“Have you heard from Heather?”
“What?” She looks confused for a second. “Not since this morning. Why?”
“She’s not here. They’re not here.”
Margo’s eyes dart up to the stands, scanning for a moment before coming back to me. Her brows draw together as she purses her lips to one side. “Huh. That’s weird. She said they were coming, right?”
“Yeah. She said they’d be here.”
“Maybe she had something come up? April might’ve had homework or…” She pauses, thinking. “I don’t know, there could be a bunch of reasons.”
“But she said…” I trail off, since all I can really do is repeat myself.
“I’m sure everything is fine,” Margo says, although I can see a hint of uncertainty cross her face. “She probably just got held up. Listen, I need to get a few more posts up, and you need to get tothe locker room before Dunaway has a meltdown.” She gives me a quick, reassuring smile. “But I’ll try to text her, okay? I’m sure it’s nothing.”
“Yeah.” I take a step back and nod, like I’m not completely losing my shit on the inside. “Thanks.”
“Of course. I’ll let you know if I hear anything.”
I skate toward the tunnel, but the fucking knot in my stomach won’t go away.
She’s probably right. There could be a million reasons why Heather isn’t here yet. She could be stuck in traffic or dealing with some last-minute bullshit from work. April could’ve forgotten something at home that they had to go back for.
Those are all perfectly reasonable explanations.
“Parker! Move your ass!” Dunaway’s voice cuts through my thoughts, and I realize I’m still standing in the tunnel while the rest of the team has already headed to the locker room.
I force myself to move, to walk through the door and join my teammates. The guys are doing their normal intermission routine and the energy is good because we’re winning. I should be focused on maintaining that lead more than anything.
Instead, I’m at my locker and checking my phone for a missed call or a text or anything that might give me a little peace of mind.
Nothing.
“Okay, listen up,” Dunaway starts, and I make myself pay attention. Or at least look like I’m paying attention. “Good first period, but we’re getting sloppy in our own zone. Too many turnovers, too many second chances…”
His words fade into background noise as I start going over each one of the million things that could still be keeping Heather away from this arena. And since I’m not exactly a glass-half-full kind of guy, most of those mental images are fucking terrifying.
“Parker.”
I look up to find Dunaway staring at me expectantly.
“You with us?”
“Yeah. Sorry. I’m with you.”
He studies me for a moment, and I can see that he’s irritated, but he just nods and continues with his speech, and then we head back out to the ice.
The second period is worse than the first.
I make the saves I need to make, but barely. My positioning is off. My reaction time is a fraction of a second too slow. I’m tracking the puck, but I’m not truly seeing it. My body is going through the motions while my mind is somewhere else entirely.
“Jesus, Parker!” Sawyer yells after I give up a rebound that nearly turns into a goal. “What the hell was that?”
I don’t have an answer for him.
A whistle blows for an offside call, giving me half a second to breathe. I tap my stick against the post—once, twice, three times—but the ritual that usually clears my head isn’t doing me any good tonight.
I glance toward the bench and catch sight of Margo in her usual spot near the media area. She’s still on her phone, still typing on her tablet, still looking completely normal and unbothered.
