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There’s a line change. I switch out, taking a breather, and join another of our starters.
Scofield, our left wing, grins at me. “Nice assist.”
I smirk, popping my mouth guard out. I hold it while I gulp water, then refocus on the game and stick the guard back in. I keep playing with it while I watch.
The ref makes our center switch out, and all the players seem to lean in. Preparing for the puck drop.
Then it’s on, and we get the puck. I glance up at the clock, my throat tight. Two minutes to go, and we’re down by one. I plant my elbows on my thighs and look down the line. Soren Dawes meets my gaze and gives me a sharp nod.
Coach is suddenly motioning. The tide is turning, the puck in our possession.
Line change.
Dawes and I jump over the wall and hustle into Guardian territory. Our goalie, Haverhill, skates like hell for the bench. He steps up, leaving our net wide open, and Scofield joins us.
Last chance.
We hustle. Church is there, and I pass it to him. To Scofield. Back to me.
There are a mix of bodies in front of the goalie, blocking his line of view, so I send a wild shot up high. It sails through the air—and somehow, almost faster than I can comprehend, it flies into the net.
Goal.
My teammates surround me as the horn bellows. The screaming crowd is even more frantic. I check the scoreboard. At the time now frozen in place.
0:05.
Talk about a close one.
“Overtime, baby,” Dawes crows in my ear. “You’re on fire tonight. An assist and a goal.”
I shake him off and follow Church off the ice. I cast a glance toward where Melody sits with her friend and the friend’s husband. I had them vetted yesterday. Nothing unusual to report. But I will hang any credit of me being on fire on Melody’s shoulders.
She’s here. She’s wearing my jersey.
A year ago, I wouldn’t have even dreamed of that.
The possibility, I mean.
In the locker room, I grab my phone and check for messages from her. There’s one letting me know that she arrived—from a few hours ago—and nothing since.
Having fun?
The typing dots appear shortly after. They disappear and come back twice before her message comes through.
Melody
Yeah, actually. Theo’s been explaining the game, and it makes more sense now. Not saying I’m going to be an expert, obviously.
And you’re getting questions answered?
I used to be a college professor.
I stare at the words.
If I close my eyes, I can still picture her standing at the front of the classroom. Her handwriting at the top of my papers, failing me time and again for theories and interpretations I didn’t understand. She was a light. She was the object of my obsession. There was hardly a day that passed in that semester that I didn’t think about her.
So what if I forced my way into her life? It’s not dissimilar to how I’m acting now. It’s habit with her. She resists, and I take anyway. No matter what lessons she tries to teach me, I just don’t learn when it comes to her.
