Page 94 of Breakaway

The buzzer sounded, and I skated back to the center of the ice. I continued to pretend Dakota wasn’t there. While I was here to beat him, I realized in the past few weeks as I’d trained that I was doing this for myself. The added benefit was him getting schooled in the process. It didn’t hurt that ignoring him pissed him off, either.

“Henley, heads or tails,” the ref asked.

“Heads.”

He flipped a puck that had stickers on it, and it landed tail-side up. “Your choice, Dakota. First or last?”

“First.” He smirked and moved over to the right side.

We each had to go around the whole length of the rink in any direction, and the fastest one would win. I felt confident in my skating speed, but I didn’t want to get cocky, so I kept my eyes closed as Dakota took off, the clock timing him up above. I could hear some people cheering him on in the crowd.

“Time!” the ref yelled, then quietly asked me, “Do you want to know?”

I shook my head, opening my eyes. “Nope.”

He nodded and motioned for me to head to my starting position. Picking the opposite side from Dakota, I lined up behind the center line and waited for the buzzer to sound. Once it did, I took off and dug my blades into the ice. My thighs burned, but I kept pushing as I skated around the side, my speed ramping up as I reached the long stretch. The air rushed by me, and everything else faded to the back as I pushed myself to keep moving, gliding around the edge.

When I crossed the line, my heart pounded in my chest and ears as I bent at the waist and caught my breath. Sweat beaded on my forehead as I glided to the middle. When I got there, the crowd’s noise finally penetrated the blood pounding in my ears, and I stuttered, looking up at all the cheering fans. On the big screen, I saw our two times.

Dakota: 14.845

Henley: 13.310

I’d done it. I’d just out-skated Dakota Hughes.

Tears pricked at my eyes as goosebumps rose on my arms. I took a second to suck in a deep breath and then lifted my hand to wave at the crowd, their enthusiasm moving me.

“What a skate, Henley,” the ref said, grinning at me. “The first point is awarded to Henshaw. Please grab your sticks for the next part while we prepare the goal.”

Nodding, I skated over to the section I’d come through. Reed beamed at me, pulling me into his arms before I stepped off the ice.

“You’re amazing, Hen. God, I fucking love you. The look on his face.” He chuckled as he squeezed me. He quickly kissed my lips, barely missing the face shield, and shoved my stick into my gloved hands, spinning me back around.

“You got this,” he said as I skated back onto the ice, laughing at the love bomb.

A special goal was brought onto the ice through the doors the Zamboni used. Instead of a net, it had an LED screen showing spots to hit to determine accuracy. I’d excelled at this at the last Olympics, so I felt confident in my ability to win this one too. The last three events would determine the winner since they were more skewed to Dakota’s skill set.

But I just had to focus on one skill at a time.

“You get to go first this time, Henley,” the ref said once the goal was set up.

Nodding, I skated to the center of the ice to the first puck. As soon as the buzzer sounded, I took off, hitting the puck and gliding down the ice as I waited for the light to show. The second it did, I reared back and struck the puck, moving to the next one and hitting three in rapid succession. The last puck was just ahead, and as I neared, I pulled back my stick, watching for the light to appear before I struck. Bringing my stick down too early, the puck went off-kilter and hit just outside the mark.

Hanging my head, I skated back to the center and slowed my heart rate as I watched Dakota. He hit the first one, missed the second, but got the next two. I was up by one, but if he nailed the last one, it would be a tie. I sucked in a breath as he pulled his stick back, the light appearing at the bottom of the net on the left—his weakest spot. He stuttered, hitting the puck, but it skidded on the ice and missed.

Relief and exhilaration flooded me as the stadium cheered, tingles filling me at the support around me. I took a second to really look at the crowd, shocked when I noticed the t-shirt that Keaton had designed and used in the campaign—‘hockey is for everyone.’

This was everything. We were making an impact.

Win or lose, other girls and players who weren’t the norm would see that they could do this too.

“Don’t get used to it. I got you on the next three,” Dakota taunted. What had I ever seen in him? Seriously. He was about as attractive as a dirty diaper.

“Time for our third event,” the ref said, directing us toward the goal again.

The screen had been recalculated to determine the speed and impact of the shot this time. Dakota was up first, and he wasted no time skating, lining up to his puck and smacking it in. I didn’t even look at his score. I knew he had me on this one and was okay with it.

Lining up, I put all my strength into my legs as I moved through the motion and brought my stick down to the ice. The puck flew through the air, hitting the screen with a resounding smack. I didn’t have to look to know that Dakota had scored higher, as the crowd’s cheers, albeit lackluster, told me.

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