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“What kind of calls?” I hear myself ask.
“That scout wants to talk to me again.” He sighs. “He’s here in San Jose.”
“Really?” I freeze, my hand on the locker room door. “Is that a coincidence?”
He shrugs uncomfortably. “I’m not sure. He wanted to meet me tonight, but I told him I was spending some quality time with the family.”
“You’re blowing him off?” I laugh. “Harsh.”
“My head is not in a great place to listen to him,” Jamie admits. “I need a couple of days to sort out my shit.”
“I bet.” I put a hand onto his shoulder and squeeze. “Sure love having you here, babe. This has been fun.”
His brown eyes grow warm. “It’s the best. I got a video of Blake eating the grasshoppers. That’s getting edited later. If you have any soundtrack suggestions, I’m listening.” He rubs his belly. “I’m never eating again, either. But the pain I’m feeling now was totally worth it for that mole sauce.”
“Take it easy.” I lean forward and plant a quick kiss on his jaw. “See you after the game?”
“Knock ’em dead, babe.” He gives me a quick hug, and then heads down the hallway, looking for the GM’s assistant and her stash of tickets.
* * *
Spirits are high while we stretch and suit up. I need a goal tonight. The Cannings will be in the stands, and I like to impress my in-laws. The Canning clan is the best thing that ever happened to me. They love me whether I score or not.
Still. Let’s get some points on the board. I’m in the mood to win.
I’m taping up my stick when Coach lets out a whistle. “Gather round, kids! Starting lineups
are posted. There’s two things we weren’t expecting. San Jose put Murray on the first line. And they’re playing Pitti in the net.”
“Yeah?” I perk up. I’d rather be firing on their number-two goalie. “That’s an interesting choice.”
“Go get ’em,” Coach says, slapping me on the shoulder. “Warm-ups start in two minutes.”
I snap on my helmet and do a set of slow squats to keep my quads warm. Then I follow my teammates out onto the ice. The clock has sixteen minutes on it—regulation warm-up time. It never feels like enough. I take my first quick lap. I’m watching the opposing goalie, and visualizing my shot. I mentally snap one into the upper left-hand corner. And then I think through my approach on the right.
I’m in the zone, which means I’m not paying attention to anyone outside the plexi. You learn to tune out the sounds of the stadium.
So it takes me a minute to notice that the name they’re calling over the sound system is familiar to me.
Very familiar.
“Jamie Canning, please identify yourself to a security staff member. Jamie Canning.”
What the hell is up with that?
4
Jamie
“Jamie Canning, please identify yourself to a security staff member. Jamie Canning.”
My head jerks to the side, like a dog tilting one ear when he’s trying to understand human speak. “Was that my name?” I ask my folks.
The three of us have just settled in our seats—third row, right behind the Toronto bench. One of the many perks of being married to the team’s top scorer. At home games, I sit in the Wives and Girlfriends box, but to be honest, I prefer watching live hockey right near the action.
My mom wrinkles her forehead. “I think it might have been.”
“Once again, Jamie Canning, please identify yourself to a security staff member.”
