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Melody
Okay. Tell me where to go.
My energy is creeping higher—so much so that I stuff my shirt into my bag and lace my sneakers tight. I run all the way to the arena, and it doesn’t put a dent in the feeling in my chest. And it doesn’t distract me from replaying memories with Melody.
Now isn’t the time to get distracted.
It’s time to scheme.
I need to have an answer when she asks me how we met, where she knows me from. My lungs burning, I walk through the locker room doors. Our gear is all laid out in our lockers, our names printed above them. It’s quieter than usual.
What I need is to come up with a plan, then clear my head and focus on the game. A win tonight will put us one step closer to winning the series and moving on to the next round.
I lace into my skates and grab my stick. The way to the rink is silent, and I step out onto the perfectly smooth ice with little fanfare. Everything is all lit up in preparation. I catch sight of people in the doorways behind the upper sections. Workers preparing for the crowd that will once again be swarming the arena.
“Hey.” Knox skates toward me. He’s wearing a backward cap pressing his hair down, a long-sleeve shirt and jeans. A puck floats out ahead of him. “Getting in some last-minute practice?”
I scoff and stop the puck with my skate. “We had morning practice already.”
He nods. “Us, too. So… You want to talk about it?”
It.Her.
“Steele said Miles said she didn’t remember.” He braces his hands on top of his stick. “What does that even mean? That she forgot?”
I skate away from him, taking the puck toward the far goal. I pretend to swerve around oncoming opponents and aim for the top-left corner. The puck sails in with a satisfying whoosh.
“Impressive,” Knox deadpans. “Focus.”
“I’m focused on how you’re getting your information third-hand.” I raise my eyebrow. “Miles still not talking to you?”
“Not when he can help it.” He shrugs. “I’m hoping a Stanley Cup ring will make him forgive me.”
Forgive him for nearly killing the love of his brother’s life?
I snort.
Knox rolls his eyes. “For real. What’s going on?”
“She has retrograde amnesia.” I collect the puck and pass it back to him. “I don’t fucking know, man. But she didn’t recognize me in the slightest.”
He ponders that, handling the puck in front of him before taking a sudden slap shot at the wall. It rebounds with a crack of noise, coming back to him.
“Well, I guess you get a do-over. Don’t fuck it up this time.”
I sigh.
“That’s the plan.” That, and a whole lot worse.
* * *
Game four starts in an hour and a half.
Sometimes the playoffs seem to go by slowly. Other times, the games are a blur. Blink and you miss it.
Because we have an extra two days off before game five, Knox is sticking around for another night. It throws a slight wrench in my plan with Melody, but I’ve also missed my best friend. And when’s the next time I’m going to get to knock his ass out of the Stanley Cup playoffs?
I stand outside the arena, my cap pulled low. It’s kind of hard to go anywhere in this city without being recognized by at least one person, especially in playoff season. But I’ve stripped all my Titans apparel, and I stick close to the wall. I scan the crowds for Melody, my heart beating erratically.
