Page 5 of My Pucking Perfect Goalie

He might launch into a speech like Isaac did—explaining the importance of rest and relaxation. But I can’t help it. There’s this constant itch just under my skin that won’t let me sleep past five, and once I’m up, I want to be on the ice.

“I think you’ve got the potential, Sammy,” he continues. “I think you’ve got the potential not just to heighten your game, but to be an overall better asset to the Vipers.”

It feels like my heart is in my throat—here he is, talking about my potential, but it sounds like a preamble into an ultimatum.You have so much potential,but…

“I’ve taken the liberty of setting up a meeting between you and a friend of mine. Elite athlete coach.”

“Elite athlete coach?” I echo.

“That’s right. Whole point of the thing is to take someone with potential and make themreallygood. Lots of the greats you’ve heard of have worked with someone like that. Optimized their routines, eliminated distractions, that kind of thing.”

“Respectfully, Coach,” I laugh, scrubbing a hand over my head. “I don’t have any distractions.”

“Sure, but maybe that’s a distraction in and of itself.”

“I think you’re getting too philosophical for me.”

Coach laughs, and a bit of the unease in my chest unfurls. He’s not trading me—he’s getting me help. Hiring anelite athlete coach.

I feel the tips of my ears turn pink when I think about what the other guys are going to say when they find out I need someone to make me great. When Brett hears about this, he’s going to laugh. He’s one of those guys who has always been effortlessly good. The moment he joined the team, we became friends, and I saw the way he moved through life. People liked him. Flocked to him, even. Girls hung from his arms and asked for invitations to his parties.

On the ice, it’s like he was born with skates. Everything comes naturally to him, and that wasneverwhat it was like for me. I had to work hard to get any good at hockey, clawing my way forward every single day.

When I was in high school, I’d been on both the hockey and football teams. In football, things did come a little more naturally for me. I was a big guy, quick on my feet. My dad begged me to choose football.

But there was always something about hockey that pulled me in. And, eventually, he respected that I chose the thing I loved most—even if it took more hard work.

“Here,” Coach says, flicking out a business card to me. I stare down at it.

Dr. Finley Asher, Elite Athlete Coach

It’s modern and thick, the kind of business card that screamsmoney. There aren’t any pictures, just clean lines and contact information at the bottom.

“Dr. Finley Asher,” I mutter, turning the card over, where it says,Monday, July 9th, 2 p.m.

“Yup,” Coach Aldine says, nodding. “Already got you an appointment. Anddon’tbe late. We’re paying a lot of money to make this work out. Had to pull a lot of strings. I trust you to take this seriously.”

“Of course,” I say, eyes flicking to his. If I’m anything about hockey, it’s absolutely one hundred percent serious.

Finn

That familiar TV static of anxiety kicks in as my plane starts to descend over Burlington, Vermont. From the air, I can see the stretch of Lake Champlain and the harbor with boats bobbing along, all in tidy little lines. The trees are lush and full, varying shades of green. In the distance, mountains kiss the cotton candy clouds drifting over the horizon.

It’s picturesque. And yet, when I think about the distance I’ve lost, and how much closer I am to New York City, there’s a strange twist in my heart. As I step off the plane, I tell myself there’s no way I’ll be seeing anyone from my past in Burlington.

Not if I can get in and out of here like I intend to.

I, of course, flew first class on the Vermont Vipers’ dime, so I deplane first, tucking my binder into my soft leather handbag. My heels click satisfyingly as I walk down the ramp and into the airport.

“I’ll go collect your luggage,” Penny says, bustling up next to me, wearing a plaid skirt and designer blouse. She takes thematic fashion seriously, and has clearly prepared a set of outfits she deems fit for Vermont. I wonder if she’s gotten herself a hockey jersey yet.

“That would be wonderful. I’ll see about getting us a car.”

“Oh,” Penny says, a light pink tinge appearing on her cheeks. “I thought you saw the memo—that’s already been taken care of.”

I glance at her.

“What—”

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