Page 60 of Icing Hearts

One down. Five to go.

Two more in the first, just like it. Then the opposition gets my number and does anything to stop me. They learn my play and counterstrike. I relax for most of the second, letting them think they’ve sufficiently hindered me.

I get an assist with my other wing, a small senior who is lightning fast. Pretty sure the scout is here for him, too, so I’m happy to help him look as good as he is. Hockey is a brutish dance. Big moves, fast plays, but with a level of finesse that rivals ballet.

To his credit, Vince is an excellent center, and I wouldn’t have half the stats that I do without him. He’s got an eye for the game—sees the potential outcome of a pass several moves out. He knows where to put the puck, and I benefit time and time again. I get one more goal at the end of the second.

Our opponents only scored on us twice in the first two periods, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t good. We’re expecting a fair number of shutouts this season. Already had two.

Between periods, I sit away from Clara, down next to the coaches and Thomas. A sidelong glance tells me she’s still peppy and jovial. Seems like she still hasn’t noticed the chief’s presence.

I venture a peek behind me toward the top row. He stares me down, a look of venom in his eyes with his uniform and his undeserved swagger.

Already I know he’ll be waiting for me after the game to lay into me. I’m dreading it. Hopefully, I’ll take enough time with the reporter and the scout that he won’t stick around. My parents never do. They hug me on the way to the locker room and we meet at home.

The rest of the game goes off without a hitch. I get my fifth goal at the top of the third period. But then I get a penalty for slashing which eats up some time. While I sit in the box, I steal a look toward Clara. She and Clover write something down on their clipboards, and she smiles at me. I raise my brows, hoping it’s enough to warn her that her dad is here but she just chuckles and goes back to writing. Vince joins me for high sticking. We have thirty seconds of overlap, but I’m not terribly concerned because we’ve been strong in the penalty kill this season.

“Did you see the chief’s here?” I ask.

“He is?” Vince cusses, his chest heaving with exertion. “Perfect game to draw a high sticking penalty. Good going, Vince. I don’t know what it is, but there’s something off about that guy.”

“Agreed. Are you giving Clara a ride home?” I ask.

“I think Clover was gonna bring her and Thomas home to get ready before the party.”

“Okay, good. Next time, save the high sticking for when I’m back on the ice, okay?” I tell him as I rejoin my team on the ice.

With Vince in the box, our opponents are still on a power play, and we’re outnumbered.

For a couple minutes, the puck alludes me and, while we focus on keeping it out of our end, I’m worried I won’t get that sixth goal.

With two minutes left, Vince is back in and loaded for bear. Box time always gets him revved up and tonight is no different. He flies into the other team’s right wing upon his return, steals the puck and sends it my way under heat from two defenders with the seconds ticking down.

This time, I don’t hesitate. My whizzing slapshot sails through traffic into the back of the net.

We play with the puck until the final buzzer sounds and have a modest celebration on the ice before tapping gloves with the opponents. Before I make it back to the bench, I see the chief tapping on the glass. Clara turns and drops a water bottle when she sees him. He motions for her to go around and speak to him. She’s careful not to look my way, but I’d imagine that she’s resembling a ghost right about now.

Chief Larsen’s lips are set in a tight line, and his mouth barely moves as he talks to her with his hands on his hips. Typical. Clara nods a few times before returning to the bench to gather up supplies.

Coach finishes up his post-game spiel, and we file out of our bench box onto the ice. The chief stands by the exit, eyes darting to me as I skate by. The level of respect people show him as they file out of the rink grates against me. Because I know how he really is.

And that he’ll be waiting for me.

Chapter 35

Victory

A shadowy figure leans against my car as I approach in silence through the black night. Neither of us speak. History has taught me to never turn away from an enemy. Always face them. I’m careful not to lose him from my periphery while I put my gear in the trunk.

My hands sink to my pockets, and I press the button on my key fob that closes the trunk. The asphalt of the parking lot scuffs against my sneakers as I round the passenger’s side. This wasn’t a good parking spot. My car is far from any spot lights, completely cloaked in darkness. In another tactical move, I hit the automatic start button. This provides minimal lighting from the car and a quick exit if need be. Tense situations like this are all about small measures to gain an advantage. Same as hockey.

I square my stance and cross my arms, rising to my full height before him.

“Let’s hear it, Chief.” My tone is bored but this man’s sheer presence makes me uneasy. He’s slimy, oily. A snake. Something that slithers around and strikes at ankles when you least expect it.

“Looks like you and Clara are close. Care to explain what I saw tonight?”

I sniff and spit at the ground, pulling my lighter and box of cigarettes from my other pocket. He grows visibly irritated as I take my time to light up and pull a long drag. “Not really.”

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