He waved for me to follow him to his office around the corner. I pointed to the metal stairs and then to my skates. “I can’t come up there.” He stood on the steps and looked each way. “My guys were just here. I need to make sure that we’re good.”
“What do you mean, your guys were just here? The scouts?”
“No.” He shook his head and rolled his eyes. “It was the guys who need the Eagles to win. They mean business, Nick.”
“The scouts are here though, right?”
“Come on, Nick. You’re a good player, but if you were going to be in the NHL, you’d already be there.”
In the distance, the announcer introduced the Windswan Eagles. A respectful applause filtered through the chilly air as each player took the ice. “I’ve got to go.”
“Nick. You know what to do. You’re still getting ten grand.”
“Yes. I know exactly what to do.” I walked back to the rink and wondered if the set of dogprints next to the size seven bootprints had been there a few minutes earlier. I tilted my head as the familiar sound of my truck starting filled the gaps between the player introductions. Stopping, I turned to look at the parking lot but didn’t see anything but parked cars.
The crowd erupted, drowning out any other noise. I was imagining things and I had to get Evie out of my head. Those footprints weren’t hers and Rocky’s, they had likely been there for days.
“Where have you been?” Chaser pushed me onto the ice. He always went on last. I glided onto the ice and the announcer read out my stats. The crowd cheered and a bunch ofshutout number 9signs popped up over the fan’s heads.
I tuned out the noise of the crowd and went into my stretching routine. Fuck Coalman. I cared a lot more aboutthe town, Evie, and my reputation here to worry about disappointing a bunch of bad guys. I was going to stop every single puck that was shot at me.
Helicopters hovered overhead, and rails along the side of the rink held professional cameramen who whizzed back and forth, following the action. The Chance Rapids Classic was only going to be aired on the local stations, but from the tech, you’d think it was game seven in the Stanley Cup Finals.
By the end of the first period no one had scored, but the Eagles were outskating us. The Windswan players were better on outside ice than inside. Chaser lived up to his name, and Mack struggled to stop their top players.
After the first period, Coach gave us a boilerplate speech and didn’t look at me.
When we returned to the glassy ice surface for the second period, I let myself study the stands. The Chance Rapids fans were all wearing green and the Windswan Eagles, orange. The stands were clearly split in half by the two opposing colors. In the first period we were at the friendly end, the green zone, which was good because it meant we’d finish up the third period with the fans next to us—but the second period we were on the orange side. Which meant I couldn’t see the VIP seats. It was just a row of orange hats.
The second period was better as the Bobcats found their stride. Mack had figured out how to handle the Eagles’ right-wingers, using his bulk to keep them pressed to the edge, where they couldn’t execute proper strides or handle the puck.
It was turning into my best-case scenario. There weren’t any shots taken that I could’ve even let in the net if I wanted to.
When we took to the ice for the third period, I skated along the far side so I could get a good look at the home team’s VIP section.
“Go Nick!” GJ stood up and raised her hands above her head as I glided past. True to her word, she was wearing her vintage jersey, but was also wearing a green Bobcats bucket hat. “Yay, Nicky!” Clementine sat to her right, the seat to her left was…empty.
I blinked. Where was Evie?
The ref dropped the puck and the Bobcats won the face-off. I looked to the VIP section again, hoping that Evie had gone to get popcorn or something, but she still wasn’t there. The bleachers shook as the fans stomped their feet as Chaser got a breakaway. He took a shot from the blue line, but it was deflected.
“Don’t look, don’t look,” I whispered to myself as the puck changed hands.
I looked. She still wasn’t there.
Matt Whittier, their fastest player, barreled down the ice, his gaze fixed on mine. I readied myself and tried to read his moves. Luckily Mack intercepted him. Simultaneous groans and cheers filled the air as Whittier went down on one knee.
Chaser picked up the puck and the action returned to the far end.
Fourteen minutes passed and Evie still wasn’t there. The crowd was whipped into a frenzy. There was less than a minute to go in regulation time and no one had scored. They were rabid for some action.
The Eagles won the face-off and Whittier flew up the right side. Mack skated backward, and as Whittier arced to center ice, Mack hit him from behind.
The ref blew the whistle. Mack was getting a cross-checking penalty.
It was the last minute of the game, and the Eagles were on a fucking power play.
One more look. Everyone in the stands was on their feet. GJ’s hands were clenched in front of her. The seat beside her, still vacant. Where the hell was Evie?
