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“Not few enough!” Tuck yells, drawing laughs from the guys.
“It was a hard game tonight,” Lane barrels through Tuck’s heckle. “Probably the kind of game that’ll set the tone for the rest of this season. With Hudson joining us this year, we’re a complete unit. Every other team in the league knows that, which means every time we skate onto the ice this season, we’re going against a team that wants to test themselves against us. A team that’s just dying for a win over the Black Bears. The reason we won tonight is because the fight in us never died. Keep that fight alive all season long, and we’ll keep proving that we deserve the way people are talking about us. And keep disappointing other teams who think they can prove the hype wrong.”
I clap with the rest of the guys. As far as speeches go, it doesn’t exactly belong in a rousing Hollywood blockbuster, but Lane commands respect and he’s got leadership potential. I wouldn’t be surprised to see him Captain of an NHL team one day.
We all pile into the bus. The rest of the guys are still buzzing about the win. Me? I have something else in mind.
I’m looking up something on my phone.
Shit, these flights from Burlington to New York City aren’t cheap. Especially when you’re booking them the evening before takeoff.
But there’s something going on in the city tomorrow night that I wouldn’t miss for the world.
31
SUMMER
“Maybe a fifth cup of coffee isn’t the best idea when you’re already shaking so much, Summer.”
Heeding Jeremy’s advice, I set the full cup down on the catering table. My sigh mingles with a nervous laugh. “You’re probably right.”
Jeremy may be a year below me and have less performing experience, but he’s cool as a cucumber under this pressure. Me? I’m a mess of jitters.
I’ve been trying to calm myself down. Telling myself that even if we lose—even if we freaking bomb—it’s not the end of the world. We both still have long, successful careers ahead of us.
Telling myself that we both worked our asses off rehearsing for this moment and that we’re prepared. Telling myself that I trust Jeremy’s talent and my own. Telling myself that I’ve performed in front of audiences countless times, performed more difficult pieces than this one, and it’s always gone well.
All true. But no matter how much I repeat any of it to myself, I can’t seem to loosen this iron knot of tension in my throat, or calm the choppy muscles in my stomach, or make my teeth stop grinding together.
Jeremy’s right, the four cups of coffee probably didn’t help. Definitely didn’t help. But I needed the physical action of filling a cup and lifting it to my lips to sip, because otherwise I wouldn’t know what the hell else to do with my hands.
If Hudson were here, he’d know the perfect thing to say. The string of words that would calm my nerves. It wouldn’t even be the words he would choose, but the way he would say them, the way he would look in my eyes while saying them.
I’d know deep in my bones that he believes in me, and that would be enough to make me believe in myself.
Then I’d go out there, puffed up with superhuman confidence, perform the greatest rendition of a Mozart piece since the man himself was alive, and instantly be offered a spot in the New York Philharmonic.
Okay, maybe that’s not too realistic. But I’d definitely be more confident.
“Summer.”
Oh no. The stress has made me snap and now I’m having auditory hallucinations of Hudson’s voice.
“Summer.” His voice is louder in my head this time. Except … is it in my head?
I spin around. Unless I’ve really lost it—a possibility I’m not totally writing off, because how could he be here right now?—Hudson Voss is standing in front of me, in the back of Julliard’s auditorium, when he’s supposed to be three hundred miles away.
“Hudson.” His name drops from my lips in disbelief. I step forward and press a hand to his chest. My palm is met with the familiar solidness of his hard torso. He’s really here. “What are you doing here?”
His lips tilt into a warm smile. His left hand reaches for my right still pressed to his chest, and he takes it in the warmth of his palm. “Where else would I be?”
A laugh of disbelief bellows from me. “Back at Brumehill, where you live, three hundred miles away? After you just had your first game of the season last night? That’s where you would be!” My head is still swimming at how surreal it is to see him here.
Hudson shakes his head slowly, that warm smile still carved on his pert mouth. “And miss the biggest performance of my girlfriend’s life? Not a chance.”
There it is. That rush of confidence that I knew Hudson could inspire surges through me. The doubts that were clinging tightly all over me fall to the ground like dead leaves from a tree branch on a windy November day.
I hear muffled applause from the auditorium, telling me that the most recent performance ended. Which means mine and Jeremy’s is up next.
