Chapter 6 Distractions, Damn it.

Grayson

I flick my wrist, sending the puck sailing toward the net. It should go in. It always does. But today, it doesn't.

The clang of rubber against metal echoes through the rink as it smacks against the post, bouncing away uselessly.

I mutter a curse under my breath and push forward, but my passes are sloppy, my movements off. Every time I try to focus, my mind drags me back to last night-to that damn letter.

The look of fear in Raelynn's eyes when I was just about to read the later.

She was scared.

Eyes wide, chest rapidly rising and falling.

It was the first time I'd ever seen her that vulnerable.

It only made me want to dig deeper.

I was just about it, then the doorbell rang.

Her relief was instant. That subtle sag of her shoulders, the way her lips had parted in a light exhale.

I should've opened the damn letter right then and there. But the doorbell kept ringing.

Which is exactly why I didn't give her back the letter, and kept it with me.

A sharp whistle from Coach snaps me back to the present.

"Sh*t."

I was supposed to pass, but the puck is already stolen, and my teammate, who was wide open, shakes his head at me.

I let out a frustrated breath, pushing harder across the ice.

It's not just about the letter, it's about her.

She's sparked my curiosity, now I can't get her out of my head.

I want to press her against the nearest wall and make her gasp. Make her look at me with a different kind of fire in her eyes.

I want to pull apart her composure, make her lose that sharp tongue of hers and whisper my name instead.

I skate faster, gripping my stick tighter as if I can force the thoughts away, but it's useless.

My body knows what my mind is trying to ignore.

It's not like I have feelings for her. Fuck no. it's just my body who wants her.

But she's off limits, for very obvious limits. But that's not enough to stop the way my body reacts to her and it pisses me off.

I lunge for the puck, set up the shot...

Miss.

I curse under my breath.

F*cking Briella. I slam my wrist against my ice, frustration building.

Her being the one at the door had only made my mood worse.

I should've never touched her. Should've never let her crawl into my bed, whisper sh*t in my ear, act like she had some kind of hold on me.

Because she doesn't.

She never did.

And yet, she keeps showing up like we're unfinished. Keeps going around spreading dumb rumors nobody believes.

Coach whistles again, signaling the end of practice. The team skates toward the bench, but I lag behind, ripping my helmet off and running a hand through my hair.

"Grayson."

I look up to find Coach staring at me, arms crossed. His name is Coach Whitaker, but most of us just call him Whit. He's chill, doesn't yell much, but when he does, you know you f*cked up.

I exhale sharply through my nose and walk towards him.

He jerks his chin towards the ice. "You wanna tell me what's going on?"

"Nothing."

He gives me a look. "Right, that's why you're playing like shit."

I huff out a short laugh.

He doesn't push, just watches me for a second. "You know what I always say."

I roll my eyes. "What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas?"

Whit smirks. "Close. But I was talking about here-whatever's in your head stays off the ice. While you play the game, nothing else matters."

I nod. "Yeah, yeah. Got it."

He watches me for a beat longer before clapping my shoulder. "Get your head on straight, Blackwell."

I grab my water bottle and down a few gulps before skating toward the locker room, where my best friends, Brandon and Isaac are waiting.

Brandon is leaning against the lockers, arms crossed, his buzzed hair damp with sweat. He's built like a damn machine, tall, broad, and all muscle. His sweating like a dog causing his dark skin to glisten under the lights, and there's a cocky grin permanently glued to his face.

Classic playboy, serial heartbreaker, never takes anything too seriously.

Isaac, on the other hand, is the complete opposite. Slim, always wearing his glasses even though his helmet smudges them during practice, quiet but sharp.

He's one of the smartest guys I know, he can predict plays before they even happen, but outside the rink, he prefers to keep to himself.

Brandon grins the second he sees me, the kind of sh*t-eating grin that means he's about to say something dumb.

"Damn, man. What the hell was that? You were out there playing like your legs were tied together."

"Shut up," I mutter, peeling off my gloves.

Brandon ignores me, his grin widening. "Let me guess... still thinking about your baby sister?"

My jaw tightens. "She's not my sister."

Brandon whistles low, shaking his head. "Right, right. So, that means you wouldn't care if I-" he smirks, dragging it out just to piss me off, "you know put my d*ck-"

"Brandon," I snap.

He just keeps grinning. "Relax, man. I'm just messing with you."

I don't relax.

Brandon hasn't even met Raelynn yet; he's never even seen her but it doesn't change the fact that she's a new fish in the ocean and of course he'll want to get under her skirt.

He studies me for a moment, then lets out a chuckle, shaking his head. "It's crazy how possessive you are, even over things you don't want."

I don't respond, because I don't have an answer.

I glance at Isaac, who's been unusually quiet, his expression unreadable.

"You good?" I ask.

He nods too quickly. "Yeah. Just thinking."

I narrow my eyes, but he's already looking away, busying himself with his bag.

Before I can say anything else, Isabella walks in.

She doesn't look at me.

Her gaze falls on Brandon. Something flickers in her expression so quick, so subtle, but I f*cking see it. the desire.

I immediately feel disgust curling in my gut. I shoot Brandon a glare, Isabella is off limits and he knows that but he just raises his hands in mock defense, glances at Isabella again, and smirks before walking off with Isaac.

I whip my head to Isa scowling. "What the f*ck was that?"

She shrugs, completely ignoring my question. "Have you started the plan?"

I run a hand through my hair, exhaling sharply. The plan.

I think it's pathetic. Beneath me. I'd rather just mess with her, push her buttons, make her life hell. But Isa is persistent, and if this is what it takes to get her off my back, then fine.

I'll do it.

I scowl, rubbing a hand down my face. "I'm working on it," I mutter. "It'll be fine as long as you don't try to kill her."

Isabella rolls her eyes like I'm being ridiculous. "Oh, please..."

"No, seriously." My voice is sharper than I intend. The image of Raelynn standing in the rain, soaked, shivering, looking so damn small, flashes in my mind. "You left her out in the storm, Isa. You could've at least given her a f*cking umbrella."

"She survived."

"That's not the point." My jaw tightens. "I don't care what happens to her, but I'm not interested in her dying. That'd be a pain in the ass."

Isabella lets out an exaggerated sigh, like I'm exhausting her. "Dramatic much? She's fine. She could've found her way back."

I arch a brow. "With what? Her sparkling personality?"

That gets a smirk out of her, but she doesn't respond.

I watch her carefully. Something about her expression shifts just for a second. Like she's holding something back. My eyes narrow. "What aren't you saying?"

"Nothing."

"Isa..."

"So," she cuts me off, head tilting slightly. "You're still throwing that ragger at your place tonight, right?"

I lean back against the locker, crossing my arms. "Yeah. Why?"

A slow, knowing smile stretches across her lips.

"Well, let's just say the girls and I have something planned."