Page 116 of Playing for the Hat Trick
Scottie: :sob: emoji :sob: emoji :sob: emoji
Jason: Starting next week. Back on the ice. Back with the Vipers.
Scottie: I am so proud of you, Tate. So proud.
Jason: Could not have done it without you.
Jason: Every bad day, every shitty physio session, every second I wanted to quit—I thought about you.
Scottie: Jason . . .
Jason: You are it for me.
Jason: You know that, right?
Scottie: I know.
Scottie: And you are it for me too.
Jason: Say it again.
Scottie: You are it for me, Jason.
Jason: :sob: emoji :sob: emoji :sob: emoji
Jason: I am coming for you, Crawford. Do not hide.
Chapter Forty-Two
Jason
How to Survive Her Brother (and Live to Score Another Day) Part Two
Today’s the day.
It’s the first game back after the injury. How am I doing? I’m fine—totally fine.
Except . . . I’m not. Not completely.
The fear’s still there, gnawing at the back of my skull no matter how many deep breaths I pretend help.
It’s too damn early for normal people to be upright, but I needed this—I needed to feel the ice again before the world woke up and the arena filled with noise and nerves and way too many eyes.
The rink’s mostly empty when I glide out, stick in hand, skates carving lazy lines across the surface.
The overhead lights are still too bright, humming with that weird, not-quite-awake energy the place gets before a game day really starts.
Heart pounding for a whole different reason than it used to.
And, of course, Leif’s already here.
Because that’s what he does.
Crouched near the boards, tapping his stick like he’s got all the time in the world.
Part of his pregame ritual: feel the ice, stare at some random fucking corner like it’s about to give him the secrets of the universe, then disappear to the locker room and pretend he doesn’t have emotions.
I should’ve known better.
