Page 47 of Ricochet

Brooks sweeps into the corner where he’s crunched into the boards and goes down.

I feel just as defensive and bloodthirsty when it comes to attacks on our guys as I was last night, but I’m at least able to hold back tonight. I’m not trying to spend most of the game in the penalty box or get benched before this thing is over.

Not when we have a real chance.

Brooks is up quickly, returning to the fray in front of the crease. He picks up a pass and makes a shot, but it’s blocked by their goalie. The puck bounces off his pads before Massachusetts’s forward line takes it back across center ice.

There’s a battle along the boards before the other team gets a shot in.

Fitz stops it with his glove and covers it, and the ref’s whistle blows.

“Wakefield!” Coach calls.

Fucking finally.

Me and my line climb over the wall as the second comes in the gate. I skate out into the circle for the face-off. The puck drops, and I slap it right to Callum’s tape. He’s too quick for the other team, taking it back into Massachusetts’s zone. Their guys are on him, but he slaps the puck between them, and it ricochets off the corners.

I scoop it up along the boards and pass it to Nate. He passes it back.

Callum is circling around the slot, and I feel a tug on that tether as it goes taut. I send a pass that glides right along that line.

The puck hits Callum’s stick with a crack, and he sinks it in with a wrist shot. It flies over the goalie’s shoulder and into the back of the net.

With less than three minutes left, Callum most likely just secured our first win of the season.

He raises his stick in the air. His brilliant smile is the most beautiful one I’ve ever seen.

We all converge on him as the buzzer blares.

As he’s surrounded by his teammates for victory hugs and congratulatory slaps on the back and helmet, his eyes are only on me.

And mine are only on him.

We won our second gameagainst Massachusetts three to one. This time last night, I don’t think any of us expected to pull that off.

But a lot can change in one night.

We’re all back at the hotel, eating a late dinner at the restaurant. It’s noisy and crowded with hockey players and their coaches. Coach Hill is happier than I’ve seen him in a long time as he and our assistant coach throw back beers at the bar.

I’m squeezed in on one side of a booth between Brooks and Eric. Nate invited Stone over, and they both sit across from us. Our plates have been cleared from the table, and we’re all working on our second beers.

For them, they’re celebratory drinks.

For me, it’s to help calm the nerves I have about returning to the room later.

Stone’s eyes have been catching mine all night, and every time, I see suspicion surrounded by question marks. I can’t tellhim the truth about this sudden shift, about why we were able to play today like we’re two halves of a whole. Because that’s what it felt like out there.

That’s how it felt last night.

I know he’s going to ask, and I don’t know what to tell him. I haven’t given him the chance between practice and lunch and using the excuse of catching up with Eric—who’s currently leaning over me to talk to Brooks, his face only slightly uncomfortably close to mine.

Close enough to have Stone’s jaw tight as he stares at me with what I can now almost imagine as his murder eyes.

It sends a not completely unwelcome shiver caressing down my spine.

“Wait,” Eric says, interrupting whatever conversation they had been having that I haven’t been paying attention to. “What’s your first name?”

I look away from Stone long enough to see Brooks go red.

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