Page 99 of Icy Pucking Play

Mike lets out a low whistle. "Kid's got guts."

"Kid's got a death wish," Coach mutters, but he doesn't intervene.

I stay in the crease, clinging to the last shreds of my dignity. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." Ryland skates closer. "You're a mess. Have been for weeks."

"Did you see that save?" Sophie had called from the stands. "Classic Ice Man. Except..."

"Except what?"

"Except you smiled after. Just a little." She'd grinned. "You're getting soft, Daniels."

"Never."

"Liar. I saw it. Got photographic evidence and everything."

"Delete it."

"Make me."

I had. Later. I told her I wouldn’t make her come again until she got rid of it. She deleted it immediately.

"I'm fine."

"Really? Why can’t you get your head in the game, then?”

"Enough."

"No, not enough!" His voice echoes through the empty arena. "You're doing it again. Pushing everyone away."

From the bench, Coach starts gathering his notes. "I think we should give them some space."

"Are you kidding?" Mike settles in. "This is better than Netflix."

"I am not," I say, even as my heart pounds. "I'm being…"

"Professional?" Ryland laughs harshly. "Yeah, that's working out great. You're so professional you can't even stop a simple shot."

"Watch it, kid."

"Or what? You'll push me away too?" He shakes his head. "Too late. Already did that by not telling me the truth about Clark. About Chelsea. About any of it."

The names hit like body checks.

"That's different."

"Is it? Or is it just another example of you deciding what's best for everyone without actually talking to them?"

"You don't understand…"

"Then help me understand!" He throws his stick down. "Help me understand why you're letting the best thing that's ever happened to you walk away!"

"She's a reporter!"

"She's family!" The words echo through the rink. "Or she was, until you decided being right was more important than being happy."

I stare at my nephew—really look at him—and suddenly see the man he's becoming. The leader. The fighter.

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