Pucking Only (Night Hawks Hockey #2)

Chapter Eighteen Nitpicky

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: NITPICKY

SKYLER

That afternoon, I’m sitting in the apartment at the desk by the window, trying to work even as my mind spins with everything that happened between Carson and me last night. I still can’t believe I suggested we be fuck buddies. It was just an idea that popped into my head and I ran with it. I just wasn’t ready to give the sex up. Besides, it’s not as if he’s ever wanted or was offering more, so why not offer up a chance for the two of us to have some fun. I’m a grown adult. It should be easy to keep feelings and sex totally separate.

I don’t know if it’s the love-hate tension that’s been burning between us for years or what, but fucking Carson is mindblowing. This should be okay, right? I can have this fling with Carson, no strings attached, and then go back to California and resume my life as if nothing happened.

Yeah, this is okay. This can work. Scratch the itch, go back home. No big deal.

Suddenly, my phone rings, the buzz snapping me out of my obsessive thoughts. I glance at the screen and see Mr. Ferguson’s name flashing. I hesitate for a moment, not really in the mood for a conversation. I know I can’t avoid it. With a deep breath, I answer the call.

“Skyler, how’s it going?” Mr. Ferguson’s voice is brisk and to the point, as usual.

“Pretty good,” I reply, trying to match his tone. “I’ve made some solid progress on the game.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” he says. “Let’s go over what you’ve done so far.”

I pull up my notes and the latest version of the game, walking him through the updates I’ve made. As I explain the new features and improvements, I can feel a sense of pride building. I’ve worked hard on this, and I know it shows.

“Everything sounds good so far,” Mr. Ferguson declares when I finish giving him my update. “I’ve looked over what you’ve sent so far as well. The gameplay looks smoother, the graphics are sharp, and the character development is solid. You’ve really outdone yourself, Skyler.”

His praise sends a warm rush through me, and I allow myself a small smile. “Thanks, Mr. Ferguson. I’ve been putting in a lot of hours to make sure everything’s just right.”

“And it shows,” he continues. “However… ”

The word hangs in the air, heavy and ominous, instantly cutting through my moment of satisfaction. I brace myself, knowing that whenever there’s a “however” involved, it’s never good.

“I’ve noticed something in the game that I think we need to address,” Mr. Ferguson continues. “The players’ celebrations after they score…they’re a bit too flashy. We don’t want to overdo it, you know? It’s just a game, after all.”

I blink, trying to process what he’s just said. The celebrations? Too flashy? Is he serious? I spent days building unique code for the custom movement rigging so the code would match our new animation perfectly. This way we could make sure they were dynamic and exciting, just like real hockey players’ celebrations. It adds to the authenticity, the thrill of the game. How can he not see that?

“Uh, Mr. Ferguson,” I say carefully, trying to keep my voice steady. “The celebrations are meant to reflect the excitement of scoring a goal. It’s a big moment for the players, and I wanted to capture that energy. I think it adds to the overall experience.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line, and I can feel my frustration starting to simmer. How can he not understand this? It’s such a small, yet crucial, detail that brings the game to life.

“I get that, Skyler,” he finally replies, his tone annoyingly calm. “But we don’t want to overdo it. The focus should be on the gameplay, not on these over-the-top celebrations. Let’s tone them down a bit, make them more subtle.”

Subtle? Subtle?! I grip the phone tighter, my knuckles turning white. How can he ask me to strip away the very elements that make the game feel real? It’s infuriating, especially when he doesn’t seem to grasp the impact these details have on the player’s experience.

“Right,” I manage to say through gritted teeth, trying to keep my cool. “I’ll, uh, look into that.”

“Good,” Mr. Ferguson replies, clearly oblivious to my growing irritation. “Keep up the great work, Skyler. I’m looking forward to seeing the final demo.”

“Thanks,” I mutter before ending the call, my fingers trembling with barely contained anger.

Seriously? He’s complaining about the celebrations? It feels like he’s just looking for something to complain about. As if he can’t stomach just complimenting my work and letting it be. Would he give Samuel the same feedback? I highly doubt it. Ferguson would probably shower Samuel with praise for the same thing. That’s all he’s ever done before.

Fuck, why am I doing this? Why am I bending over backwards only to have my work nitpicked in the most ridiculous ways?

Sucking in a deep breath, I set my phone down and sit back in my chair. It’s okay. Of course Ferguson is going to give me feedback, even if it’s nitpicky. He wants this game to be as perfect as possible, and so do I. Making the changes he’s suggested might take some time, but won’t be that big of a deal. I just need to remember that all my frustration right now will be worth it when I get promoted. This is my dream. I’m not going to let it slip away from me because I lose my patience.

Bending my neck from side to side to loosen up my tensed muscles, I pull the game up on my computer and get back to work. I’m going to nail this fucking thing if it’s the last thing I do.

Sometime later, I’m still hunched over my laptop, my fingers flying across the keyboard as I try to focus on the work in front of me, but no matter how hard I try, I can’t shake the lingering frustration from my call with Mr. Ferguson. His voice still echoes in my head, nitpicking at my work like it’s something to be downplayed instead of celebrated. I clench my jaw, trying to push the irritation aside, but it’s like a thorn lodged deep under my skin and I can’t dig it out.

Suddenly, I hear the lock jiggle on the front door and it opens .

“Sky!” Grace calls out as she walks into the apartment. “I’m sorry to bother you. I just need to grab a few things from my closet.”

Startled, I lean back in my chair and clear my throat before replying, “No problem! It’s your place, after all.”

I try to muster a smile as she enters the living room, but it probably looks more like a grimace.

“Hey, you,” Grace says, but when her eyes land on me, her expression shifts from cheerful to concerned in a heartbeat. Her brows dip into a frown. “Whoa, what happened?”

