Page 98 of Icy Pucking Play

Brad studies me for a long moment. "You miss him, don't you?"

I feel the heat rising in my cheeks. "I...I think I might be falling in love with him." I know I actually am in love with him, no question in my mind, but I’m not ready to admit it.

The words hang in the air, weighted with the implication of what that could mean for my career, my ethics, my future.

Brad nods slowly. "Then you need to ask yourself—is a story worth risking that?"

I open my mouth to respond, but the buzzing of my cell phone interrupts. I glance at the caller ID and feel my stomach twist.

Ryland:For what it's worth? The real story isn't about hockey. It's about family. About love. About second chances.

I start crying right there at my desk. Because he's right. The real story was never about hockey. It was about them. About us. About everything we could be if we were brave enough to try.

Too bad some stories don't get happy endings. Even if they deserve them. Even if they could have been everything.

Chapter 25

Evan

"You missed again," Ryland says, retrieving another puck. "That's like, what, the tenth time today?"

"Eleventh," Coach Martinez calls from the bench. "But who's counting?"

"Everyone's counting," my buddy Mike Callahan chimes in from where he's watching practice today. "Kind of hard not to when the Ice Man's melting down."

"Kind of like your golf game last week," I yell over to Mike, resetting my stance. I’m just having an off day, for fuck’s sake. It happens to everyone. Unfortunately, it’s been happening to me way too often lately.

Ryland lines up another shot. "Why do you keep staring up at the empty stands? Who are you looking for?"

"Just take the shot." I really need to take this kid down a notch of two. He’s too much right now.

"You know," Ryland says, skating closer instead, "she used to write down every save you made. Had this whole color-coding system. "

"Red is for glove saves," Sophie had explained during her first week watching practice. "Blue for blocker. Purple for butterfly saves, because those are my favorite."

"You have favorite saves?"

"I have favorite everything about you," she'd said quietly, not looking up from her notebook.

"Ryland."

"Red for glove saves. Blue for blocker. Purple for…"

"Take. The. Shot."

He does. It goes in clean, right between my legs. Fuck…

The rink goes silent.

"Uncle Evan…"

"Don't." I straighten up, trying to ignore the hollow feeling in my chest. "Good shot. Again."

"No." He skates over to the boards. "We need to talk."

"We need to practice."

"Practice isn't the problem." He pulls off his helmet. "You are."

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