Page 48 of Ice Mechanic

Unfortunately, Gunner can skate circles around them and every time we make a move, Gunner takes back control of the puck.

Frankly, I’m impressed by the game plan. It speaks of preparation and effort.

Someone did his homework.

My team, who’d been banking on relying on me for the pass, lose momentum in the blink of an eye.

I’m not surprised when Gunner shoots and scores.

The horn blares.

The scoreboard blinks.

0, 1

“Keeping up, McLanely?” Gunner taunts, skating by.

I grit my teeth but make no comment. Instead, I gesture to my teammate.

Pointing to the blue semi-circle directly in front of the net, I instruct him, “Keep your eye on Kinsey. He’ll try a backhand shot at the paint for an easy score.”

The kid nods and skates off.

I yank another one by his jersey. “Renfrow and Theilan are going to attack like crazy. Don’t pass to me until I ditch my tails.”

He looks worried, but there’s no time to baby him because the game’s already getting hot.

Determination firing my blood, I speed into the attacking zone. Renthrow’s flanking me but not for long because the minute our team takes control of the puck, I cut across the line.

Behind his visor, Renfrow puckers his lips in confusion, but it’s too late. I’ve already outmaneuvered him.

Once I’m free, there’s no stopping me.

The left winger passes for the assist and I line up the puck, sending it straight into the net with a beautifultwuck!

My teammates celebrate with pumping fists and wide grins.

Momentum is in our court now.

I pass Gunner and give him a little chin-up gesture, no words needed.

The scowl that mars his face is a perfect reward. After that, he skates like a fire is lighting under him, but my team settles into a groove. We beat the opposite team three to one, giving Gunner no time to get the last word in.

It’s a sweet victory and I relish the sound of the whistle calling the game.

The coach looks about as happy as Gunner does to see me take the victory. That’s a bad omen for the season but, I focus on the win and the interviewer that’s waiting for me the moment I step off the ice.

It’s not an annoying interview—I’ve had a few of those in my career—but after answering all those questions during the press conference, I’m camera-ed out.

Seeing my lack of interest, the journalist pries around for an ‘exclusive’ scoop on my past scandals, but I’ve done this interview song and dance enough to keep my answers short and diplomatic.

It helps that sweat is dripping down my face like someone turned on an invisible faucet above me.

After a while, she closes the interview with a sheepish, “Thanks for your time, Chance. Last question. What are you going to do to celebrate tonight’s win?”

“Me?” I grin broadly at the camera, suddenly filled with a ton of energy. “I’ll take my girlfriend on a date.”

CHAPTER

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