Late in the period, Taz catches a cross-ice pass and snaps the puck toward the net. It goes in clean. The horn blares, announcing the tie, and the sound punches straight through me.
The Stripes take a second to celebrate with a few fist pumps, but my eyes lift up to the stands. Lottie’s on her feet, and the expression on her face makes my chest feel too full for my ribs.
The game grinds on. In the second period, Stripes’ player Chas Sullivan buries a one-timer from the left circle, and the arena explodes. My chest constricts, my airway narrowing even more.
In the third period, Jeremiah Precio gets a shot in for our team, and thankfully everything is tight again. That’s not the only thing that’s tight though. The tension coils tighter with every shift.
Midway through the final period, Baptiste Marchand slaps one home. Suddenly, the Stripes are up again. The cheers vibrate through my chest protector. In a risk I’m not sure I’d take, Coach Badaszek pulls our goalie, and my palms start to sweat. We gain a skater.
My teeth clench as my attention snaps back to our unguarded goal. If there was ever a time to show the team what a defenseman can do, it’s now. I dig in, pulling every last ounce of adrenaline to drive my skates faster. I block a shot that rattles my shin, but I don’t stop. I chase down the puck as if my life depends on it. The crowd erupts, and it looks like we got this.
With seconds left, East player Reeves fires it from the red line, and when it slides into our empty net, the Stripes win is sealed.
The horn sounds.
I barely register it.
My heart is in my throat. This isn’t how I wanted tonight to go. As I skate off the ice, I toss one final glance toward Lottie, who’s politely clapping when her eyes lock on to mine. A jolt of electricity shoots through me. I may have lost the game tonight, which sickens me, but in a tiny silver lining I didn’t see coming, something else is slowly, andfinally, coming together.
twenty-four
Lottie
Fromtheporch,Istudy Maddie’s camper parked next to the barn. It arrived a couple of days ago, but I haven’t had a chance to visit with her yet. According to Ham, she needs a ride to the hockey games. I was going to drop by and say hello and confirm the time, but she doesn’t seem to be around. I turn on my heel to head back inside just as Tyson’s rental car putts up the driveway, kicking up dust in the late afternoon light. My heart rate increases as he climbs out with that hesitant confidence, and I find myself scanning everything else because I can’t bear to meet his eyes.
This is so different for us.
Although we are both naturally shy, we’ve never been quiet around each other. Here I am, checking the camper again, then the barn, even the fence line, searching for anything that isn’t Tyson Lane.
He seems to notice me scanning everything, and he does the same, taking in the place from every angle. A slow grin tugs at his mouth. “Is Ham around?”
“Well,” I say after a beat, “he stayed late with my mom for some meeting. They should be back shortly. It’s just me right now.” I sink my teeth into my bottom lip. Saying we’re alone out loud feels like stepping into a giant spotlight. I rush to change the subject, “So, uh, your game yesterday was amazing.”
“No, it wasn’t.” One eyebrow cuts up. “We lost.”
“You guys all played well though.” I hesitate, then continue, “Isn’t it more about how you play?”
“No, it’s about winning.” He shoots a clipped nod at me before lowering his voice into a grumble, “Taz and I have played with and against each other for years. It’s almost a bad thing—he knows me so well he’s always one step ahead.”
“I wish we didn’t live so far from each other, because I could get used to coming to your games.” I hold his gaze and wait to see if he picks up on the subtle hint. I know it’s subtle—maybe too subtle—but I’m not good at this.
Deep down, my overreactive digestive system kicks in again, loud and insistent. “Even though I’m not good at this, I’m tired of this. Stop dancing around the issue.” Yes, it actually said all those words. I know, because I speak colon.
Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, he clears his throat. “So, uh, how was Bodan?”
“Well, he’s Bodan.” I tug on the hem of my shirt as I study the perfect straight seam like it’s the most fascinating thing I’ve seen all day. “I think he had fun. He’s one of those people who does well wherever he is, and he’s not shy. He likes the attention.”
“That sounds promising.” Tyson’s voice is dry, as if he can barely force the words out.
“He’s not a bad guy,” I say honestly, even though neither of us wants to talk about him. He’s basically my coworker at this point. With only a few minutes—or maybe an hour tops—before Ham and my mom come back, I’m struggling to steer the conversation to where I need it to go. Shoot, my dad might even pop in sooner. I so desperately want to talk about all the things Ty and I need to talk about.But how?After a pause, I swallow, mustering up all my courage, close my eyes, and drop a hint bomb. “Yeah, Bodan is fine to hang out with, but I don’t think he’s the one for me.”
Just like that, the air thickens.
Like,sothick.
How did that happen in a single second?
Someone cranked the oven dial to a hundred and ninety. I open my eyes right as Ty tosses a look over his shoulder, scanning the property as if he expects my mom to materialize. When he turns back, he scratches the back of his head, like he’s solving the hardest math problem ever. “So, just to be clear. No one’s here? We’re not having a family dinner. You just invited me to hang out?”
