Page 106 of As You Ice It

Coach stands. I’m still speechless. He holds up a hand, and the guys quiet down. Then he turns, giving me a challenging look.

“Put on your jersey, Captain Cole.”

I can’t help but do as he asks. Whether I believe him or not—mostly not—I can see from the guys’ faces that they share his unfounded faith in me.

And the last thing I’ll do on a team is crush that faith.

I tug the jersey over my head, and when my head pops out, I’m smiling. The room erupts. Hugs, slaps on the back, someone tossing a ball of tape at my head. (Classic Van.)

The noise subsides, and Coach once more turns to me. “For your first act as captain, I’ve got a big responsibility for you. Normally, this is a decision I would make, but I want you to choose your alternate captain. You can take as much time as you need and it doesn’t have to be tonight but?—”

“Dominik,” I interrupt. “I choose the Kid.”

The room goes silent. Dominik’s face looks as shocked as I’m sure mine did moments ago, and his pale cheeks flush. I can’t explain all the reasons why, but I’m certain he’s the right choice. Maybe, like me, he doesn’t quite feel ready, but I have no doubt after watching him the last year that he’ll grow into it.

Dominik is not smiling, but he has a determined look about him, and he gives me a nod. “I’ll do it.”

No one speaks for a moment, and then Van stands on the bench and shouts, “All hail Cole and the Kid!”

I’m not sure our locker room will be this loud even if we pull out a win tonight.

And only as we wind down the celebration to finish gearing up do I remember how much more I have to look forward to tonight.

* * *

Naomi

Camden is onto me. How can I be sure? I’m not. Not completely.

But he’s caught me several times doing suspicious things and just ignored it rather than asking what I’m up to. And I’m the worst at hiding things when I’m excited, and this is one of those things that has had me grinning for a solid two weeks.

The package has been delivered,Jordan texts.

I snort and call him. “Look,” I say when he answers, “we can come up for a code name if you want to, but we are not referring to Camden’s family as ‘the package.’ It sounds … bad.”

Jordan laughs. “Should I have told you that we’re driving to the Summit now so everyone in the car can hear you through the Bluetooth?”

“Oh,” I say weakly.

“Hey, Naomi!” Mike calls.

I’m going to murder Jordan. And I can’t even threaten to do it because then Camden’s whole family will hear me.

“Hello!” his mom says. She sounds a little distant, but I can still hear her just fine. She sounds like she’s trying not to laugh.

“For what it’s worth,” Camden’s dad says, “I’d vote for a code name like Eagle or Jaguar—something cool and tough.”

Faintly, I hear the sound of Camden’s twelve-year-old sisters in the background.

My stomach loops itself into another double knot of nerves. Talking to them all on the phone and on the occasional video call is not enough preparation for this surprise in-person visit. I might collapse in a monstrous heap of spent endorphins at the end of the night.

I pinch the bridge of my nose and force cheer into my voice while silently plotting ways to pay Jordan back for this. “Good idea, Mr. Cole.”

“But I absolutely insist you have to use our first names. It’s Scott and Kelli. Got it?”

“Yes … Scott.” When you grow up in the South, or anywhere with parents who still subscribe to Manners with a capital M, breaking the habit of calling adults Mr. or Mrs. is tough. Even when you’re an adult yourself. “Jordan, what’s your ETA for having the …” I pause. “The Wolf Pack at the Summit?”

“Wolf Pack,” Jordan says with another laugh. “I like it. The Wolf Pack will be there in twenty minutes.”

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