Page 90 of Vital Blindside

“Yeah, that will work. Come on,” she tells Cooper before leading him to the puck bucket and getting him set up on the centre of the ice.

I feel Beth wobble up beside me as I watch them. “She’s not what I expected, but maybe that’s why you work so well. You’re obsessed with each other.”

Fuck yeah, we are. “Cooper likes her too.”

“He does.”

Scarlett uses his stick to demonstrate the positioning, regardless of the fact it’s far too small for her. After showing him the proper movements, she hands it to him.

“Come on, buddy!” I shout.

I stifle a laugh when Cooper tries to copy Scarlett’s moves, but his blade skims the puck. She’s calm with him and walks him through the steps again. The next time he swings, he sends the puck a few feet in front of them and twirls in a circle with a loud whoop.

“Boo-yah!”

Scarlett claps, grinning at Cooper before we all watch him lose his balance and fly backward. He lets out a low sound of pain when his butt makes contact with the ice, but not even a second later, starts laughing.

After pushing himself to a sitting position on the ice, he looks up at Scarlett with a mischievous grin. “Help me up?” he asks her, blinking innocently.

She doesn’t hesitate to offer him a hand. “You wanna try again? Maybe with a bit less twirling?”

As soon as the words escape her, Cooper’s clutching her hand and pulling, bringing her down to the ice beside him. She squeals when she hits the ice before a loud laugh cuts through her surprise.

When she sits up, Cooper leans his head on her shoulder. “Sure, SP. Maybe we can do this another time too. You’re actually pretty cool.”

“What do you mean ‘actually pretty cool’?” she asks him.

His reply is a cheeky smirk as he pushes off the ice and collects another puck, ready to try shooting again.

Scarlett’s eyes meet mine then, and the spark in them makes my heart thump harder in my chest. I give her a thumbs-up and watch as she mouths the three words I can’t wait to hear her say for the rest of forever.

I love you.

32

SCARLETT

I adjust the sleeves of my Vancouver Warriors jersey and play with the neck of the sweatshirt beneath, doing anything to keep my hands busy.

I’m nervous—terrified, actually. It’s game seven of the Stanley Cup finals, and both teams are tied with one goal each.

While I would love to see Leo raise that giant silver cup over his head and plant a kiss on its belly, the little girl inside of me who idolized the VW her entire life needs them to win this. I need them to win while I’m here, watching and chanting and yelling curses at the referees.

It wasn’t five minutes after we arrived at Rogers Arena that it hit me. It hit me that this is the first time I’ve been to a game of this calibre that wasn’t my own. Where I wasn’t the one feeling the suffocating pressure, the exhaustion and adrenaline that pumps through you in one chaotic cocktail with each second that ticks down on the clock.

Every hockey player dreams of this moment—fantasizes about it, hoping one day it will be their blades cutting into this ice. Their stick connecting with that final game-winning puck.

When I was very young, I had dreams of being here, but things aren’t the same for women in the hockey world, and that’s just how it is. Instead, I got to play on an even bigger stage, with just as much on the line.

The Olympics were everything I had hoped for. The little girl inside of me sobbed when we made it to that arena in PyeongChang. It was like suddenly everything was worth it. Every bill that was paid late because Mom made sure hockey came first, every pulled muscle and ache in my body that lingered for weeks, and all of the years I spent with skates on my feet and gloves on my hands.

It. Was. All. Worth. It.

The Olympics were my Stanley Cup playoffs. The gold medal that was slipped over my head and hung heavy on my neck was my Stanley Cup. And those memories will live inside of me for the rest of my life.

Hopefully, the girl sitting next to me in a matching jersey and green-painted cheeks will be there next. And maybe I’ll be the one to help her get there.

“This is insane. I can’t thank you enough for this,” Willow says to Adam. She’s staring in awe at the rush of players from our lower-level seats, three rows from the ice itself.

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