Page 40 of As You Ice It

Eli:i thought you said no more all caps

Wyatt:Is this the woman who has a kid you told me about?

Eli:Hey, no fair! You talked to Wyatt and not us?

Alec:Maybe because he’s not obnoxious.

Wyatt:I may have moved but some people know how to still text me outside the group chat

I start to regret trying to say anything serious in the group chat when it totally derails into a discussion filled with insults and arguments. It’s a game night. Most of these guys probably left the rink and had a handful of beers. Maybe this was a stupid time to try to have a serious conversation.

A separate text pops up. Relieved, I close the group chat.

Logan:Hey, man. Sorry everyone is being so … everyone. Happy to talk any time. I know a thing or two about second chances.

Camden:I might take you up on that tomorrow. Thanks, man.

Logan:Night.

I briefly consider texting Naomi, but when I open our text thread and see our final messages from just before the breakup, I can’t make myself do it.

But when I hear one of Mike’s loud snores through the wall, I make a determination that I will talk to her. In person, though, not text. I won’t see her until after our next road series, but hopefully she’ll come inside to watch Liam now that we’ve broken the ice. And if not, I’ll go out to her car again.

CHAPTER9

Naomi

There’sno reason to hide in my car at the next hockey practice, so I find myself following Liam inside, nervous energy zinging through me. It’s been two weeks since the last class because the Appies had an away game last Saturday. Liam told me about it (because of course he did), but I’d already looked at their schedule. Even if I didn’t admit that to him.

Why was I checking their schedule? Because I was trying to think of reasons why Camden didn’t text or call. For two weeks.

I guess the number of games they played in since I last saw him is a good excuse. (Why are there so many hockey games?) But it’s not like he wouldn’t have a spare moment in that busy schedule for a simple text.

Not that he said he would. But after our talk on the walkway above the rink, Ithoughthe would.

He didn’t.

Which is … fine.

I didn’t text him either. Instead, I quietly obsessed. Looking at the Appies schedule and pretty much scouring their entire site. Checking his socials for the first time in months. No sign of a girlfriend, for the record. Only a few random hockey pictures with no captions, which made me a little too satisfied.

I thought about our conversation on the catwalk. And his scent. And the way it felt to have him sling me like a sack of Naomi over his shoulder. I thought about the moment a kiss hung in the air between us, both regretting and applauding my decision to not give in.

I also thought about him buying Liam gear, working with him one-on-one.

I thought about our breakup, what I said to him and then what Camden said afterward to me, all against the backdrop of our conversation at the Summit. I set them all out to examine like some tech genius might do with a dismantled computer. But I’mnota tech genius, so I couldn’t make sense of things and put them back together. I’ve just got a messy table full of parts and pieces and no clue how things fit together.

Though I came close to messaging him, I wasn’t going to be the first one to crack in what feels like a weird game of silent phone chicken.

Which means that now I’m walking into the Summit feeling all the nerves.

I’m immediately met with hockey parents, and I have a new reason to wish I’d stayed in the car. The hallway outside the rink is crowded with kids and hockey gear and moms who look a lot more put together than I feel.

Most are wearing activewear, like me, but the difference is that theirs are all brand name and clearly worn to look hot. By comparison, my compression pants are neither for activity nor for looks, just comfort, and there’s a hole in the right calf. I also didn’t realize makeup was required for watching my kid play hockey.

The other thing they all have that I don’t? The know-how to put on hockey gear.

“I got it, Mom,” Liam says, pushing my hands away.

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