“Yes, Coach.” I nod.
I scramble into my gear faster than I ever thought possible, and it feels like coming home. How did I sink so deep into myself that I neglected the one place that always feels like home?
Coach is standing there as I hop onto the smooth sheet, and she gives me a pat on the back. I know she meant it when she said she wouldn’t take it easy on me, but there’s no fear. I’ll put in the work like I always have to earn my place here, because she’s one of the few people whose approval means something.
Practice is as gruelling as I expected, but it leaves me exhausted in the best possible way. The kind you earn by putting in your best effort. I can’t wait to let the hot water wash away the sweat pouring down my face.
But I still linger for a moment on the sidelines while the guys tromp by us, chattering and laughing. Dev somehow manages to put JJ in a headlock in spite of all the goalie gear, and Cole chastises Hail, punching him playfully in the shoulder. They’re not who I’m looking for, though.
Then he’s there, his presence stealing my air. He’s got his helmet tucked under an arm, so I get the full impact of his sculpted features, and the slight bump on his nose. The one imperfection in his otherwise flawless features. The ache in my chest ratchets up, and I have to stop myself from reaching out to slip my fingers through the silky soft blond strands of his hair.
He freezes when he spots me, mouth falling open. I can’t quite read him, but he doesn’t look mad. His blue eyes look too soft for a negative emotion like anger. He reaches out. “Luna.” It’s a whisper of a word.
I step toward him, but a piercing whistle blasts through the moment as his coach calls for him. Disappointment swells up, but the encounter leaves behind hope. It’s probably for the best. We don’t have time to talk now. I’ve got a few more priorities before I can deal with him. Like the tangled mess of emotions crowding my brain.
“Do you need a ride home, Luna?” Beth asks, turning toward me while she runs a brush through her hair.
“Nah, I’m going to see if I can track Sin down before I head home. I’ve got some things to figure out.”
Beth’s eyes widen. “Are you sure? You can always send her a text.” The question is innocent enough, but she rushes the words out in a way that doesn’t match her usual composure, and she steps in front of me. “Then you can catch a ride with me.”
I study her through narrowed eyes. “I’m sure. This needs to happen in person.” When I catch her stretching her long neck to peer over my shoulder, I turn to see Maisie typing away on her phone. She drops her hands to her side, looking up with an overly bright smile pasted on her face.
“What’s going on?”
“What are you talking about?”
“You two are acting shady.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Maisie laughs, reaching up to pull the scrunchie out of her hair, and twisting it around her fingers. “You know that major end-of-year assignment for my Behavioural Psych class? The one worth fifty percent of my grade? One of my group mates is not pulling his weight, and I’m about to lose it on him. Beth, can you please hang out in the living room when they come over to work? I need some of your menacing glares.”
She’s deflecting, and it hurts that she feels the need to lie to me. She never lies to me. But I don’t have time to deal with it now, so I nod.
“Sure. I’ll catch you later at home.”
Beth has already stepped back over to Maisie, and she bends down to peer at my best friend’s phone. Her blonde hair falling in a wall between us.
I step back, turn around and pick up my pace to get to the PR office. They’ve got something going on, but I know deep in my heart they wouldn’t do anything to hurt me. I need to trust in our friendship.
“Come in,” Sin calls out when I tap on the door. My eyes track to the gold nameplate on her desk. Cynthia Leighton. It’s weird to think of her as Cynthia, but I’m sure there are some people out there who call her by her full name.
Her usually pristine desk is scattered with piles of paper stacked face down as if she tossed them there in a hurry. Some rolled-up vinyl banners lean against the side. Probably remnants of the failed charity scrimmage. I wish there were something I could do to fix that one, but it’s too late. Without a sheet of ice, our hockey game is a no-go.
“Hey, Sin. I have a question for you.”
“Mmm. What’s that, Luna?” She’s nibbling on her lower lip, hair twisted into a messy bun on her head with two pencils sticking out like horns. And our normally attentive PR contact doesn’t even lift her eyes from the laptop screen.
“Is there any way you can give me the name of our potential donor?” I know it’s a long shot, but I’ll do anything to fix this.
That gets her attention. She finally looks up at me. “You don’t know? It’s Seraphina Blanchard. I thought everyone knew. That cat leapt out of the bag at the meeting...” Her pause speaks volumes for her. I wasn’t at the team meeting. I should have been there, but I was wallowing.
Seraphina Blanchard. For real. Prickles shoot through my fingers, and the blood is sucked out of my limbs. The mastermind behind the new women’s pro hockey league, heiress to the Blanchard fortune, which probably rivals the Whitakers, and a college hockey player herself? I could have met my idol, and now she thinks I’m a bad bet. A liar and a fame whore.
“I guess there’s no way I’m getting her contact information then.” There goes that heroic idea. Swooping in to apologize and explain the truth to her. No way I’m getting her contact information.
Sin’s lips turn down at the edges, and she tilts her head in a sympathetic look I hate. “I’m sorry, Wilder. I can’t help you there.” She looks up to her left and takes a deep breath. “I can’t give you her contact information, but I may be able to get you in contact with her later in the week. Let me think on it, and I’ll let you know.”
It’s not a hard no. There’s a chance. A sliver of hope. I might still be able to fix this thing. Okay. I can live with that. In the meantime, I’ll amp up my training and prove to everyone that I’m still worthy.
