“Problem?”
“I have to go.” He leaps out of bed, and I can’t help but admire his form as he hops around my room, looking for various pieces of his clothing.
“Did you get the time wrong?”
“No. Better. Look.” He tosses the phone onto the bed, eyes bright with excitement.
I pick it up and read the text message on the screen.
Coach Powers
We’re keeping Volkov out of practice today to rest a muscle strain. Can you scrimmage with us at the Boulder facility? Scrimmage starts at 11 but come in when you can to warm up.
“Whoa!” I say. “You’re practicing with the Cougars? How often does this happen?”
“Never. That’s how often. I have a two-way contract, but I’ve never been recalled.” He’s trying to cram a sock on one foot from a standing position, looking a little like a flustered flamingo. “I have to get my gear from home.”
“I know, Beck. But take a breath. You have plenty of time to get there. Finish your sandwich.”
He grabs the remainder and shoves it into his mouth in one enormous bite, and I laugh.
“Now drink your coffee. And we need to get you some water, too.”
“Okay. Yeah. Good point,” he chatters. “Thanks.”
“Hey.” I step into his space and force him to look at me. “What kind of energy do you want to bring to this practice. The frantic kind?”
His clear eyes lock onto mine, and he shakes his head.
“Then do me a favor.” I place a hand on his sternum, where his heart is beating wildly. “Take a slow breath. Fill your lungs from bottom—” I press the heel of my hand into his chest. “—to top. Come on, now. Just take a moment for yourself.”
Watching me, he takes a slow breath and sighs it out.
“Again.”
He closes his eyes and breathes deeply.
“There you go. That’s it. Now remember that feeling.” I pick up his to-go cup off the nightstand. “Let me get you a bottle of water to drink. Stay hydrated, okay?”
He gives me a nervous smile, and a few minutes later, I’m alone in my kitchen, listening to the sound of his Jeep pulling out of my driveway. Then silence. I listen to the heat cycle on, and picture him heading speedily toward home to grab his gear.
And I’m almost as excited as he is.
Thirty-One
It’s Only a Scrimmage
Beck
I drive toward the highway, trying to remember the sensation of Forest’s hand on my chest. Breathe. When I have myself under control, I dictate a reply to Coach Powers’s message.
Beck
I’ll be there. Flying towards Boulder like a greyhound who heard the treat bag rattle.
Coach:
Awesome. We’ll be skating drills when you get here. Just head into the dressing room and Banks will sort you out with a practice jersey. Warm up and stretch all you need.
