“For fuck’s sake, you’re not being interviewed.” I stuff my face into a pillow and yell, allowing myself to relieve some of the tension. Why do I feel so damn tense when I talk to her?
Skye:Oh, that’s cool. What do you think so far? Have you seen anything worth writing home about?
Would it be cheesy to say, yeah, you? Probably. And it’s not like I can talk about the recording studio. So, I reply with the one thing everyone else talks about when they visit the city.
Violet:Duomo di Milano was amazing!
And now, because of my lie, the rest of my day is accounted for.
While Skye is at her preliminary game performing in ways she’s expected to, I will be digging myself out of yet another lie.
Violet:Hey, Cass. Which outfit should I choose for sightseeing?
Chapter Eight
Skye
“I still can’t believe we’re already onto the second preliminary game,” Paige notes, pulling her socks up to her knees. “And honestly? I did not expect to steamroll Finland yesterday. They look like they have their act together when they’re on the ice.”
My shin guards are strapped tight to my legs, and I test them with a quick flex as I listen to the team discussing our shutout from last night. It really was an incredible game. The girls flew across the ice and were ready for every move the Finnish ladies came at us with. Not once did Finland get a power play goal, but it came close a few times when Rissa got a little aggressive defending Paige at the net.
Rissa will rip someone’s head off if they touch our goalie. Paige has the safest job in the world, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
“I wasn’t concerned,” Rissa declares as she slides her hockey pants over her hips and adjusts the belt. “They’re good, but they don’t have our Cappy.”
My eyes narrow at Paige, who refuses to make eye contact with me.
“Awe, come on, Cappy.” Riley gets in a little jab as her hand lands on my shoulder. “You know we love you.”
I swing, but she’s too quick, and I almost slam my hand into the chair beside me.
Little fuckers.
I’ve only played with Riley since we found out we were heading to the Olympics two months ago, but I feel like she’s always been a part of the team.Most of us met for the first time at an Applebee’s in Boston, since we decided it would be best to fly to Milan from there.
Applebee’s over anything fancy because we prefer to act like real people and not celebrities.
Coach Madsen even came with us, and her tough exterior melted a little when she watched us all mingle and talk strategy.
One of the best meals of my life. And it wasn’t because of the Chipotle shrimp bowl I ordered, though, honestly, that was pretty damn good too.
It was just the dynamic of us as a group, and the knowledge that we had made it.
I blink a few times before glancing around the room, seeing if anyone else would like to test my patience.
Paige is still refusing to look at me, avoiding the impending glare she knows she’ll get as Coach Madsen walks into the locker room. She waits until we calm down with tape, helmets, and pre-game talk before her hands shift to her hips; a dead giveaway that she’s about to give us a pep talk.
She’s dressed for business in a team jacket, dark athletic pants, and a whistle around her neck. Her long hair is pulled back tight with no loose strands, no jewelry besides her simple wedding band, no distractions.
“Alright. Eyes up.” Her voice is calm but demanding. She nods once. “Good win yesterday; we earned it. We played our system, we trusted each other, and we showed exactly why we’re here.” A pause as her tone shifts to something more serious. “That game is over now.” She taps at the logo on her jacket and looks around the room. “This is the Olympics. Every team we face from here on out is faster, hungrier, and studying our plays. They want to catch us slipping.” Her hands drop back to her hips. “We don’t slip.”
The girls are all nodding now, but they don’t stop looking at Coach. She owns the room each time she steps into it, and nobody will ever deny that about her. Coach Madsen is one of the few women I admire, besides my Aunt Keisha, ofcourse. She’s just one of those women whom I see girls having as posters on their walls with “#goals” stickers pasted on them.
“Trust your legs. Trust your instincts, and don’t wait for the game to come to you. Take it.” She gives us a small smile, and we know she’s in a good mood.
We rise as one, already braced for what’s coming. The room tightens, energy snapping into place, and even Coach is locked in with us. Then it hits. Those four words we say every time before we step out. Grins break wide, adrenaline keeps buzzing, and we fire it off together. “Let’s do thisthaaaaaang!”
The buzzer sounds, and for half a second, everything goes quiet in my head. Then, the noise crashes in.
