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The fans are on their feet, cheering and screaming. The look of relief and pride on Owens’s face makes my heart soar, and this time, it’s me putting him in a headlock while he laughs and pushes me off.
“Knew you could do it,” I tell him, and he grins wider.
* * *
At the end of the third period, we’re up two points. It’s a matter of running out the clock at this point. They don’t need me to score, they don’t need me to be the star I used to be. I’ve done my job as captain.
When play stops, I look over to Hazel behind the glass, who winks at me. I pretend to yawn, rolling my eyes, and she laughs, light spilling out of her.
You deserve good things in your life, she said when we ran around Stanley Park.
I want to score a goal tonight. It’s not about the attention or the glory of winning the game; I just want the satisfaction of the play working out, of doing what I love.
“Let’s run an old play,” I tell Ward and the team. I swallow. I don’t want to come off as selfish. “I want to score one for myself.”
Owens flashes me a shit-eating grin. “Jealous of all the attention I’m getting, Miller?”
I shove him off as he jostles me, but Ward nods. “Run it.”
We line up for the face-off, me playing center forward again, and when the puck drops, I’m flying, skating hard toward the net before I slide it in. The stands erupt with noise and my heart lifts, but it’s Hazel I look to. She’s on her feet, clapping and grinning at me with a proud smile.
CHAPTER73
RORY
“You’resure you don’t mind spending your New Year’s Eve out here instead of with the guys?” Hazel asks as we glide around the ice that night, hand in hand. Her hair flies behind her, fluttering in the wind, and the tip of her nose is red from the cold. Under the stars in the sky, her eyes glow bright and mesmerizing.
“You’re sure your ankle feels okay?”
Her laugh is a puff of air in the cold night. “Alright. Point taken.”
I move so I’m facing her, skating backward, holding both her hands, and she tilts her head at me with narrowed eyes. “Something changed during the game tonight.”
“Caught that, did you?”
She smiles, waiting, and I’m quiet as we circle the rink.
“Everyone compares me to my dad. I look like him, I play like him.” I catch myself. “Or, I used to.”
Her hand squeezes mine.
“And I believed it, that I wasn’t just like him but that my life would be the same as his. I’d be old and miserable and alone and obsessed with hockey, and any woman who got to know me would see whatever ugly thing women see in my dad and walk away.”
My heart beats with urgency, blood whooshing in my ears. I’ve never said these things out loud.
Hazel gives me a soft, kind smile, though, and I think maybe she knew all these things. We never talked about them, but somehow she knew, and instead of being scared that she can see right through me, I’m relieved and grateful.
“But I’m not that guy. I just let myself think that.” My throat feels thick. “I never thought I would be a good captain, but I want to be, and I think part of being a good leader might be seeing what people want and who they are, instead of who they’re told to be.”
Hazel hums. “You’re a good captain.”
Affection and pride flood my chest. “Because of you, I am.”
She looks down, smiling to herself, and I wonder if her heart’s exploding with this feeling, too.
“It’s New Year’s Eve,” she says quietly.
“I know.”
