Page 86 of Embrace

“Get your line right.” Coach tries to keep his cool. “There’s no game if you’re playing solo. Show up like a leader.”

I huff, putting my helmet back on and getting to the ice just as we’re on face-off. Sampson manages to fling the puck my way, and I take off.

Brown’s defenseman charges my way. I maneuver around him and slap the puck to Sebastian, who’s wide open. It’s quick, but he backhands it straight into the net.

Our celebration is short because we’re right back on it, and with another assist, we get our second goal of the night. It’s the final seconds as we tie with Brown, heightening the energy, forcing them to get more aggressive. Their captain, Adi Patel, checks me hard on our net.

“What the fuck was that?” Sampson shouts. “Ref?”

The referee doesn’t call it, and I let it go, simmering beneath my helmet as I charge toward the boards, flipping the puck away from their winger and sending it flying to Cole, who holds it, then cups it right back to me. It’s the move that gets us our final goal. And the win against Brown.

The team’s pumped and ready to head to Porter’s to celebrate. When Kilner comes up to me, I’m sure he’s going to chew me out for the first two periods.

But I’m left frozen in shock when he pats me on the back and says, “Good game, Captain.” And just before he leaves, he gives me a quick one-armed hug.

So far, it’s been a shitty week, but damn does it feel good to win a game as captain.

“Did Kilner justhugyou?” Cole asks from where he runs a towel through his hair.

I’m running on a high, and when we get in the car we’re discussing the game, but all I can think about is that even with this shitty week, there were still some pockets of good. But still, all I want in front of me is that deep shade of red.

I’ve seen my friends, and I see that look on their faces when they’re with their partners, and I want it. I want that stupid, dopey, in-another-world kind of smile to linger on my face when I look at someone I can call mine.

“Can you turn off this depressing music?” Sebastian shouts from the back seat of my car. He tries to lean forward to do it himself, but Cole pushes him back.

“It’s a good song,” I reply.

“Didn’t say it wasn’t, but it makes me want to do something stupid like tell someone I’m in love with them. And I’m never doing that again. Today is for drinking.”

“Two-drink limit, bud,” I remind him. It’s the same rule Aiden would impose on us when he was captain. We all hated it, and Dylan never followed, but it feels right to reinstate it.

The rest of the team pulls in right behind us, and when we enter, the whole bar cheers.

Porter’s has been our routine for years. There are beers and wings and a jukebox that plays some of the best old-school songs. I take charge of it again this time, letting the lyrics from a Beatles song filter through the chatter.

Some of the fans who attended the game are here, and Beta Phi cheers us on. That’s when I spot Brown’s captain, Adi Patel, who walks into Porter’s with his team like we didn’t just hand their asses to them two hours ago. The guys exchange looks, the rookies staring at me for a signal to handle it. The last thing I need is a fight breaking out after my first win as an official captain. Kilner would put me through the wringer tomorrow. I watch them carefully, taking a swig of my beer as their captain starts his approach.

“Ishida.”

“Patel.” I nod, casual, like this isn’t about to turn into a test of egos. “Shouldn’t you guys be heading back?”

Adi squares up in front of me, puffing out his chest. He’s just shy of six feet, which makes his attempt to match my stance almost funny. At six two, I’ve still got the height advantage, but I’m not looking for a fight. I don’t brawl on the ice, and bar fights have never been my thing.

“I think we’ll stay,” he says, his words clipped.

The tension is palpable, and I get it, I do. Losing the first game of the season shakes the team’s foundation. So I tip my chin toward the bar. “Grab a beer. On me.”

That seems to disarm him because his shoulders drop and he grabs a Modelo. It’s not long before he’s got his arm around me, laughing over one of the stories I tell about streaking across campus. It feels good.

But when Sampson orders another round of shots, I see a flash of red sneaking out of the old photo booth in the corner of the bar. Like a bull caught on the color, I head straight for the girl who’s rushing out the door.

I’m squeezing through people, half acknowledging their cheers and calls for me. But none of that matters when she’s here. It’s like the breath I’d been holding all day finds her. She moves quickly with her head ducked, handing out apologies as she bumps into annoyed patrons.

I can’t take it. Chasing her when all I want is to have her in my arms. She’s embedded in my heart like a pacemaker.

“Scarlett,” I finally call through the loud bar.

She freezes mid-step, her body angled toward the back exit. She’s wearing a black tank. Sweats. UGGs. Not her usual done-up, ready-for-anything armor. She looks soft. At ease. Like herself when no one is watching. The version of her that I get to see.