Page 81 of Check the Halls
“Did you always like hockey?” asks a girl with dark hair and round glasses in the second row.
“Yup,” I tell her. “I started so young, I don’t actually remember not playing hockey. Apparently, after my first game ended, I refused to leave the ice. I wanted to keep playing. My dad had to carry me off.”
Laughter ripples through the room, and when I glance toward the doorway, I catch Maddy grinning at me.
I point to another eager hand, and a girl in the front row loudly blurts out her question.
“Do you have a girlfriend?”
A wave of giggles spreads through the classroom.
My first instinct is to look at Maddy. Her lips part slightly in surprise, but she doesn’t look upset. If anything, she seems amused. Maybe even pleased?
We haven’t defined things. No labels. No deep discussion about what this is—just that it is. That we’re happy. That, for now, it’s enough.
But as she meets my gaze and gives me a warm, knowing smile, I take a chance.
“Yes, I do,” I answer, steady and sure.
The kids erupt in delighted squeals.
“Is ither?” a boy shouts from the back, pointing directly at Maddy.
I laugh, but before I can respond, Ms. Evans claps her hands, herding the chaos back under control. “Okay, okay, let’s get back to hockey!”
I spendthe last hour of the school day in the gymnasium, surrounded by a hundred kids and the kind of noise that could shake the walls of an NHL arena. A floor hockey game is quickly organised, and within minutes, the gym is a whirlwind of laughter, sneakers squeaking, and high-pitched cheers that echo off the rafters.
I’ve played in packed stadiums with tens of thousands of fans, but I’m certain I’ve never heard anything this loud.
The biggest surprise of the afternoon? Sam.
Not only does he join in, but he’s actually good. Quick on his feet, confident with the ball, and despite his usualclaims of indifference toward hockey, surprisingly competitive. He scores twice!
By the time the final school bell rings, I’m sweaty, slightly winded, and grinning like an idiot. Elliot arranged ahead of time for us to take Sam after school, so we pile into the car and take off.
I wait until we’re off school property to start my interrogation. “I thought you didn’t like hockey?”
Sam stares out the window. “I don’t.”
“You played pretty well.”
“I played for a couple years when I was younger. Right there, actually.” He points out his window at a small community rink. There’s a packed parking lot on one side and a string of houses on the other.
“No shit?” I ask as we drive by it.
Maddy elbows me for swearing and Sam chuckles.
“Why did you stop?”
The backseat grows quiet. I look at Sam in the rearview mirror, his eyes downcast. He slouches in his seat like he’s trying to sink into his slightly too-big ski jacket.
“It just wasn’t for me,” he says finally. Before I can dig further, he asks, “What are we doing at the mall?”
“Arcade?” I ask, hopefully. He doesn’t like hockey and I’m shit at chess, but we both like video games.
“Sure.” His face brightens and my relief is immediate. I turn on the radio, the sounds ofRun, Run, Rudolphfilling the vehicle.
“I think Santa Claus is going to be at the mall, too,” I add. “Maybe you can tell him what you want for Christmas?”
