“I don’t think you’re wrong, and on the one hand, Ronnie was harsh that day,” I say, then blow out a breath, and face the facts head-on. “But I was impulsive. I was also distracted. I think I’m doing a better job now managing…well, managing myself.”
“Fair enough,” he says.
I pause, noodle on that a few seconds more. “And I think it’s because of you.”
He shoots me a curious look. “How so?”
“You have a calming effect on me,” I admit. But he’s giving me more than that. His faith has been a boon to my self-confidence.
His lips quirk up in a smile but then it burns off. “I was hoping to have a horny effect on you.”
“You have that too, but you also have a calming effect. It’s a compliment. Accept it.”
A hint of a smile returns. He tucks a strand of my hair over my ear. “I accept. And I’ll see you tonight. In my jersey.”
A real invitation indeed.
35
THE HAPPINESS EFFECT
CORBIN
It’s funny how at the beginning of the season something felt slightly off on the ice. Like we’d lose a few more face-offs than normal. Like we’d be a millimeter late skating past the neutral zone.
Tonight, my blades are a step ahead. I slice through the ice, a spray shooting off them as I curve around the back of the net, evading a Sea Dogs defender—none other than my friend Tyler Falcon. Tonight, he’s my enemy.
And man, it feels extra satisfying to fly past him and around to the front of the net where Lake’s signaling he’s open.
I slip the puck to our winger and he’s ruthless, gunning right for the spot between the goalie’s legs. But the goalie drops down to his knees and blocks it, sending it back to the ice with a flick of his wrist.
No big deal. We’ll get another chance.
Tyler reaches for the rebound, jamming his stick into the middle of the action.
But nope. I’m feeling possessive tonight. That’s mine. That’s my chance. I want it now.
I strip it away from him since…fuck pickleball losses. This is the game that matters.
Ivan cuts off Tyler, slipping me the puck with ease. I spin around, scan the ice. The net’s in my sight. Their goalie, Max Lambert, is a formidable beast though, shifting back and forth, guarding his property.
Now’s not the time to mess up a chance. But Riggs is open so I feed him the puck, staying close.
When he skates to his right, Max darts a couple inches to his left, protecting the side of the net where Riggs is aiming. Riggs doesn’t shoot though. A millisecond later he passes the puck to me. Ivan’s looming nearby, menacing. I take my chance, sending that baby soaring past the posts. The puck lodges in the twine. The horn blares, and a goal pops up on the scoreboard.
Yes!
I clap Riggs on the back, then Ivan.
“That’s the way we do it,” Riggs shouts, buoyant.
“Let’s get some more,” Ivan seconds.
Lake races over. “You’re on fire tonight,” he says.
My gaze swings to center ice where Mabel’s up on her feet, cheering, right next to her brother.
My heart sprints, but then stalls. All my worries slam right back into me. The game, my kid, the bakery, my friendship, and most of all…her.
