Page 14 of Cross Check Hearts

We sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes until the warmup ends. Cheers and applause fill the arena as the game finally gets underway, and when I glance at the Aces box looking for my father, I find Declan staring right at me instead.

He doesn’t smile or wave—just looks at me with such focused intensity that I feel it like a physical touch. In that moment, everyone else in the arena seems to fade away, and it’s just us, locked in a private exchange that no one else can see or understand.

I try to peel my gaze away from him, but he might as well be magnetic, just like he said.

Thankfully, I’m not the only one eyeing him. It’s a preseason game, but this is the first time any of the fans are going to see Declan on the ice with the Aces, and while there has definitely been a lot of buzz about him on all the sports forums, he still has a lot to prove. My dad has a reputation to maintain, especially after the team’s Cup win last season, and he doesn’t sign just anybody.

“Look, there’s the new guy,” my mother says, pointing at Declan with a piece of popcorn as he streaks out onto the ice with the rest of the team.

My father has him playing the defensive line, and I try to keep my gaze on everyone but Declan, but as the ref blasts his whistle and the players scatter, my eyes keep drifting to him.

I’ve watched countless hockey games, seen players come and go, but something about the way Declan moves on the ice is different. He has this fluid grace coupled with explosive power—like a predator conserving energy until the perfect moment to strike.

Every time we’ve talked since the end of the last season, my father has been going on and on about how everyone else in the league is going to be gunning for the Aces after their Cup win, and now I see exactly what he means. The Cincinnati Knights aren’t making things easy for the Aces, and while I don’t know too much about the visiting team, I know enough about hockey to see that they’re giving the Aces a run for their money.

The Knights center takes possession of the puck and breezes between Reese and Theo as they’re caught up with their counterparts on the Cincinnati team. The center is giving everything he’s got, flying across the ice with the puck swishing back and forth in front of him against his stick.

But Declan is on him, streaking from out of nowhere. He moves so quickly that I can barely keep track of him as he crosses the ice and closes the distance, and he catches the Knights center off guard too. The guy has to spin at the last second to avoid crashing right into Declan, but Declan takes advantage of the confusion and pokes the puck away. The crowd howls its approval as Theo scoops the puck up in the aftermath and starts pounding down the ice toward the goalie.

Declan tips his helmet cockily at the center he just intercepted. Although it looks like the guy is about to tackle him for it, he must think twice because he pivots and skates after the others. The horn blares a few seconds later, announcing a goal by Reese, and Declan glides back to the defensive line, crouched and ready to spring again if the players circle back his way after the reset.

The next several minutes are a grind, with both teams battling hard for control but unable to score. The Knights center seems determined to humiliate Declan after his interception at the start of the game, so he guns for him every chance he gets. Declan does his best to keep up with the guy, but he’s a little slow on his pivots, so the center gets the slip on him more than he should.

I find myself leaning forward, hands clenched tightly in my lap, willing Declan to adjust his strategy. My father’s voice echoes in my head from all the games I’ve watched with him.

Watch how they fail, then watch how they learn. That’s the mark of a great player.

But Declan catches on to the center’s tactics quickly and starts to correct for them. And in what is probably the most impressive play I think I’ve ever seen one of my dad’s players make, as the clock is ticking down in the game’s final minute, Declan bolts from the defensive line while Noah and the Knights center are fighting for the puck.

Theo’s in position to the right of the goal, unguarded and pacing impatiently while he waits for someone to give him an opportunity. A fight breaks out between Noah and his counterpart, and in the scuffle of flying gloves and helmets, Declan seizes the puck and sends it across the ice right to Theo, who’s already winding up for the shot before the puck even reaches him.

The puck swishes into the net just as the horn signals the end of the game, and the stands erupt. My mother and I both jump from our seats, shouting and spraying popcorn all over us both. When I glance back at the ice where the Aces have piled around Declan to pound on his helmet in celebration, his eyes dart to mine—so quickly that no one else would ever notice or think anything of it.

But I do.

And even as I celebrate with everyone else, I can’t help but feel like that look held a message meant only for me. The goal Declan assisted with wasn’t just for the team.

It was for me, just like he promised.

Chapter7

Declan

My bike rumbles beneath me, making me feel alive in only the way it can as I speed through Denver heading to the arena for practice. But it’s nothing compared to the high I’m still riding after the killer play I made at the very end of our last game—and the look I saw on Hannah’s face out in the stands after. I might not have netted the goal myself, but I told her I’d score one for her, and I kept my word.

Since it’s just a practice session, I’m sure she won’t be here, but part of me is hoping she’ll show up to the arena today so I can remind her of it. The thought brings a smile to my face as I pull into the parking lot and coast into one of the spots reserved for players and staff. But as I shove the kickstand down with my boot, my phone starts ringing in my pocket—and a chiming ringtone that I only use for my mom carries across the empty parking lot.

Shit. I hope she’s okay.

Leaving her back in San Diego was easily the hardest part about making the decision to play for the Aces. I worry about her and her Parkinson’s all the time, but even more so now that I don’t live less than half an hour away from her. If something goes wrong, I can’t just drop everything and be at her side in a flash.

It’s the constant tug of war I’ve lived with for years—chasing my dreams while taking care of the one person who sacrificed everything for me. The distance between us now only makes that tension sharper.

Concerned, I climb off my bike and tug off my helmet, then grab my phone and swipe to answer it.

“Don’t worry, I’m fine,” she says before I can get a word out, and the sound of her warm voice floods me with relief. A smile cracks my face because she knows me so well. Anytime she calls, the first words out of my mouth are always “Are you okay?”

“Dieu merci,” I whisper, and my mother laughs.

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