Boyfriend Bargain - Ilsa Madden-Mills Page 0,85

slapped me on the back, and told me how excited he was to see me in Nashville this summer. He wants to have a quick dinner with me tonight.

Dread pooled the moment I saw him, especially when he asked about my bout with the flu when we lost to Minnesota-Duluth.

I lied through my teeth, told him some bullshit about how I need to get the flu shot next year. I’m sure I’m breaking all kinds of rules by not disclosing the entire truth about my mental health—

Yeah. Don’t want to go there.

I inhale a slow breath and let it out.

He’s here to see what his team is getting. I need a great game tonight.

I do some warm-ups and shake out my limbs, trying to lose this sense of foreboding, but there’s an edge in the air, something itching to crawl out. Part of this apprehension is because I haven’t done the right thing by Sugar. I haven’t told her the truth about how she looks like Willow, and the more I fall for her, the more I’m fucking terrified of telling her and losing her.

Stop your whining, I tell myself.

It’s been a good few weeks. I’m in control of my body. I’ve got this.

Eric skates over for passing drills, just enough to get us loose, and we line up in formation. He slaps one to me, and I nearly fall trying to go for it, overextending my reach.

I exhale and roll my shoulders.

“What’s wrong with you?” he says a few minutes later when I miss another pass.

“Nothing,” I snap.

Reece skates around us, watching, and I see the lowered brow on his face through the shield of his helmet. He had his eyes on me the entire bus ride up here. At one point we pulled over at a rest stop for a break, and he came up to me and said he wanted to talk about Willow, but one of the coaches interrupted us, and I stalked away.

I get it—he doesn’t want Sugar around. Maybe she reminds him too much of Willow. Maybe he really is worried about me and how I’m juggling a new relationship and hockey.

But he isn’t me, and I make my own damn decisions.

I scowl, not even cognizant of where I’m going when I bump into one of the defensemen on the ice and my stick falls out of my hands. I curse and snatch it up.

The sound system kicks up with a loud pop song, shattering the general quietness of the rink and my body flinches, missing a pass from Reece.

“Wake up, asshole,” he calls out.

Asshole?

Anger flares and I glide over to him, getting in his face, my fingers in his chest. “Do you see this C on my jersey? Don’t fuck with me, brother. I’m just here to play a game. Don’t bring your prissy ass out here and talk shit when you and I both know this isn’t about my practice.” I give him a glare and push off, skating away.

Eric has his mouth open. Coach crosses his arms. My gaze goes to the stands and Stan is there, watching.

I keep going. Just keep going…

I exhale and touch my chest where I know the necklace is around my neck. I’ve started wearing it during games, hoping it can bring me some kind of calm.

Another group of people with badges file into the arena. More reporters. I skate past where they’re setting up and several of them call out my name. It feels as if the media scrutiny gets more intense with each game we win, fighting our way closer to a championship.

One of them is ballsy enough to wave me over, and I grimace.

“How are you, Z? You know me, remember?” she calls out, giving me a big smile. She’s practically jumping up and down, and she is vaguely familiar. After a few ticks, I recognize her as one of the reporters from ESPN who follow our team. She’s from Minneapolis and covers all our home games, so there’s a bit of a history there, which is why I can’t ignore her and just skate off.

“Great,” I call back. Please go away.

But she doesn’t. She’s still waving for me to come in closer.

My teeth grind. I really want to just skate, but it’s nowhere near game time, so obligation tugs at me. I glide over to where she’s standing on the carpet.

“You nervous about tonight’s game?” She’s got her phone out, fingers poised and ready to take notes. “My opinion is the Bears