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I sheared off with a shout, but my blood was racing. Something had changed, and not just in me. The air felt charged, crackling, sharp with potential. We could turn this around still, despite our false start.
“Cover me,” I yelled, not meaning quite that. I meant it more as a rallying cry to my team. More like I’m back, come on, let’s play.
We faced off again, and I scored the next goal. The one after that went to the away team, then two more for us and two more for them. We wrapped our first period locked in a tie. Second period, I scored the first goal, then they scored, then we scored. Then in the last seconds, they scored again. The stands erupted in gales of outrage. I should’ve been anxious, riding the edge, but what I felt wasn’t tension or frustration or worry. What I felt was excitement bursting out of my chest. We were heading into third period still tied, still struggling. The game was still anyone’s, and I couldn’t wait. I’d tasted something tonight, not victory yet — not victory, but something. The life of the game. I wanted more of it, all I could get. I didn’t care, even, if we went down in flames. Win or lose, all I wanted was to stay in the game.
“What’s up with you?” said Enrique, as we hit the ice.
I shrugged. “I’m just feeling it. Don’t you feel that?”
He looked at me funny, but I thought maybe he did. He scored our next goal, then set up another, pinging the puck to me and I sliced it in. After that, it was our game. The ice was all ours. We skated like kings, scored three more goals, and the fans were deafening, up on their feet. They stamped and they roared fit to bring down the rafters, and then it was over, and?—
“Shit, man! We won!” Dan skated up to me and slapped me on my shoulder. I punched at him limply, but my arms had turned to jelly. My whole body had, now that the skirmish was done. I’d felt a high that last period I hadn’t felt in a while, a needle-sharp focus that swallowed me whole. Now it was gone, I felt fuzzy and floaty, my head stuffed with pink puffs of cotton candy.
“Whatever you did tonight, whatever was different — you do that every time. You hear me? Do that.”
“Seriously, Spencer. Is that even you?” Someone knocked on my helmet. I didn’t see who.
“You got a rabbit’s foot? You got a whole rabbit?”
I turned in slow motion to scan the stands, but the spot I’d seen Izzy in was full of face-painted die-hards, pressed up to the barrier roaring their triumph. I wasn’t the superstitious type, but what had I done different? What, besides me and Izzy, had changed since our last game? I’d looked up and seen her, and it had clicked — my training, my passion, my love for the game. If I had a good luck charm, Izzy was it. What I’d found in her arms. What I’d felt when she waved.
“Hey! Earth to Spencer!” Dan snapped his fingers. “You get hit in the head out there?”
I grunted. “No.”
“Then, come on. Move your ass. The party is on.”
A cheer went up, but my heart wasn’t in it. I scanned the stands one more time, but I couldn’t find Izzy.
“You sure you’re okay?” Enrique nudged me.
“I’m good,” I said, and headed for the exit. Maybe it was just the comedown, but I did feel off-balance. Normally, I’d have been raring to hit the town. To toss back a few and bask in my win. But tonight, all I wanted was to catch up to Izzy. To tell her what I’d felt before that first puck dropped. These guys wouldn’t get it, but she would. She’d know.
The two of us had shared something, and I couldn’t name what, but whatever it was, it had brought back my game.
CHAPTER 4
IZZY
Iwasn’t waiting up for Spencer.
I wasn’t that girl.
I wasn’t the type to have one night with a guy, and suddenly we had to be joined at the hip.
It wasn’t like that. I just couldn’t sleep. The best thing for insomnia was steaming hot cocoa, so I was in the kitchen making a cup, doing it the slow way because that way was better. Not because Spencer might wander in, and maybe he’d want a cup, and we’d have some together.
I put a pot on to simmer, and a glass bowl inside it, with a handful of chocolate chips and a forkful of butter. While the chocolate melted, I heated the milk. I heated it slowly so it wouldn’t scum over, not to give Spencer more time to get home. Not because, come on, he’d played a great game. It wasn’t weird to stay up to tell him “good going.” To leap into his arms and cling on. My hero!
I rolled my eyes at myself and stirred the chocolate and butter. The milk was hot now. Any more, and I’d burn it. I fetched a mug from the cupboard, then another, just in case.
He’s celebrating, I told myself. He’ll be out all night.
The front door clunked open, then it slammed shut. I froze with one hand out to turn off the stovetop.
“Leon? That you?”
“Nope. Disappointed?” Spencer came swaggering into the kitchen. He stole my wooden spoon and dipped it in the chocolate.
