Page 89 of Cross Check Hearts

I know she probably didn’t mean it the way it came out, but I still can’t stop a frown from flashing across my face.

My mother sighs and pats my hand. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I don’t mean to sound critical. I’m just worried about you overextending yourself and burning out.” She purses her lips thoughtfully. “Maybe you should think about giving up the yoga thing to focus on school. I know you love it, but school is so much more important.”

My stomach twists, and I clear my throat, fiddling with a small loose thread on the hem of my shirtsleeve. My mother has always been my biggest cheerleader—she just shows it by trying to make sure I have security in my life, rather than encouraging me to pursue my passion.

She and my father have never understood why I’m so interested in yoga, and I stopped trying to explain it to them a long time ago. After what happened with Casey, my parents just want to make sure I’m set up well in life, and I’m grateful for that, even when their concern feels a bit suffocating.

I can’t fault her for loving me in the only way she knows how.

I just wish I could tell her that I’d much rather keep the yoga and ditch school, but I have a feeling she’d have a heart attack if I ever said that out loud.

“Seriously, Hannah,” my mother presses, reaching over to tuck a lock of hair behind my ear. “I’m worried about you. You look so tired. Are you getting enough sleep?”

“I’m fine,” I insist, reaching over to squeeze her hand. “Just busy, but I’m managing.”

Thankfully, she nods, accepting my reassurance.

Her concern has my brain spinning again though, and I wrinkle my nose as the din of the area surrounds us. I feel like I’m living a life full of lies. There’s this increasingly intense, secret life I have with Declan that’s glorious and absolutely perfect—but then there’s this fake life I’m living on the outside with everyone else. The dutiful daughter who’s going to be a world-class lawyer, if she could only get out of her own way.

Even thinking about all the studying I need to do exhausts me. I’m finally starting to admit to myself that I never really wanted to be a lawyer. I just decided to go to law school because it was what my parents wanted, and I wanted them to feel like they hadn’t lost everything when they lost Casey.

My life probably looks amazing to all the people who aren’t me, to people who aren’t living it, but it doesn’t fitmeat all.

I still haven’t found the courage to say that out loud to anyone—except Declan. And I don’t know what that means.

Almost as if he can sense me thinking about him, I spot Declan skating across the ice as the intermission ends. I lean forward in my seat, resting my chin in my hands as I watch him. He makes eye contact with me and winks subtly, making my heart flutter. When I’m sure my mother can’t see, I make a little heart with my fingers underneath my chin and flash it to him. The smile he gives me in return almost melts me, but he streaks away quickly before anyone else notices or catches on to our secret signals.

The two teams get back in position on the ice for the final period as the last of the crowd streams back into the arena.

This has been a particularly brutal game, and I was hoping that the break would give all the players time to cool off and reset all the testosterone, but as soon as the puck drops, they’re right back to tearing after each other. Maybe it’s because the Aces are the team to beat, or maybe it’s because they have a hotshot new rookie—or all of the above—but both teams are playing a bit rough and reckless.

More than once, I gasp along with the crowd as the players barely miss each other. It’s like they’re trying to test each other’s limits in some risky game of chicken to see who will flinch first. But the problem is, no one is flinching. And every time it happens, the next one is even closer. At one point, one of the Coyotes players crashes into Sawyer’s shoulder head-on. Thankfully, Sawyer sees it coming and braces himself for the impact, but the other guy goes down hard and the back of his helmet smacks against the ice.

The ref’s sharp whistle cuts through all the noise from the crowd, and they rush to the player to make sure he’s okay. In a true show of sportsmanship, Sawyer helps the Coyotes player up off the ice to a round of applause from the audience, but the guy must be seeing triple, because he sways on his feet and the refs have to help him off the ice to the bench.

The game continues, the play even more aggressive and brutal than before. Halfway through the period, Theo is streaking down the ice toward the goal with the puck in his control when a Coyotes player jabs his stick out at his feet. Theo notices, but not before it’s too late. He crashes into the guy’s stick and stumbles, flailing his arms to keep his balance and losing his stick in the process.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Theo bellows at the Coyotes player when he gets his footing again, whirling on the man.

He’s so loud that I can hear him all the way over here, despite the angry shouts from the Aces fans in the crowd. Theo looks like he’s ready to take a swing, but the refs are on the two of them in a matter of seconds, pushing them apart and making sure they don’t get at each other’s throats. Theo’s face is red, his teeth bared, but he knows better than to get into a tussle with the refs.

Once they’ve gotten the situation under control, one of the refs skates out to announce a tripping penalty for the Coyotes. Their players and fans are all furious, and their coach hurls expletives at the ref from their box, but maybe they should’ve thought about that before they decided to play dirty.

My eyes shoot to my father, who’s watching all of this happen, but he just stands there calmly with his chin in his hands, shaking his head.

“What’s gotten into these boys tonight?” my mother asks, startling me out of the trance I’ve been in. I’ve been so focused on the action happening on the ice that I completely forgot she was sitting and watching it with me.

“I don’t know. They’re playing like it’s game seven of the finals,” I say, shaking my head at another near-collision on the ice. “I guess they’re all just hungry for a win.”

“They always want to win, though. That doesn’t mean they need to rip each other apart to get there.”

“You’re not wrong.” I huff out a quiet laugh. “Dad always says the best players keep their heads when everyone else is losing theirs.”

The third period intensifies as the clock winds down. Every hit seems harder, every shot more desperate. The Aces one-goal lead has both teams playing with barely contained fury—our guys defending like their lives depend on it, the Coyotes attacking with increasing recklessness.

I wince as Noah takes a punishing check but manages to stay on his feet. Maxim nearly gets caught with a high stick that thankfully misses his face by inches. The crowd around us is on edge, the tension in the arena thick enough that the air feels heavy.

“That ref needs to get control of this game,” my mother mutters as another scuffle breaks out along the boards.

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