Page 98 of Home of the Brave

“I’m going to honor her decision. I can’t make her have feelings for me––”

“You and I both know that’s not the issue.” He was looking at me as a captain right now, and I wanted to blow him off but knew better. “She’s scared. I’m not sure of what, but she’s putting distance between you two because she’s scared of getting hurt.”

“I wouldn’t––”

“You wouldn’t mean to, I know. But there’s something in her mind telling her to stay safe by staying away.”

“He’s right,” Schultz dropped into the chair on my other side, and I groaned. “Madi tried running away. My sister ran from Reese. Kendall probably did, too.”

Hartman nodded. “They don’t want to get hurt.”

“But I––”

“That means her heart is already involved,” Schultz cut me off. “She has feelings for you and is scared of what that means.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I’m just that good,” he smirked. “I know women.”

Hartman rolled his eyes. “Because if she didn’t have feelings, she wouldn’t say anything at all. She simply wouldn’t care.”

Huh. That actually made sense.

Plus, I really thought there was something between us.

And that kiss.

That was not a professional colleague's kiss.

We were falling apart. I couldn’t pinpoint why, but we dominated the first period, leading two to zero. It felt like the first game. We were in sync, finding each other and playing like we’d been together for years.

I don't know what was said or threatened in the East locker room, but it set a fire in each of their players. One we couldn't match. I was blocking and deflecting as much as I could, but these guys were suddenly on another level.

By the middle of the third period, I was exhausted. They were dominating, not giving my guys a chance to control the puck. They barely left my zone, and Abrams signaled for me to come to the bench with two minutes left, as if that would give us enough time to close a two-goal deficit.

They outplayed us. We held our own, but sometimes the other team can’t be caught.

Abrams slapped me on the shoulder, “You did your best.”

I nodded, squeezing a bottle between my mask and letting the water hit my face. There were some close calls, impossible saves I made, but in the end, it wasn’t enough.

At least we were all trying our best. It was more than I could say for the previous game.

“Goal!”

I dropped my head as the roar of the crowd took over. They were now up six to three with less than a minute left.

I glanced at Abrams, and he pointed out, so I grabbed my stick and went back to protect us from yet another empty net goal.

As I waited for my teammates to come back and slap gloves after the final buzzer, I looked around the arena. The crowd was on its feet, cheering and clapping. They had fun. They witnessed a great game. At the end of the day, that’s what this tournament was about, and I needed to remember that.

“Good game, man.” Tyson bumped my glove, and I skated back to the bench with him.

“They were on one today.”

“They’ve been having some locker-room issues. I guess they either got it figured out or decided to make us the common enemy,” he laughed, and I shook my head as we headed down the tunnel.

That was an effective way of uniting a group.