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It takes a moment for me to comprehend the news. Finally, my brow arches. “Really?”
Mark, the head trainer for the Hot Shots, nods. “Yep. Your injury isn’t nearly as bad as it felt. The pain you felt on the ice was just a muscle spasm from taking that hit at an awkward angle, nothing indicating any real damage.”
Relief floods my chest. Though it still sucks that I can’t play this weekend. “So, I’m only missing one game?” I ask.
“Missing the gameandthe trip,” he says. “I still want you taking it as easy as you possibly can on that back. And I sure don’t want you sitting on a bus seat for five hours two times in two days. You’re grounded for the weekend, young man.”
I force myself to chuckle at the joke, even though I don’t feel like laughing. I mean, honestly, I know I should be overjoyed with this news. When I took that hit and felt that level of pain in my back, too bad for me to even walk off the ice on my own two feet, I expected the worst. This feels like a best-case scenario, all things considered.
Still, it’ll suck missing a game. It’ll really suck not even being there for my team. I’ll have to cheer them on from two states away, watching the game on TV.
“Don’t let yourself think this good news means you can throw caution to the wind otherwise,” Mark warns me. “I don’t want you doing any heavy lifting. Keep any bending, stretching, or any other kind of awkward movement with your back to a minimum.”
“Yes, sir,” I answer.
After a couple more instructions about how I should treat my back over the next couple days, I leave the arena. Yeah, missing a game is going to suck, but the outcome could have been so much worse.
As I’m walking across campus, heading home, suddenly I stop. A realization smashes into me that nails my feet to the ground.
“Oh, shit,” I say, the words coming unbidden to my lips as a thought takes shape in my mind.
The entire team, the entire staff of the Hot Shots, is going to be in Virginia for the entire weekend. And I’ll be back here in Ridley.
Zoey and I are going to have the entire weekend to ourselves. All the people we need to hide from are going to be hundreds of miles away.
Maybe it makes me a bad teammate, but suddenly I’m not feeling too bad about missing the game this weekend. Suddenly, I feel like this is the best news I could have gotten.
Maybe that makes me selfish. Fuck, I know it makes me selfish. But when it comes to wanting as much time with Zoey as possible, I’ve got no problem being the greediest, most selfish asshole on the planet.
Who knows when Zoey and I will get an opportunity like this again—who knowsifwe’ll get an opportunity like this again.
I’m practically walking on clouds once my legs finally get moving again, my imagination swelling with anticipation of an entire weekend alone with Zoey.
Ever since I came to Ridley, there’s never been anything I’d rather be doing than playing on the ice with my teammates. There’s never been anywhere I’d rather be.
For the first time, I’ve found it.
24
ZOEY
“How’s your mom been?” my dad asks. We’re having dinner together at his house, which is only a couple blocks from campus in town.
He made pretty much the only thing he’s ever been known to be capable of cooking beyond a frozen pizza, hot dogs, or mac and cheese from a box: his chili. It’s been years since I’ve eaten it. I never knew that something could taste so nostalgic.
“She’s doing good,” I answer. Though, to be honest, we haven’t talked a lot since I transferred here. My mom has always been more … adversarial towards my dad than vice versa. I think she kind of took me moving back here as some kind of defection.
Whatever, she’ll get over it.
“That’s good,” he answers. And I know he means it. My dad’s never held a grudge against my mom.
A devious smile curls around my lips as I think of something I want to ask him in return.
“How’s Megan doing?”
My dad coughs, caught off guard by the question. He clears his throat and takes a long drink of the glass of water next to his bowl.
“Uh, Megan. You mean, your boss Megan? Ms. Sheffield? From the social media department.”
