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“He used to talk about it.”
“When he waseleven?”
Dad chuckles, winking, looking like he’s fighting his dark mood. “Youhad an entire set of dolls when you were hardly a baby yourself. Used to feed them and everything.”
“Yeah, well, I can’t wait to be a mom one day. Sue me.”
“Logan was the same, but…” Dad waves a hand. “Let’s stop gossiping.”
“Okay, macho man, but just so you know, sharing your feelings isn’t gossiping.”
Dad takes my hand and squeezes it. “Love you, kiddo.”
“I love you too, Dad.”
“It’s going to be one hell of a game.”
CHAPTERFOUR
Logan
I pound the locker with my stick. It’s already dented from where another player must’ve beaten it before. I hit it again, almost cave in the metal, then drop onto the bench and stick my skates out. My teeth are clenched, and I’m breathing hard.
“Logan, relax, my man.” Chuck sits opposite me, his mop of red hair slick with sweat when he pulls his helmet off. “Long season ahead of us. No need to freak.”
“I know I’m throwing a tantrum,” I growl, slowing my breathing. I rest my helmet against the locker I just caved in. “But I made nine rudimentary errors back there, Chuck. Fuckingnine. Five of them were basic skating errors.Skating. I can’t remember a time when I couldn’t skate.”
Before I even found hockey, I found some old ice skates several sizes too big. I wedged my feet into them with layers and layers of socks and glided across the ice, losing myself in the simplicity of it. The challenge. The logic. The world makes sense on the ice, but not tonight.
“We’ll get them next time,” Chuck says.
I tune out the locker room and mentally reassess the moments I failed. I go over the patterns and the player’s speed, but it’s all useless. It’s not like it usually is. This time, it had far less to do with the tactics and farmorewith the fact I couldn’t stop thinking about Emma.
A few times, I looked up and saw her or thought I did. It’s difficult to know during the game, and that’s the point. I shouldn’t even be thinking about that, aboutanythingelse during the goddamn game. Just the logic of it. The ice.
“Let’s hit the town,” Chuck says.
“I’ve got a friend up from California,” I tell him. “Next time.”
“Yeah, yeah,next time. You don’t drink, Ice.”
“No, you’re always out on the town, Chuck, and me, a teetotaler. Look what it’s gotten me—nine goddamn rudimentary errors.”
Chuck pats me on the arm. He’s a year younger than me. We’re known as theold mento some since many players would be retired by now, but not us. “Wewillget them next time. You’ll see.”
All around us, my teammates are undressing. I stand and strip off my gear, thinking of seeing Michael and Emma. I feel ashamed after my performance, after all those basic errors. I let the other team dance around me like I’ve never set a skate to ice.
* * *
I meet them in the booth. The windows are tinted dark now, blocking out the rink and turning it into more of a function room. There’s no bartender, only three of us. There’s a fridge, though, stocked with all kinds of alcohol. If the way Michael is leaning against the bar is any indication, he’s had a few. Not that I’m judging. I’d join him if it weren’t for my career, though I wouldn’t want to get this drunk.
I can hear Emma rustling in the fridge on the other side of the room. I wonder if she’s been drinking, too. She’s only nineteen. It’s legal here, but not in Cali.
“You okay, Michael?” I ask, sitting beside him.
He turns, cheek resting against his fist, a not-really-there smile spreading across his face. “That was one hell of a game, Logan.”
We lost, but Michael’s clearly had a good evening. Whatever else, my old friend has enjoyed himself. He was more of an older brother figure for the few years we spent together, though we were the same height. I’m doing everything in my power not to turn and watch as Emma walks over.
