Page 12 of Broken Hearts
I nod, feeling guilty and resenting it. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Good. Now, let’s get you ready for the Desert Cup.”
It’s hard to concentrate with the hockey guys on the ice. And not just for me. Coach gives up on continually yelling “Focus” halfway through practice and divides us up into groups to work on skills. Coach Meyers is having the same issue. Jordan and another guy trip over each other while staring at Josie doing a flying camel spin.
“Well, this was a great idea,” I say to Olivia.
"I am loving this. Really peps up my morning. Although, I wish I'd worn something less wrinkled." She holds the fabric up to her nose. "And smelly."
I lean forward. “It's a little musty,” I admit. “But I guarantee you smell better than them.”
We glance back down at the guys. Sweat drips off them.
“He’s cute,” she says.
“Who?” I play dumb, but I know exactly who she’s talking about. Rhett skates toward the center of the ice and gets back into line, staring at me the entire time.
“Your twin, Rhett.”
Sure, he’s cute. And he knows it.
We work through skills, making the best of our time on the ice, even if it’s only half of our usual space. After I complete my turn, I skate to the back of the line. Rhett’s standing nearby, also at the back of his respective line.
“Hey," he says. “How’s the eye? Does it hurt?” He winces.
“I’m guessing about as bad as yours does.”
“I’m so sorry.” The sincerity in his tone catches me off guard. I mean, he sounded sincere last night, but now there’s something else behind his voice. Guilt?
I’m quiet as I study his face, trying to get a read on him. He’s a tall guy, broad. Not too bulky, but solid. Makes sense considering it felt like I ran into a brick wall yesterday.
“I didn’t know about your heart condition. If I had...” He trails off.
Well, now that makes sense. I don’t hide my heart condition, but man, could I make a good case for it because this is just the type of reaction that frustrates me. Suddenly, he feels this greater sense of empathy like I’m some fragile damsel in distress.
“Don’t worry about it,” I clip and turn from him.
He skates beside me, moving up with my line. “You’re okay, though, right?”
“Rauthruss!” Coach Meyers, the hockey team’s head coach, voice booms over all the other noise in the rink. “Maybe you and your friend want to share what’s so important that you’re holding up two practices?”
“Sorry, Coach,” Rhett responds.
Coach Meyers skates toward us. He looks from Rhett to me, and I see the second he puts it together.
He leans on the hockey stick in his hands. “You must be the unfortunate victim of Rauthruss’ clumsiness.”
I don’t know how to answer that, so I just nod.
“Coach Brekke,” he calls over us. “Mind if I borrow...” He looks to me for my name.
“Sienna.”
“Mind if I borrow Sienna for a few minutes?”
My coach gives him a thumbs up.
Coach Meyers is probably my dad’s age. He has dark hair that’s graying at the temples and a few wrinkles around his eyes. It’s easy to see that he has his team’s total respect and attention as he blows the whistle and the action immediately stops.
