“I want to say I can’t believe she’s doing it, but I actually can,” Hudson tells me, and we watch her wave to the crowd. He bumps his shoulder against mine. “I’m proud of you.”
“For what?”
“Not holding a grudge just because she made you look stupid. Being mature and welcoming. Keeping your dick in your pants.”
I laugh and elbow him in the ribs even though he can barely feel it through his pads. “I do have some self-control, motherfucker.”
We follow behind Emerson, and I barely make it out of the tunnel before I dig my blades into the ice and brake hard into the boards.
“What’s wrong, Cap?” Connor asks, skating past me.
“You good, Mav?” Grant knocks his knuckles against my helmet, and I stare at the crowd.
“Holy shit,” I whisper.
Half the arena is women, which isn’t anything new. What’s different are the signs and jerseys they’re holding. None of them are for me or the boys.
They’re all for Emerson.
“Wicked, isn’t it?” Ethan grins. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”
I look for Emerson and find her talking to Coach near the bench. She’s nodding along while he draws a play on his whiteboard, totally chill and totally un-fucking-fazed.
I guess she senses me watching her, because she glances up. Our gazes meet again, and I stare at her.
It hits me then.
Right near center ice and in front of twenty thousand people.
A thought I’ve been having more and more lately these last few weeks, but becomes solidified right now: this woman is fucking incredible.
Special.
Changing the future of the sport and inspiring girls and women everywhere, all while wearing ribbons and mascara.
Simon Buttecker is going to bepissed,and that makes me giddy.
“Circle up,” I bark out, and my teammates huddle around me. “Every win is important, but we have to leave everything out there tonight. The media crucifies us on good days, and they’re going to go after Hartwell’s first start hard. Let’s not give them any ammunition. Lock it up. Focus. We’ve gotta play strong for all sixty minutes.”
“Hell yeah, Cap. I love when you get fired up,” Riley says, and he looks over his shoulder. “Emmy! Get over here.”
She joins the group, slotting between Connor and Seymour. If she’s nervous, she doesn’t let on.
“What’s going on?”
“We wanted to tell you we have your back,” Grant says smugly, like this pep talk was his idea. “I’m bummed you’re not going to be on my line, but I guess Mavvy is an upgrade.”
“Debatable,” she mumbles.
“Hands in,” I say, and everyone stacks their hands on top of each other. “Together on three. Count us off, Hartwell.”
“One, two, three,” she says.
“Together,” we all yell at the top of our lungs, and I know we’re going to be on fire tonight.
“The fuck is your problem?” I scream as I skate past the ref who’s been giving me shit since the puck dropped.
I got hit with a cross-checking penalty earlier, and now I’m being sent to the sin bin for slashing like I’m some high schooler.
