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Rust
Before the game against the LA Reign, Coach Miller stopped by my locker stall in the visitor’s locker room for a check-in. I stared into the distance, so distracted by things outside this locker room that I barely noticed him standing there.
“Walker. Hey.Walker.” He snapped his fingers to get my attention. “You got a minute?”
I gave a nod and followed him out into the hall.
“It’s been a week since you last played,” Killer said, staring deep into my eyes. “Are you hungry yet, Walker?”
I knew he was asking how hungry I was to get in the lineup. And I wanted back in. Bad.
But there was something I wanted alotmore than that.
Isabelle.
I wanted a second chance, a time machine, some way of going back in time and re-doing the other day. What a damned fool I was.
And I’mnottalking about kissing her. Because that was the best kiss of my life. I hadn’t felt a connection, a spark like that, inyears.Maybe ever. When I kissed her, something inside me cracked. Something inside me said, simply,this.
Like: this is it. This isright.
No, it wasn’t the kiss I regretted. It was what I did after—asking her to forget I’d kissed her. As if, at that very moment, I wasn’tdyingto yank her back inside and pick up where we left off.
But I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. Because Johnny would hate me if he ever found out. Already, I had a terrible secret I’d have to keep him from for the rest of our lives—what kind of “best friend” did that make me? He wouldneverforgive me for what I’d done if he knew.
Which is why wehadto forget the kiss. As impossible as it was.
I wanted Isabelle more than I ever wanted anything in my life. But I knew I couldn’t ever have her.
I stared into Killer’s eyes. “Hungrier than I’ve ever been in my life,” I snarled.
He nodded. “I can see that.” He clapped my shoulder. “You’re in tonight. Show me what you got.”
I didn’t even celebrate. What I did do, however, was go out onto the ice put on one of the best performances of my career. The LA Reign were one of the top teams in the league. Their game plan, at first, seemed designed to run through myside of the ice. Figuring me to be the weakest link of our defense, the coach of the Reign threw his best players on the ice every time I took a shift, trying to exploit a mismatch.
But there would be no mismatch tonight—I took their game plan as a personal insult; a slap in the face. With indignation coursing my veins, I found a level of play I’d thought was forever lost to age. I skated like the wind. Seeing the break-out like I’d never seen it before, I snapped the puck tape-to-tape with confidence. I kept the Reign’s toughest forwards out of the crease all night, dominating them with the kind of nasty physical game I hadn’t felt inspired to play in years.
By the end of the night, the Reign were desperately scrambling to get their best playersawayfrom me.
The game went to overtime, tied 2–2. With a minute left on the clock, I wound up for a slapshot and beat the goalie cleanly between the legs. The LA crowd silently fled the arena with their tails between their legs as the Sin boys celebrated on the ice.
* * *
The locker room was full of laughs, our spirits sky-high. It’d been too long since my last game winner. I’d almost forgotten how damned good they felt.
Killer swiftly entered the room, the coach’s presence commanding everyone’s attention, and delivered a brisk post-game speech. “Hope the young guys were paying attention, because Walker just taught you all a valuable lesson.Thatis how you respond to a challenge, boys. Great game, Walker.”
The boys erupted into a raucous cheer for me.
“RUSTYYYYYYY!”
“WAY TO GO, OLD MAN!”
“SPEECH!”someone yelled, and the others began to chant,“SPEECH! SPEECH!”
The room quieted again as I stood. “Thanks, boys. But it wasn’t just me; everybody in this room played fantastic tonight. Keep it up and let’s start stacking those W’s.”
