Page 82 of Conrad

Conrad had taken Penelope’s hand, wanting to tell her that everything would be just fine, that they’d figure this out, but her father showed up with his team to take her home, and with the night waning, Conrad went home to get some shut-eye before the game.

Right.

Her words circled his head, round and round.“He’s my boyfriend!”

Really?

The crowd roared, bringing him back as the puck shot loose at center ice. Justin picked it up, breaking free, barreling toward the Outlaws’ goal. Conrad took to his feet, banged on the plexiglass. “C’mon!”

Justin shot across the blue line, mano a mano against the goalie, faked left—good move, kid—jerked right, and the goalie bit.

Open net, right upper corner—shoot!

Justin let it fly, a scorcher, toward the net.

It ricocheted off the post in a heart-wrenching clang.

No score.

The first-period buzzer sounded, razing through the audience, and the line skated in. Conrad grabbed his blade guards, put them on, and headed back to the locker room.

The guys walked in, a couple of them pulling off torn jerseys, one walking to the equipment manager to tighten his blade.

Conrad sank down on the bench.

Coach Jace came in, his expression dark. He stood, his arms folded over his chest, legs braced, scanning his team.

This wouldn’t be good. They were better than this.

Coach drew in a breath, clearly trying to school his voice. It came out low and almost lethal. “What’s going on out there? Did you guys forget how to play hockey? Or maybe you think this is some pickup pond-hockey game?”

Oh.

A helmet had landed on the ground—the emotional outburst of one of their rookies. Coach picked it up, set it on the bench. Sighed.

“This is a disgrace. It’s not just about losing the puck, it’s about losing our pride.”

Conrad might prefer shouting from Jace, but Jace had never been that kind of coach. Now he walked the length of the locker room.

“We need to take control back. No more sloppy passes or half-hearted checks. They are inourhouse. Let’s not let them forget that. Get aggressive, get smart, and let’s show them who owns this ice.”

He looked at Conrad then, his gaze dark. “If you’re not ready to step up, you’ll find yourself watching from the bench.”

What? Except, maybe.

“Now get out there and fight like your season depends on it—because . . . it does.”

Again a look at Conrad. His jaw tightened.Got it.

Jace disappeared into the coaches’ office with the others, and Conrad got up, grabbed a water bottle, hydrated, and then grabbed his towel and wiped his face.

He followed Justin out onto the ice—but right before they hit the ice, he grabbed him. “Hey.”

Justin rounded. “What?”

“You’re playing with your gut out there. You gotta slow down, think?—”

“Step back, Conrad. I don’t need a lecture. I’m here because I don’t freeze up, thinking about ten different things. I’m fast, I’m sharp, and I’m not playing chess on the ice. Try trusting me?—”

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