Page 41 of Foster

I blink and focus on him. “Yeah. Sure.”

“Because that was a very specific question. Are you thinking of dating and worried about Bowie Jane?”

I give him a wry smile. “My nanny. We had a moment… there’s a spark between us. But it’s complicated because—”

“—she’s your nanny.”

I nod. “And I have to be careful because she’s developed a good relationship and bond with Bowie Jane. I can’t fuck that up.”

“So, talk to your daughter about it,” Boone says.

“She’s only ten,” I reply with worry.

“I’ve met your kid,” Boone says with a laugh. “She’s ten going on thirty. She’s absolutely mature enough to understand this.”

He’s not wrong about her maturity level. People are always astounded by it. “I know. You’re right.”

Boone stands from the bench and turns toward his cubby. He pulls on his shoulder and elbow pads. Glancing back at me, he says, “But I suggest you put all of that aside right now and focus on the game. Trust me… I know from personal experience how hard it is to be in the moment when you have other things vying for your attention.”

I rise from the bench and move to my cubby, grabbing my shoulder pads. “No need to tell me twice.”

Resolved that at least I have an action plan, I put Mazzy, and whether we could start something, firmly out of my mind. The Montreal Wizards are awaiting an ass-kicking.

♦

I’m perched on the edge of the bench, one hand gripping my stick, the other resting on the rink wall. I’m on next shift, ready to swing my legs up and over when it’s time.

The first line just got out there and my eyes are pinned to the action. The arena is a living, breathing entity—a whirlwind of energy and noise. Above, the bright lights dance and the flashing Jumbotron provides a close-up of the action. The sharp, crisp scent of ice fills my nostrils, and I can feel the eagerness of my linemates, raring to go out and do our job.

From my vantage point, the arena is an amphitheater of emotion, a place where every second counts, every play is pivotal. It’s a world unto itself, a place where the roar of the crowd, the chill of the ice, and the thrill of the game coalesce into something far greater than just a sport. It’s where I belong, where every shift, every pass, and every goal writes a new line in the story of who I am.

For now, we’re defending the Wizards down on our end. Drake McGinn is a hulking figure in the net with Bain and King providing additional protection. Penn, Stone and Boone float out, using their sticks and bodies to thwart a pass. I watch, my eyes tracking the swift, precise movements of my comrades. Their focus is palpable, a shared determination that weaves through us all.

The entire hockey world is watching us. The Pittsburgh Titans have been a top news story since the crash a little over a year and a half ago that obliterated our entire team halfway through the season. We’ve been watched with critical caution, everyone rooting for us to make something out of nothing. We were the darlings of the hockey world.

Now we’re being watched because management made a bold fucking move this summer, rolling the dice on one player for a long-term contract that cost a significant chunk of the salary cap.

Penn Navarro.

A prodigy that comes along once every few decades.

A man so talented on the ice that he alone could carry a team to greatness. I don’t mean that he can score every goal, make every assist, or defend every shot. No one is that good. But Penn’s energy, talent and competitiveness will elevate us all to do better. Add on top of that, Callum Derringer secured a fresh slate of new players to add depth to the lines and there’s serious talk that we could be the front-runners for the championship this year.

Of course, that’s all talk. It’s only game one and we have eighty-one games to go after tonight. If you’re seeking the big reward, it always comes with significant risk. The potential peril is that Penn doesn’t live up to the high standard he’s already set for himself. Worse, he gets injured.

And it’s more than just Penn. Granted, last season’s team had only been together for a season and a half, but we were as close as they come. There’s always a risk that a new crop of players joining the team won’t click. Sometimes there’s no figuring out how the synergy works and how it doesn’t.

But… if everything plays out the way Brienne Norcross and Callum Derringer are expecting it to, if Coach Cannon works his magic the way he did last year, and if we, the players, live up to our absolute potential, then this could be the biggest comeback in all of sports history.

It’s a lot of fucking pressure on our shoulders.

I watch as the Wizard forwards pass the puck back and forth, trying to find an opening created by their own defenseman battling against Bain and King in front of the goal.

But one pass is slightly errant and King makes a darting move to poke it with his stick. He gets just enough on it that it changes trajectory right onto Penn’s blade.

It’s sheer poetry watching this dude because he takes off like a high-powered bullet, straight up the middle. The roar of the crowd engulfs me, a tidal wave of sound so loud I can feel the vibration of thousands of voices through the soles of my skates. My adrenaline shoots hot through my system as I watch a Wizard player tight on Penn’s heels but without a chance of catching him. His only chance of stopping a breakaway goal is to take Penn down with a stick, which would draw a penalty.

The fans surge to their feet, a sea of white, purple and gray, their faces painted with passion and anticipation. Every cheer, every gasp, every thunderous clap resonates within the confines of this icy coliseum and seems to make Penn go faster.

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