Practice was supposed to clear my head. But it didn’t. If anything, it made everything worse.
We were halfway through drills when Jason passed me the puck, and I fumbled it like a rookie. The sound it made when it clattered against the boards felt way too loud.
“Dude,” Jason muttered, skating past me, “are you dying, or are you in love?”
“Shut up,” I snapped.
He laughed, “So not love?”
I ignored him and went after the puck again, but my wolf growled inside me, still on edge from yesterday. That damn Alpha. His smug face. His challenge. The words “winner gets the girl.”
I tightened my grip on the stick.
My wolf pushed forward again, claws scraping at the inside of my skin like he wanted out right now.
“Ross!” Coach Wallace barked. “Are you asleep?”
“No,” I said.
“Then act like it!
