Page 15 of Sidelined Love

I grin, happy to have gotten her to continue our conversation. “Noted. I'll take a blueberry muffin as well. Thanks.”

Hailey reaches for a blueberry muffin from the display and takes a moment to place it into a small paper bag. The paper rustles as she rolls the opening down then closes it before passing the bag across the counter toward me.

I hand her my credit card and quietly wait for her as she rings me up. Once she's done, she passes my card back to me.

“Good luck with whatever you’re planning to do after ingesting all that caffeine and sugar.”

While there are a million and one things I could have said, I decide expressing my gratitude is the easiest. “Thanks, Hailey.”

Her eyes meet mine for a split second before she turns away. I stuff my card into my pocket and grab the coffee and muffin before walking out of the shop with Asher trailing behind me.

As Asher and I walk to the door, he clears his throat. “Man, she doesn’t give an inch, does she?”

“Nope,” I say, stealing a last glance at her before I push open the front door with my shoulder. Hailey is already attending to another customer. “Makes it all the more interesting though.”

“I can see why you're developing an appreciation for coffee now.”

I know where he's going with this, and I'm not going to have it. “Watch it, dude. Let's focus on hockey now, shall we?”

All Asher does is laugh and shake his head in response. There is no doubt in my mind that the next opportunity he gets, he's going to give me shit for this.

6

LEVI

Later that day, I jerk my head to the left as an ear-piercing sound forces me to slow down. The shrill pitch of Coach Aaron Johnson's whistle pierces through the air, signaling the end of another grueling practice session.

“Good work today, team!” he screams and claps his hands twice. “See you at our next practice.”

With the loud blast of the whistle still ringing in my ears, I linger behind as my teammates begin to make their way off the ice. Skating over to Coach Johnson, I wait for him to acknowledge me before I start to speak. “Coach, do you mind if I stay out a little longer? Just want a few extra minutes on the ice.”

He gives me a look, scanning my face as if he's trying to figure out the best solution to a problem, before he nods. “Alright. But don't overdo it. Remember, we've got a big game this weekend. We need you.”

“Thanks. I won't be out here very long,” I say.

As I turn back to the ice, Asher skates up beside me. “Everything good?”

“Yeah, I just need to clear my head,” I reply. “I'll catch up with you later.”

Asher gives me a supportive clap on the shoulder before joining the rest of the team heading off the ice.

As the heavy metal door leading to the locker room closes, the sound echoes throughout the empty rink. There is a finality to it all that goes beyond it announcing that my coach and teammates have left.

It brings a sense of peace and relief as I have a moment to myself. No more pressure or distractions, just me and the ice.

Finally.

The only thing I can hear is the sound of my skates moving against the ice. Skating is second nature to me. My body moves with ease; every turn, every motion perfected through years of hard work and dedication. It's almost as easy to do this as it is for me to breathe. There's nothing that beats the feel of the wind as it whips across my face as I fly around the rink.

The emptiness of the rink is both haunting and liberating. Being away from Coach, who is normally watching my every move, and my teammates, who are looking for me to also be the leader they deserve, I find a rare moment of peace. Right now, I can just be, and that is perfectly alright with me.

I push myself to move faster, letting the chill of the rink fill my lungs. The cool air feels wonderful to the frustration that's been present within me. Every time I step out onto the ice with the team, the weight of my father's expectations and his desire for me to be the best rests on my shoulders, weighing me down. When I'm out here alone, it's as if I can shake off him and the critics that are watching my every move, effectively silencing them.

However, they can’t be silent forever. I'm willing to bet my father is calling me right now to check in on how everything went because he knows what time practice ends. That's one headache I don’t want to deal with right now.

Instead, I close my eyes for a second, trusting my body to know the ice like the back of my hand. Some will consider it a dangerous move, but I don't care. The thrill of it sends adrenaline coursing through my veins, but it's not the same as what I feel every time I step out on the ice to play a game.

But it doesn't matter right now. I open my eyes as I complete another lap around the rink.

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