He had a game to play. This was a division rival—points from them were prime. He shoved his mouth guard in, narrowed his gaze.

Focus.

It didn’t work. His first shift sucked. As the period progressed, his play deteriorated and Max shortened his ice time.

Jake kept his head down and tightened his grip on his stick, but the ice had already tilted against him. When his mistimed pass was intercepted, resulting in a Penguins’ goal at the end of the second, Max ripped him a new one, then benched him.

Being taken out of the game burned like acid in his gut. He’d never been benched before.

Never again, he vowed.

His mind steadied for a few minutes, but being out of the play made it hard to maintain focus. He couldn’t stop his gaze from wandering toward that damn empty seat.

The clock ticked down slowly to the final horn. The game grew chippy and disjointed. Tempers frayed as nothing went the Cats’ way—pucks took weird bounces, sticks broke at awkward moments, refs gave penalty after penalty.

All Jake could do was sit there, frustrated, unable to do a damn thing to right the mess he’d caused. No one spoke to him. Everyone’s attention was fixed on rescuing the game. He wished he was somewhere else.

With two minutes to go, Max pulled Ike for an extra attacker. Vlad scored almost immediately, tying the game and bringing the Cats back to life.

Maggie reappeared a moment later. She ruffled Emily’s hair before slumping into her seat. Her miserable expression told him whatever was wrong had nothing to do with him.

A switch flipped in his brain. As the problem wasn’t him, he’d find a way to fix it.

Once this game was over.

“Come on, come on,” he muttered, willing the puck up the ice.

Thankfully, JB delivered as the announcer called the last minute of play.

The arena erupted. Everyone leaped to their feet yelling and chanting.

Except Maggie, who stared out at the ice, oblivious to the jubilation around her.

Jake left the celebrating Cats and headed for the locker room. Ignoring the disgusted glare Ike shot him, he stripped off his sweaty gear and ducked into the shower.

Tru joined him, concern written all over his face. “Max is on the warpath.”

Jake barely got back to his locker before the angry manager appeared. “I’m...”

Max slashed his hand through the air, interrupting Jake’s apology. “I don’t want to hear it. Words don’t cut it—I want action. I need to be able to rely on you. You have one last chance, Bad Boy. Next screw up and you’re a healthy scratch.”