I grin so hard, my cheeks hurt.
Mayor Kent nods. “Then this meeting is adjourned.”
I jump up. “Wait!” I say, waving my hands. “Before you leave, I need to ask your help with something.” I lock eyes with Scottie, who gives me a nod. My pulse jackhammers in my throat. “I know that some of you showed up because of my husband. I appreciate that more than I can say.”
I take a deep breath.
“But I have an even bigger favor to ask …”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
SEAN
I’m standing on the edge of the ice, but my head’s a hundred miles away in Mullet Ridge, hoping Kayla is okay.
Hoping she knows she belongs.
Hoping she knows she’s loved.
By me, specifically, but by the town, too.
No matter what happens today, we have a future together, but the “future” part is hanging over both our heads.
No pressure.
I look over the rink, a flawless sheet of pale blue, almost glowing beneath the overhead lights. I inhale, and the sharp chill fills my lungs, sending a surge of adrenaline through me.
And I think of my promise to Kayla: have fun.
I’ve been trying to have fun all week, and honestly, it has felt different. I did a windmill glove save yesterday that wasn’t necessary, but it was just as effective as the tight move I normally would have done.
Hall, Griggs, and the others all whooped, but Otto and Trevor exchanged expressionless looks that made my stomach clench.
But I thought of how Kayla would have jumped to her feet and screamed my name, and I grinned anyway.
I hear the scuff of blades on the rubber mat and turn to see Hall, his eyes still puffy from sleep.
“You’re up early,” I say.
“You’re a bad influence,” he says, fighting off a yawn. “I’m only out here so I can be half the guy you are when I’m your age.”
“That’s nice of you to say.”
He shrugs, and I realize he’s not just blowing steam. He means it.
That matters.
Not as much as if Otto or Trevor were saying it, but it matters.
I pat his back. “Let’s warm up.”
My blade cuts into the fresh ice, smooth and crisp, and the feeling travels up my body like a current of electricity running up a live wire
We start easy—shuffling side-to-side, pushing off slowly, gloves tapping knees as we stretch. Soon, Hall’s bouncing, practically vibrating with energy, while I feel every bit of the past three weeks in my joints. My legs are heavy, but my instincts are sharp. I’m tired, not finished. I still want this.
With a bucket of pucks, we take turns in the crease. When Hall shoots, I stop the puck with a clean blocker deflection to the corner.
“Why do you angle your blocker like that?” he asks.
