Page 20 of Playmaker

The puck dropped. Bea was lightning fast on faceoffs, but I was faster. I snatched the puck away and immediately passed it to Laws, and we were barreling toward Montreal’s zone.

Laws passed it to me, and I forced my way between a pair of defenders, keeping the puck securely against my blade even as they tried to steal it. A sharpsmack-smackof stick on ice told me one of my teammates was calling for the puck, and I glanced her way a second before I passed to her. A Montreal forward zipped in between us and grabbed it, but Sims shoulder-checked her out of the way before snapping the puck back to me.

I almost lost the puck to an aggressive defender, but I managed to get away from her, and that was when I realized Laws was at the goal, standing just outside the crease. Our eyes locked for a split second, and I sent her the puck.

The goalie reacted, but she went low.

Laws chipped the puck up and over the netminder’s shoulder.

The red light came on, and the goal horn was almost drowned out by the roar of the crowd as they shot to their feet.

We all crushed Laws in hugs, then skated toward the bench for fist bumps.

Barely a minute into the first period of our first game, the Pittsburgh Bearcats were on the board with our first ever goal.

And I couldn’t wait for our next one.

Everyone in the locker room was exuberant after the game was over. We’d won our first game, and the way we were celebrating, we might as well have just clinched the Cup.

“The Pittsburgh Bearcats are undefeated!” Laws shouted. “The only team in the League that’s never been beaten!”

We all laughed at that. It was technically true, especially since the only other expansion team to play tonight had lost, and the other four didn’t play until tomorrow. So… yeah, we weretechnicallyundefeated as a franchise. Might as well celebrate that while it lasted.

Much like our undefeated streak undoubtedly would be, though, my good spirits were short-lived. The locker room was packed with people. Not just staff, and media along with players and their spouses and kids, which was normal. Most of my teammates’ parents, siblings, and even a few grandparents had come to the home opener. There were so many people, staff had to leave some out in the hallway and carefully manage how many went into and out of the locker room. As players finished showering and dressing, they joined their families in the hall, and the whole ice level of the arena probably echoed with the sounds of excitement and celebration.

It reminded me of the locker room after we’d medaled at World Junior Women’s and at the Olympics. Or after our major junior playoff games. Or my youth team’s championship games. So many supportive family members. So much love.

I had that love and support, too. Zoe and my mom were here. My brother had texted me before and after the game; he was playing in Los Angeles tomorrow night, so he couldn’t makeit to mine. I understood that, and I had always appreciated his support.

But just like every major game since my U8 days, I was painfully aware of whowasn’there. Whorefusedto be here.

I wasn’t surprised—he’d needed his arm twisted to watch me play at the Olympics, after all, and even then he’d only given in for the sake of his own reputation. It still hurt just as much as it had the first time, though.

I tried to ignore that rock in the pit of my stomach. Tried to focus on being happy we’d won, and on celebrating with my mom, sister, and teammates. I loved that Mom and Zoe were always here for me. That they’d supported me all this time, even when they’d had to do it in secret. And I appreciated Mark’s love and support even when he couldn’t be in the same place as me.

I couldn’t lie, though—nights like this were hard.

Especially because there wereso manydads here.

Anya’s husband and kids were crowded around her locker stall along with both her parentsandher in-laws. Her father-in-law looked as proud as if his own daughter had been out there tonight. Sims’s stepfather, who’d been her dad since she was six, was on crutches after a recent ankle surgery, and he’d still almost knocked her over with a hug.

And then there were Lila’s parents. Not just their presence and their obvious love and support for their daughter but for as long as I’d played alongside her, I’d always envied the way she lit up whenever they were there. They always beamed with pride whether we’d won or lost, and Lila never smiled like that except when they were around.

Every damn time, her dad would come into the locker room, wrap her in a huge bear hug no matter how much she stunk after a game, and tell her he was proud of her. If we’d lost, he’d reassure her that she’d played her best, and that the next game would be better. And if we’d won… Well, he was the reason Iunderstood when people described someone as being so happy they could burst.

It made me so jealous I could barely see straight.

Just like I had so many times from U8 on up to the Olympics, I couldn’t help asking myself that same awful question:

Why can’t my dad love me like that?

I took a deep swig of water to push back the lump trying to rise in my throat, and I turned to my mom and sister. “We should go eat. Before they run out of the good stuff.”

Mom laughed. “They make plenty, don’t they?”

“Well, yeah, for the team and staff.” I gestured around. “Notthismany people.”

“Mmhmm. I’m pretty sure the cooking crew knows to anticipate…” She mimicked my gesture.

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