Page 74 of The Wildest One
Beck
Dinner works.
Me
If you tell me I woke you, I’ll die.
Beck
You didn’t.
Me
Your first day of practice is tomorrow, Beck. You need to be sleeping and getting all the rest you possibly can.
Beck
I need to ask you something …
Did I upset you?
Me
No! Why would you even think that?
Beck
It feels like I somehow fucked things up again. If you’re mad that I didn’t text you once I realized my Africa invite hadn’t gone through, I’m sorry. I know I handled everything wrong. Since I saw you at Musik, it’s been eating at me.
Me
Oh my God, please don’t think that. I’m not mad. I’m not upset. I promise, it’s not you, Beck. I swear on everything.
Beck
So, you’re saying it’s on you …
Me
I’ll explain everything tomorrow night. Try to get some sleep.
NINETEEN
Beck
Igrabbed a whole bucket of pucks with at least fifty inside and dumped them on the ice, scattering them throughout the offensive and neutral zones. While I skated from one to the next, not going in any order, moving back and forth between sides, I didn’t take my time while I shot toward the goal. I didn’t focus on form. I didn’t aim the way I would if this were a game.
Because this session wasn’t about seeing how many goals I could make.
This session was to work out the gnawing feeling in my body.
But there was someone who was making that difficult, someone who was challenging me, and that was Landon. He was what stood between me and the goal, attempting to deflect every puck I shot his way.
The truth was, I barely even saw him. Not his stance, leg pads, stick work—it was all a blur.
All I saw was the puck.
While I used every goddamn ounce of power I had to sweep that puck toward the goal, all I heard was my text conversation with Jolie continuously repeating in my head.
