She blinked. "I don't see how—"
"Your equipment. Your costume. The weight and restriction you had to perform in." I stood up, pulling her with me. "I have my gear in my room. Come on."
Five minutes later, we were back in my room, and I was pulling out my goalie equipment. Mira stared at it like I'd produced a medieval torture device.
"This is what you wear?"
"Every game." I held up the leg pads. "Want to try?"
She looked dubious but game, so I helped her into the equipment piece by piece. The leg pads had to be strapped on tight, the chest protector swallowed her small frame, and by the time I added the blocker and glove, she looked like a tiny person drowning in protective gear.
"I can't move," she said, attempting to take a step and wobbling dangerously.
I caught her automatically, my hands on her waist to steady her. "You get used to it."
"How do you skate in this? How do you do anything in this?" She tried to lift her arms and nearly overbalanced. "I had no idea."
"Now imagine doing this while people are shooting frozen rubber at your face at ninety miles per hour."
"All goalies are insane." She attempted another step and started to fall forward. I caught her again, pulling her against my chest to keep her upright.
We stayed there, frozen, her face tilted up to mine. I was acutely aware of every point of contact—my hands on her waist, her palms braced against my chest, the way her breath had quickened.
"Logan," she whispered.
I started to lean down, drawn by something stronger than logic or self-preservation. Her eyes fluttered closed, lips parting slightly, and I was maybe two inches away when—
"Does anyone know where the—oh." Blake's voice, thick with sleep, came from the doorway. "Sorry. Didn't mean to... I'll just..." He backed out quickly, closing the door.
Mira and I sprang apart like we'd been electrocuted. Well, Mira tried to spring apart. Mostly she wobbled dangerously, and I had to catch her again.
"We should probably—" I started.
"Yeah. Definitely. The equipment." She was fumbling with the straps, her cheeks flushed. "This was very educational."
"Educational. Right."
I helped her out of the gear in silence, both of us carefully not looking at each other. When she was finally free, she headed for the door, then paused with her hand on the knob.
"Logan? Tonight—the visualization, the talking—it helped. Right?"
"More than you know."
"Good. Because..." She turned to look at me, and her expression was so vulnerable it made my chest ache. "Sam never made me feel desired. I was useful to him. An accessory. A tool to make him look better. But when you look at me, I feel powerful. Like wanting me gives me some kind of advantage instead of making me weak."
"Youarepowerful," I said. "And anyone who made you feel otherwise was an idiot."
She smiled, soft and genuine, and then she was gone.
I lay back down on my bed, staring at the ceiling, and realized the anxiety about the game had been completely replaced by a different kind of tension. But this kind, at least, came with the possibility of something good.
Chapter 11: Mira
The email arrived early morning, and I knew it was bad news before I even opened it.
Dad's phone - Mom
Hi sweetie. Don't panic. Everything is fine. Well, mostly fine. Dad and I were in a minor car accident yesterday. We're both okay—just some bruises and whiplash. But the car is totaled, and with the medical bills and the deductible and needing to get a new vehicle...
