Page 25 of Blindside Me
Our gazes meet, and for a pulse, she is all I can see. Her expression is unreadable as she leans forward and places her elbows on her knees. Why is she here? Why does it matter?
I grit my teeth, snap my attention back to the ice, and reset for the next rep.
“Two-on-one drills,” Coach yells.
I transition smoothly, but my mind is split. Part of me is on the ice, going through movements so familiar they’re practically muscle memory. The other part wonders what she’s doing here. If Coach invited her. If she asked to come. If she’s watching me specifically.
“Klaas and Morton, you’re up,” Coach says.
Blake skates to my side and lightly taps my stick. “You look distracted.” He glances toward the stands and back at me. “Stay with us.”
I nod. “Let’s go.”
We face off against Ryan and another forward, settling into a defensive position. Blake and I have done this hundreds of times. We read each other’s movements instinctively, knowing when to press and when to hang back.
The forwards attack and weave through the neutral zone. I track Ryan’s movement, anticipating his cut toward the net. I step up and angle my body to cut off his lane.
And in that crucial moment, my focus slips again. I glance toward the bleachers. Jade’s still watching intently.
One second of distraction. That’s all it takes. I miss my timing, skating too aggressively into my turn. Blake, expectingme to hold position, crashes into me. We collide hard, both of us tumbling to the ice in a tangle of limbs and sticks.
“What the hell, man?” Blake grunts, pushing himself up.
I’m already on my feet, embarrassment burning in my chest. “Sorry,” I mutter. “Thought he was cutting inside.”
Coach’s whistle pierces the air. “Klaas! Over here. Now.”
The ice feels longer as I skate over. Coach is pissed.
“Whatever’s going on in your head, deal with it. Now.”
“Yes, Coach.”
He lowers his voice. “You’ve got scouts watching. You’re not invisible. Fix it.”
The mention of scouts is like a bucket of ice water. I straighten, jaw tightening. “It won’t happen again.”
“See that it doesn’t.” He jerks his head toward the ice. “Back to work.”
I skate back, hyper-aware of every movement and laser-focused. But as I pass center ice, her eyes meet mine.
She doesn’t look away, giving me the slightest nod. Just enough to make me question everything. My pulse stutters. Not from the drill, but from her. Like she sees more than I want her to.
“Switch it up,” Coach calls.
We line up for suicides, and I embrace the burn. Down to the blue line and back. Down to the red line and back. Down to the far blue line and back. Down to the far goal line and back.
My lungs scream. My legs burn. Sweat stings my eyes. This is what I need. This is familiar. This is where I belong.
“Again,” I say to no one in particular.
Coach raises an eyebrow but lets it ride. “You heard him. Again!”
After the third set, my body begs to quit. I don’t. We finish, and Coach calls it. “Rest up. Saturday’s not just another game.”
The words echo longer than they should. Saturday isn’t just another game. It’s everything I’ve bled for.
As we skate off, I take one last glance. Jade’s talking to Coach. She gestures toward the ice. Toward me?
