My team ganged up on him and number forty-seven was sent to the penalty box with Ryan taking his place. Within seconds, he’d grabbed hold of the puck. I glided toward center, expecting him to pass it to anyone, perhaps someone closer to the goal, but his eyes leveled with mine and he shot it over.

I didn’t hesitate to capture it, and there was no time to glide. No time to get closer. Instead, an invisible beam lasered its way to the net and I pulled my stick back at a forty-degree angle to give it the precise hit it needed.

It was doubtful that it made the net at this distance and before the buzzer went off.

But then the roars began. The deafening, infinite roars. The crowd stood almost in unison and the Blades were surrounding me. I cheered with my team, letting them encircle me, feeling elated beyond self-recognition. I looked up and just like that, it was all gone.

My twin’s face was on the screen display for making the winning shot and I saw nothing but red again.

My brother—yet again taking something priceless away from me.

9. Harper

9

Troy looked like he wanted the ice to melt and swallow him whole. But only him. Like no one else—especially those surrounding him at the moment—were welcome to said hole.

Instead of cheering and roaring with his teammates, he snapped out of his daze and started to practically shake.

What on earth?

Either Troy Hartman was too cool to be fist bumped, or that hit against the glass, where I’d flinched and gasped to my infinite surprise, affected his head too.

I chalked it up to the effects of being this close—and in person. When I’d seen Troy get hit hard on television, it didn’t bother me one bit.

He was taking off now. Practically the first one off the ice.

Where do you think you’re going?

The guy was my only access to my car keys and whatever this diva moment he was having, was going to have to wait until I got them back.

I pushed past the crowd going down toward the exit and raced until I bumped into someone.

“Frankie?” He was holding an oversized soda cup.

“How’d you get to sit up here?” Was all he asked when he saw me.

I shook my head. “Don’t ask. I need to go find my car.”

“See you tomorrow.”

I hit a roadblock I couldn’t get past and wanted to scream. The time I spent inching my way toward the exit made me wonder how and why on this earth I’d been plagued with countless encounters with Troy Hartman over the last week.

And it all started with me stalking him.

Stupid.

Settling the score with Troy was the first and only thing on my list that was about hurting someone. And it completely backfired.