Page 75 of Icy Pucking Play

The memory of her in my shirt, sleep-warm and perfect, keeps interfering with my focus. Along with the way she's been hovering at the edges of practice, professional mask firmly in place, instead of sitting in her usual spot calling out stats and observations.

"I'm fine."

"Sure." Ryland skates closer, frowning. "That's why you've missed six shots in the last hour. And why Sophie's not watching from her usual spot."

Coach Martinez blows his whistle from the bench. "Take five, boys! Daniels-both of you—get your heads in the game!"

I definitely don't look toward the glass doors where Sophie's been hovering all morning, notebook clutched to her chest likea shield. Don't notice how tired she looks, like maybe she's not sleeping either.

"The feature's almost done," I say, adjusting my pads unnecessarily. "She doesn't need to be here."

"Right..."

"Ryland."

"What? I'm just saying…"

"Well, don't." I straighten up, trying to find my game focus. "Again. This time with that new move we've been working on."

He studies me for a moment, then sighs. "You know, Natalia asked about her yesterday. Wanted to know why Sophie missed dinner Sunday."

The guilt hits like a check to the boards. I think of how Sophie usually helps Natalia with her homework before we eat. How she always brings dessert and makes Julia laugh. I think of how she just...fits.

"She's busy," I say shortly. "The feature…"

"Could have been done days ago." He lines up another shot. "Instead, she's rewriting everything to be 'more professional' according to Mom."

The puck hits my blocker with more force than necessary.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means she's trying so hard to be politically correct that she's taking all the heart out of it." He retrieves the puck. "Mom says the new drafts read like any other sports article. No personal details. No family moments. Just stats and quotes and…"

"Good." The word comes out harsh. "That's what it should be."

"Is it?" He sends another shot, this one nearly getting through. "Because the old version? The one that showed who we really are? That was something special."

"It was too personal."

"Maybe that's what made it good." He stops skating, fixing me with a look too wise for his age. "Maybe that's what made her good. For the story. For us. For you."

Before I can respond, movement by the doors catches my attention. Clark Ellis, in another of his too-expensive suits, approaching Sophie.

My blood runs cold.

"Actually," I say, already skating toward the boards, "let's take five."

But I'm too late. Clark's already talking, and Sophie—professional to a fault—is listening politely. Her reporter mask is firmly in place, but I catch the slight tension in her shoulders. The way her fingers tighten on her notebook.

She holds it that way when something makes her nervous but she’s trying to hide it.

"…just wanted to discuss Ryland's future," I hear Clark say as I get closer. "Since I'll be representing him at camp."

Wait. What?

"Since you'll be what?" I'm over the boards before I realize it.

Clark's smile is razor-sharp. "Didn't Ryland tell you? We had a great meeting yesterday. Kid's got his head on straight—and you know I know talent when I see it."

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