Page 46 of Ricochet

“So, what are you doing here?” Callum asks him.

My jaw clenches at the smile still on his face, so big like he can’t fucking control it.

Eric reaches up to lift the shoulders of his hoodie, drawing attention to the black and orange. “Been thinking of transferring to Lynwood.”

“And Vaughn here will be takingsomeone’sspot if they can’t get their shit together today.” Coach’s eyes move from me to Callum and back again.

At least Callum has the decency to finally wipe that smile off his face.

“Now get out there and warm up,” Coach barks.

We do, all piling onto the ice in a blur of white and orange, our away colors. We skate a few laps around the rink until the assistant coach throws out pucks. They go bouncing or sliding across the ice, and I pick one up with my blade before hurling it into the nearest goal.

Another puck comes whizzing straight toward me, dead on, and before it hits my stick, I’m hitting it first, smacking it right into the net too with a slap shot.

When I look up, the first thing my eyes land on is Callum standing at the blue line, wearing a grin that I swear could stop my heart mid-fucking-beat.

The gleam in his eyes shines bright beneath the arena lights.

Alright. Let’s fucking do this.

Intercepting a pass between a couple of our other guys, I scoop up the puck and smack it in Callum’s direction as I take off, my blades carving the ice. Callum mirrors me, and we skate parallel down the rink, passing the puck back and forth around our teammates and through their legs.

Whatever tether had been connecting us before—the one that had become weak and frayed over the past few weeks, the one I was sure had already snapped—has been remade. Rethreaded with tight knots, stronger than spider silk.

On the other side of the rink, Callum sinks the puck right past Fitz into the back of the net.

He skates around the goal and comes to a stop in front of me, snowing my skates. I can’t even be mad about it with the smile stretching his face.

“Where the fuck did that come from?” Coach’s voice booms through the arena. He skates over to us while everyone else on the ice has stilled, their focus on us. “Decided to finally pull something out of your asses today?”

“Sorry, Coach,” Callum says, still grinning. “Guess I’m finally awake.”

“Those pads aren’t meant to be used as pillows, Hayes.”

Callum bites his lip, probably to keep himself from laughing, but my gaze lingers on it. “Yes, sir.”

“Now do that again.” Coach blows his whistle, though it’s unnecessary since everyone’s eyes are already on us. “Everyone, get the puck away from Hayes and Wakefield!”

Everyone?

We just got our mojo back, and he’s throwing us straight into the lion’s den.

However, once we take off again, we’re practically unstoppable. They can hardly catch us, let alone sweep the puck out from under us. Nate gets a hold of it once, but Callum’s back in possession seconds later.

We’re not just playing better than we have in weeks. We’re playing better than we haveever.

I can’t explain the change, but I’m not going to curse it by questioning it.

I don’t know where or how Callum managed to find hope, but I’m going to trust it.

I’m going to trusthim.

There are less than tenminutes left in the third period, and we’re up two to one. We’ve been playing our fucking hearts out.I’ve collected half as many penalties but twice as many bruises. It’s still far too early to start celebrating.

As soon as our third-line center clears the puck, he’s flying toward the bench. The moment he’s at the gate, Brooks is barreling over the wall and tearing off across the ice toward the other team’s defensive zone where our guys are applying pressure. He’s there just as Massachusetts takes control, and he steals possession back just as quickly.

My leg is bouncing with adrenaline and the urge to get back out there.

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