Page 21 of Pucking Forbidden

“That doesn’t mean something’s wrong with me,” she points out.

“I know.” I exhale. “I just wanted to hear your voice.”

That earns me a soft chuckle.

“I’m okay,” she assures me. “Still kicking.”

“Yeah?” I ask. I already know what she’s going to say.

“Yeah,” she repeats, firmer now. “You worry too much.”

“Maybe you don’t worry enough,” I mutter.

She clicks her tongue. “You’ve got practice today?”

“Yeah.”

“Then go back to sleep.”

I glance at the clock again, then swing my legs over the side of the bed, running a hand across my bare chest as I let out a yawn. “Not happening.”

I’m a light sleeper…have been since I was a kid. Being on edge and always worrying about when your drunk father’s going to want a punching bag will do that to you. When I’m awake, I’m awake. Might as well be productive.

“Stubborn.” I can hear the smile in her voice.

“Learned from the best.”

She snorts. “Don’t you blame your stubborn streak on me. I’m as patient as a saint.”

A laugh bursts from my chest. “You sure you’re feeling alright? You’re sounding crazy.”

“You are mouthy for nearly 5 AM,” she teases. “If you’re not going back to sleep, you might as well do something useful with yourself.”

Chuckling, I nod. “Yes, ma’am. That’s exactly what I was thinking.”

“Then get to it,” she orders. “Leave me to my morning coffee in peace.”

Pushing to my feet, I reply, “All right, all right. You have a good day. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Talk to you later, dear.”

I hang up the call and scratch the back of my head, feeling annoyingly wide awake. Well, I guess I better do as I’m told. Since I’m up, no use in wasting the day. I head out of my room and go to the kitchen to start my coffee maker, grabbing my favorite mug—a Friendsmas gift from Sutton— from the cupboard. I grin, thinking back to that weekend and how fun it was…despite how I had to basically take over the dinner so the other guys didn’t fuck it up. A bit of caffeine to get me going. Then I’ll head to the stadium to really get my blood pumping.

I grit my teeth as I grip the pull-up bar and drag my body up for my twentieth rep. My shoulders burn, lats tightening, but I squeeze out one more rep anyway before dropping back to the mat.

Sweat drips down the back of my neck, and my shirt is sticking to my skin. The weight room is empty except for me, which isn’t surprising given how early it is. I’ve been going at it for nearly an hour now, pushing my body hard.

I finish with sprints across the length of the room, back and forth, pushing my legs to move faster than they want to. By the time I stop, my lungs are burning, and my heartbeat is pounding hard in my ears.

I brace my hands on my knees, dragging in a slow breath, sweat dripping onto the mat beneath me.

That helped, but I’m still feeling restless, so I head to the rink, stopping in the locker room to grab my skates.

As I step through the doors leading to the ice, I’m adjusting my gloves when I look up and freeze.

There’s someone else skating here.

For a second, my brain doesn’t register any details as I gaze at the figure gliding across the smooth surface, cutting clean lines through fresh ice. I realize it’s a girl and I stare at her, confused.