Page 82 of The Girlfriend Zone

There. Right there.

The gap between one of the goalie’s legs and the post is just wide enough.

I pull back and fire. The puck cuts through the air and slams into the net. The lamp lights, and the crowd cheers.

“Yes!” I shout, pumping a fist in the air. My pulse races—not just from the play, but from the relief I feel every single time.

Ever since my injury, I play on a different level of awareness. I don’t take my health for granted like I honestly did before the ACL tear. Now, there’s a low-level buzz in my brain, a memory of what could go wrong. So when things go right, I want to kiss the sky.

Relief and gratitude flood me. This team took a chance on me, and I’m determined to prove they made the right call. I’m determined to prove it every season, every game, every play.

Bryant skates over, knocking fists with me, and Callahan follows. But it’s Tyler’s assist that steals the moment. I grab him, pulling my brother into a hug that turns into a group pile-on. When we break apart and skate to the boards, I knock fists with him again.

“Nice job. It’s going to be a good season,” I say.

“I hope so,” he says as we hop over the boards.

The game isn’t over yet—we’ve got a few minutes left to play—but he gives another nod, maybe believing it at last, possibly feeling like he’s fitting in.

I tap my stick to the floor. “It’s not easy joining a new team,” I say, just for him.

“Especially when your brother plays on it,” he says.

“But you’re finding your way,” I say.

“Thanks. I hope so. I really want this to stick,” he says, genuine hope in his voice. Tyler had a good career in Los Angeles, but he carries a lot on his shoulders with two young kids. This career isn’t just about him—it’s about the life he’s building for his family.

I glance toward the stands, following his gaze to where Mom and Harvey sit with Birdie and Charlie, and Tyler’s kids, Luna and Parker. Tyler yanks off his gloves, wavingto all of them, but his eyes linger on his son and daughter. He makes a heart gesture with his hands, and they wave frantically back at him, practically bouncing in their seats.

Somewhere in the arena, ovaries explode.

“Proud of you,” I say, admiring how he balances all the things. “You’re a good dad.”

“They’re good kids,” he says, and that’s just like him too. Deflecting.

I turn my focus back to the ice.

The game isn’t over yet, but something in the way we’re playing tonight tells me it’s going to be a good season. I just have to keep showing that the ACL injury didn’t break me. I feel that way every season here though. It hangs over me. A question the press might ask. A worry teammates might have. A concern for the coaching staff.

I don’t want anyone to worry about me—ever. I want to leave that guy recuperating far in the rearview mirror.

As the next line gets ready for the faceoff, with Winters poised and ready, I glance at the stands and spot Leighton. Nikon in hand, she lowers the camera, and her gaze lands on mine. Excitement flashes in her eyes. Maybe pride too. But that smile…hell, it digs right into my soul. It’s beautiful, and I wish I could flash her the public grin I want. Blow the kiss I want. Haul her in for a hug after the game, like I want.

This is getting ridiculous. I’ve had one date with the coach’s daughter, and she’s etched into my mind and heart.

It’s hardly one date. You’ve been sneaking hits of her all along, hanging out with her, talking to her, getting to know her.

And now is not the time for voices in my head.

I’ve got to get over all these feelings for her.

I jerk my gaze back to the ice.

Focus.

The game’s not done, and there’s still more to prove.

I turn back around to watch our team destroy Phoenix until “Tick Tick Boom” plays, signaling our win.

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