The rink feels the same beneath my feet. The cold air feels the same against my face. But I don’t hear the loud roar of the crowd as I barrel forward, dodging one of the Giants’ defense-women. I don’t hear my own either. I just hear Darcy’s.
You deserve to be here.
I’m not far from the net. I could carry it the whole way, take it in myself, dodge the other defender, and set up a shot. It would impress my dad. It would impress the media. And it sure as hell would impress the Sabertooths recruiters.
But out of the corner of my eye, I see her.
Indie’s blazing in like a bat out of hell, grinning wildly, eyes ablaze. There’s a slight lean in her posture, her stick angled, her body ready.
For a second, everything slows. My skates. The puck. My breath. I lock eyes with her.
She gives me a sharp nod.
I don’t consider taking the shot for another second. I wind back, powder flying behind me as I fake the puck to Bailey, thenhit it in Indie’s direction, the rubber gliding across the ice right into her clutches.
It’s like a goddamn movie, the way those sharp little canines conquer her face as she flies forward. How the Giants are just now figuring out that Bailey doesn’t have the puck. How the goalie is positioned right in the center of the net, where she shouldn’t be. And how Indie pulls her stick back with her top hand, thrusts it in with the bottom, and sends the puck hurtling through the air, smacking into the net with a snapshot, causing it to ripple.
I’ve been playing hockey my whole life. And it could be the acoustics, but I’ve never heard a crowd scream this loud for a rookie. Indie slowly turns to face me, her jaw slack, eyes wide, like she’s still processing what just happened.
She better start soon, because every single one of our teammates funnels off the bench, pouring onto the ice, cheering and screaming and shaking her so hard I fear she might get whiplash. Finally, after a moment, the biggest smile I’ve ever seen breaks across her red, splotchy face, and she lets out an excited scream. One that randomly cues me in to who might have screamed when the lights went out in the training room.
“Holyfuck!”she yells, grinning wildly. “Did you see that? I can’t believe I did that!”
I let out a clipped, surprised laugh, mouth stretched wide as I glance over at Bailey and Harlowe. They both blink in shocked unison.
“I didn’t know she knew cuss words!” Harlowe yells, beaming.
Bailey shakes her head. “Me neither!”
The rest of the game is the best I’ve ever played, and I didn’t score once.
Instead, I racked up five assists, helping bring our total score to seven. The Giants only managed four.
I know that’s not usually what the Sabertooths pay attention to. They like flash. They like stats and stars and scorers with recognizable names.
But I don’t care.
Because this has never felt more like a team. And I’ve never felt more like a captain.
What follows is a whirlwind of press interviews and locker room shenanigans. Faith carried Indie around on her shoulders for a solid twenty minutes while Indie screamed like she’d just won the lottery. Which, in D1 hockey terms isn’t too far off. Zayda and Caydence already began theorizing who we might go up against in the NCAA playoffs.
Harlowe vanished completely. I still don’t know where she went. Meanwhile, Bailey had already made her way over to my family, wedged between my mom and dad like she’s one of their own, and devoured the cold hot dog Avery refused to touch because the concession worker “scratched his ass, I swear to god.” His words.
I weave through the throng of bodies, the scent of extortionately priced concessions and dank hockey stench filling the arena. People pat me on the back, and even tug at my sleeves as I push through, but I ignore them. I’m looking for one person. Well, two if you count Harlowe.
My thighs stick together from the heat when I push myself up onto my toes, muscles still buzzing, fingers threading through my damp, salty hair. I scan the tops of a thousand heads, but none come up as that sleek, bright, fiery mane. That is, until I turn toward the bench. There, leaning against the short gate, chatting with the ref, is Darcy.
That fluttering in my chest returns, slipping right beneath my collarbone, wrapping itself around the base of my throat, tickling. I try to clear my throat, but the feeling is insistent, like it knows something’s about to change.
I’ve only felt it once before.
The first time I ever stepped onto the ice.
This is that moment. One of those moments in life that, no matter how much time passes, you’ll always remember, because it became a fundamental part of you.
This is the moment I know I can’t hold it in anymore. I can’t spend another second swallowing words or hiding behind semi-mean banter.
I need to say it.
