Page 40 of Goalies Don't Date Ice Princesses

“You can tell?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

Archer nodded, his eyes filled with a mixture of understanding and curiosity. “It’s like you’re in another world when you skate alone,” he said. “There’s a spark in your eyes that shines brighter than any arena lights. It’s as if the weight of the world falls off your shoulders, and you become one with the ice. I’ve watched you from for weeks, Bri, and I can see how much happier you are.”

It was during those solitary moments that I truly came alive, shedding the weight of expectations and responsibilities that burdened me when practicing with my team. The pressure to be perfect, to perform flawlessly, melted away as I glided across the ice with unabashed freedom.

“Okay,” I said. “Midnight. I’ll meet you there.”

* * *

As I walked into the rink that evening, the refreshing chill washing over me, I spotted Archer sitting on the bench with his crutches propped up next to him. I glided over to stand right in front of him Archer stared at my skates, a longing look on his face.

“You sure about this?” I asked. “We can leave if you want. Go watch a movie or something.”

I wasn’t sure where we would watch a movie now after curfew, unless he felt like trying to sneak me into his dorm, but I felt like I had to give some sort of suggestion.

“I don’t know how I can live without,” Archer said, totally ignoring my question.

“Hockey?” I asked. How many times had I seen that face light up with joy as he glided across the ice? It felt like a lifetime ago, a surreal memory that hung in the air, tangled in the strands of uncertainty. The thought of him never stepping foot on the rink again seemed unbearable.

It felt as though time had come to a standstill, as if our lives were frozen in this moment.

“Hockey. Skating. All of it.”

“It won’t be forever,” I said in a hopeful voice. “Only until your leg heals, right?”

The room seemed to close in around me, suffocating and tight. All the hopes and dreams we had shared were now suspended in a fragile balance, teetering on the edge of uncertainty. Would he wake up? Would he ever be able to skate again? The questions echoed in my mind, taunting me with their unanswerable nature.

“Yeah,” he said hollowly. I sighed and pushed myself up onto the boards and kicked my feet over, so I was sitting and facing him.

“Can I ask you a question, Archer?” I asked. He looked up at me with dull eyes. I hesitated for a second, hating to ask him this, but feeling that he needed to talk about it. “After you got in the fight with Donovan… Who were you talking about? When you said someone would be disappointed in you?”

He held onto one of his crutches, as if he was going to get up and leave. But he didn’t move.

“Has Adelynn ever told you about the day our dad died?” Archer asked, taking me by surprise.

“Not really,” I said honestly. “I mean, she told me it was a car accident but not… not any more detail.”

I never wanted to pry, especially not about something she was clearly struggling with so much. But that didn’t mean I wasn’t curious, either. The way Adelynn—and even Archer—spoke about that day told me it had been deeply traumatic for them.

Archer let out a long, shuddering breath, a pained look on his face.

“I was at a hockey game,” he said. My heart thudded in my chest, scared to hear the ending of this story but not wanting to interrupt, even for a moment. “My dad was supposed to be there. But every time I looked up at the stands, I couldn’t find him. I was mad. I felt like he could never be around, that he always wanted to spend time with my sisters more than me and I didn’t understand why. Especially since I was playing hockey—the game we both loved. It should have been a reason for him to come.”

“But he couldn’t,” I whispered, filling in the gaps. Archer shook his head, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“My coach pulled me aside after the game. Told me there had been an accident and he would drive me to the hospital to meet my family. When I got there…” Archer swallowed. “He was already… Well, you know.”

How did he not start hating hockey after that? How did every game not remind him of the worst night of his life?

“I can’t stop playing,” Archer said as if he read my mind. “He loved that I was in hockey. He always encouraged me to play more, to get on better to teams, tobebetter… How can I give that up?”

Even though my parents were alive, I understood the pressure all too well. The feeling that if he quit, he would be disappointing his dad in the worst way imaginable. But… his dad wasn’t here to tell him that. He wasn’t here to see the way that Archer couldn’t sleep every night or hear the way he talked about hockey, about how he didn’t want to just be a goalie and he loved playing on frozen ponds instead of indoor rinks.

“Do you really love being on the hockey team?” I asked. Archer’s brows furrowed and he opened his mouth—surely to insist that of course he did—but I pressed on before he could. “Do you love being on the team or do you just love the idea that you would be making your dad proud?”

I hated how harsh my words sounded but they needed to be said.

“I love hockey,” Archer said, not much conviction behind his words.

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