Beak Performance (Fangs on Ice #3)

4. Four

Four

Max - Five weeks later

B ack in Veitsreuth neither Arne nor I mentioned the dream or the kiss. We went straight into our routine. Training and games. Games and training.

Jerke introduced us to our new physical therapist, S?ren. He was a good-looking guy with a physique that would make any hockey player jealous.

He and Arne bonded immediately over being Danish. I despised S?ren a little for that. But mostly, I hated that Arne avoided me.

I knew why he did it. As my captain, he couldn’t show favouritism. And he behaved amicably towards me. He was always on his best behaviour and had my back when I needed it.

It’s not his fault you want to break his.

When I scored in my second game with the team, he met me behind the net and hugged me. For a moment that hug sat like a talisman in my chest, warming my heart. Off of the ice, he pretended I didn’t exist.

It hurts.

And there was more… The memories of our last night in Scotland haunted me.

Even five weeks later, I wasn’t sure what had happened that night. I knew as a Nachtkrapp, a Night Raven, I could dreamwalk.

Technically, at least.

Nobody’s dreams had ever lured me. Ever. Had I crossed that one boundary I never wanted to break and entered his mind?

You could ask.

Another low huff escaped me, the movement making my lip smart.

‘Hey Arne, did you have that dream about blowing me, too? Or was it just me? Any chance you want to repeat it?’

I snorted at my joke, then embarrassment flooded me. I’d always found myself funny but others found me ‘too much’. My last boyfriend—an exceptionally messy breakup when I found out through his ArgoS that he’d cheated on me—had always rolled his eyes at me. ‘You’re not funny, Max. Stop trying’.

Well, perhaps that new guy of his was funnier than me.

Fat chance.

“Here you go, Max. Are you okay?” S?ren looked at me with anxious eyes—grey like a stormy sky.

He’s gorgeous. Not my type. But maybe Arne’s?

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I snapped, grabbing the ice pack from him and pressing it to my smarting lip. I’d taken a puck to the face, and it was sheer luck I still had all my teeth.

You let yourself be distracted.

I knew that perfectly well, and I was still beating myself up about it. But how was I supposed to keep my cool when the Viking sped up the rink, bent over his stick, his eagle eyes narrowed on the puck?

I knew that look. It was the same one he had given me when he had sucked—

With a groan, I let my head fall back, trying to find something on the recently painted ceiling above me. What was I looking for? I snorted. My head? My self-control?

“I need to go see Jerke for a minute. Will you be alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Bruised lip, bruised ego, that’s all.”

His sigh sounded exasperated. This wasn’t his first job with a hockey team; he knew how we were. Just a bunch of guys who loved to hang out on the ice and fight over a rubber puck. None of us minded a bit of pain.

“Be right back. Don’t faint on me, Max.”

I rolled my eyes at S?ren before slapping the ice pack on my lip.

Ah, that’s better.