“What do you mean?” I furrow my brow and shake my head. “Nothing happened.”

She folds her arms and pops her hip to the side as she scoffs. “Sky, I know you and I know when you’ve spent hours scrunching your face, which you do when you’re upset. You’ve got lines across your forehead and around your eyes. Don’t try to fool me. Spill.”

I let out a heavy sigh, slumping back in my chair. Sometimes it’s not always so great having a best friend who knows me inside and out.

“I had a call with Mr. Ferguson a little bit ago.”

Grace frowns and walks over to sit on the back of the couch, facing me. “What did he say?”

I run a hand through my hair, frustration boiling up again as I recount the conversation. “He’s got this ridiculous critique about the goal celebrations in the game. Says they’re ‘too flashy’ and wants me to tone them down. It’s such a stupid, pointless thing to focus on, but he’s acting like it’s a major issue.”

Grace wrinkles her nose. “Too flashy? That’s the whole point! It’s hockey. What’s a goal without some over-the-top celebration?”

“Exactly!” I exclaim, throwing my hands up. “But he doesn’t get it. He just doesn’t see how important those little details are. It’s like he wants to suck the life out of the game.”

Grace shakes her head in disbelief. “Why do you work so hard for these people, Skyler? They clearly don’t appreciate what you do.”

I drop my gaze back to my laptop and stare at the screen, unable to meet her gaze at that moment. She doesn’t understand. It’s not just Ferguson… it’s the industry and the fact that it all but encourages him in his treatment of me. If I left Code Kickers , the chances of ending up in a similar situation are high. And if I tried to venture out on my own, I’d just have to deal with clients who would also demand things of me, sometimes reasonable, and sometimes nitpicky.

That’s why I can’t quit. I’ve worked too hard to get to where I am, and leaving would mean starting all over again. The mere thought makes my stomach twist.

“It’s not like that,” I say, though my voice sounds a little hollow, even to me. “Once I finish this game, everything will be different. They’ll see what I’m capable of. They will.”

Grace gives me a skeptical look. “Are you sure about that? Because it sounds like you’re counting on them to suddenly change how they see you, and that’s a dangerous gamble.”

I bite my lip, her words sinking in. Deep down, I know that nothing will change, not really. I’ll still be overlooked and undervalued no matter how great the game turns out simply because I’m a woman, but the alternative — admitting that all this hard work might not lead to anything — is too painful to consider.

"Skyler, you know you’re talented enough to venture out on your own," Grace insists, her voice gentle but firm. "You could get hired anywhere, or even start your own thing. Why keep putting up with this?"

I shake my head, a wave of frustration washing over me. “ I’ve always wanted this job, Grace. With this company. Ever since I was a kid, I dreamed about working here, being part of something big. I’m not just going to walk away because things get tough. Besides, leaving wouldn’t guarantee I’m not treated just like this anywhere else. It would only guarantee that I’d have to work my ass off all over again to get anywhere close to where I’m at with Code Kickers. ”

Grace lets out a sigh. “It’s not giving up, Sky. It’s valuing yourself. You deserve better than what they’re giving you. Why can’t you see that?”

Her words strike a nerve, and I can feel my control slipping. “You don’t understand, Grace,” I snap, the words coming out sharper than I intend. “You’ve never had to fight for everything in your career. You don’t know what it’s like to want something so badly and have to prove yourself over and over again just to get a foot in the door.”

Grace flinches, hurt flashing across her face, but I’m too wound up to stop. “You didn’t have to fight for your job,” I say. “Carson handed it to you on a silver platter.”

The second the words leave my mouth, I wish I could take them back. The look on Grace’s face changes from hurt to something darker — betrayal, maybe. I see her jaw tighten, and she takes a step back, distancing herself from me.

“Wow, Skyler really?” she says quietly, her voice shaking slightly. “After everything I've done for you, you can say that to me? Carson may have offered me a great opportunity, but I still wouldn't have gotten anywhere if I hadn't worked my butt off to make something of it. And you know I have clients other than Carson. I know you're hurting and frustrated. I hear you. I just want my best friend to see the value in herself that everyone else does. You're amazing Skyler, please don't ever forget that."

I open my mouth to apologize, to say something, anything, to fix this, but the words stick in my throat. Before I can find my voice, Grace turns on her heel and walks toward the door.

“Grace, wait — ” I start, but she’s already gone, the door clicking shut behind her.

The silence that follows is deafening. I stand there, staring at the closed door, guilt twisting in my stomach. I shouldn’t have said that. Grace has always been in my corner, always supported me. I just threw it back in her face because I couldn’t handle the truth.

I drop my elbows onto the desk and bury my face in my hands. The anger that fueled my outburst drains away, leaving only regret. What’s wrong with me? Why did I lash out at Grace when she was only trying to help? I wish I could rewind the last few minutes, take back those cruel words, and tell Grace how much I appreciate her. But it’s too late for that now. All I can do is sit here, stew in my own guilt, and hope that Grace will forgive me.

But even as I hope, a part of me wonders if I’ve done irreparable damage. This isn’t just about one argument — it’s about all the frustration, all the pressure I’ve been feeling for months. I’m letting it get the best of me, hurting the person who means the most to me in the process.

I glance at my laptop, the work I’ve been pouring my heart into suddenly feeling insignificant. I thought finishing this game would make everything better. Now, I’m not so sure. What if Grace is right? What if I’ve been fighting so hard for something that isn’t worth the cost?

The thought of walking away from my dream feels like giving up. I’ve worked too hard to quit now. Yet the cost of that determination might be higher than I’m willing to pay. I’m left wondering if I’m fighting for the right reasons or just clinging to a version of myself that I’ve outgrown.