Page 29 of Icy Pucking Play

These nighttime practices have become my favorite part of the day, when the facility is quiet except for the sound of skates on ice and Evan's low voice offering corrections and encouragement.

"Going for another coffee run?" Ryland calls from the ice, where he's setting up for shooting drills.

"Some of us weren't built for vampire hours," I call back, trying not to trip over my own feet as I navigate the darkened hallway."Not everyone can run on pure hockey energy and uncle-mandated protein shakes."

"The shakes aren't that bad!"

"They taste like chocolate-flavored regret."

Evan's deep chuckle echoes across the ice, and I definitely don't get a little thrill from making him laugh. Definitely not.

"Bring me back a…" Ryland starts.

"Blue Gatorade and peanut butter crackers," I finish. "I know your stress snacks by now, Daniels."

This time both Daniels men laugh, and I hide my smile as I head for the vending machines. It's taken weeks, but I'm finally starting to feel like they trust me. Like I'm not just the reporter shadowing their practices, but someone who...

Well. Someone who belongs here, maybe.

I'm debating between regular coffee and something called "extreme caffeine blast" in the machine when I hear it—the unmistakable sound of small feet running down the hallway.

"Daddy! Uncle Ry!"

Natalia Daniels bursts past me like a tiny tornado in a pink hockey jersey, her dark ponytail flying behind her. She's followed by a harried-looking Julia, who offers me an apologetic smile.

"She wouldn't go to sleep until she showed them her new move," Julia explains, slightly out of breath. "Said it couldn't wait until morning."

"At..." I check my phone. "Nine forty-five on a school night?"

"She's definitely her father's daughter."

We make our way back to the rink, where Natalia is already on the ice, fully geared up. How she managed to change so fast is beyond me, but then again, she is a Daniels.

"Watch this!" she calls out, skating backward with the kind of grace that makes me deeply jealous. "Coach Thompson taught us today, and I got it on the first try!"

I expect Evan to send her home, to remind her about school tomorrow and proper sleep schedules.

Instead, he skates over to center ice and sets up a puck. "Show me."

The look on his face—soft and proud and so different from his usual stoic expression—makes my heart do funny things in my chest.

"They’re cute together, huh?" Julia murmurs beside me.

"Adorable." I busy myself with my notebook, though I haven't written anything in it for hours. "Just...observing. For the feature."

"Mmhmm." She sounds exactly like Cynthia when she's calling me out on my BS. "And does the feature require you to know my brother's coffee order and snack preferences?"

"That's just good journalism."

"Is it good journalism to wear his old practice jersey to bed?"

I whip around to stare at her. "How did you…"

"Cynthia might have mentioned it when she dropped off those brownies last week."

I should have never let Cynthia have contact with the Daniels’. Note to self: Kill roommate. Slowly.

"It's comfortable," I mutter, turning back to watch Natalia demonstrate what appears to be some kind of spin move. "And it was free."

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