I hope.
six
Jackson
“Aright, Rigsby,” I hustle through the arena doors, encouraging him to walk a bit faster by holding him by his sleeve. “I’m going to need you to find a seat, and you have to be quiet. I know I don’t have anything to worry about with you because you will behave. Just in case, let’s go over a few rules. No leaving your seat.”
His eyes widen with concern as they laser up at me. “What if I have to go to the bathroom?”
“Well, if it’s possible for you to hold it, I’d rather you wait. I don’t want you getting lost or wandering around unsupervised.”
“Got it. Pee my pants.”
“No, that’s not what I said.” I block out the mental image he’s just given me. Kids can be so gross. “I don’t feel right if you’re somewhere I can’t see you.”
“Okay.” He slides his backpack from his shoulders and hooks it on his arm, pulling it forward, but it makes a thud sound.
I give his bag sideways stare. “What was that noise?”
His reply is quick. “I brought my iPad. I thought it might be something to do.”
It didn’t sound like any iPad I’ve ever heard, but I really don’t have time to look at it now. If his iPad keeps him sitting still during practice, I’ll take it. “Good idea.” I take a deep breath as we round the corner, entering the arena. I walk to the row directly behind our penalty box and hold my arm out to usher him to a seat. “You can sit here. Don’t talk. We aren’t supposed to have visitors at practice. I basically need you to act like you aren’t even here.”
Dragging his feet at the slowest possible speed, he crosses in front of the seats and plops down. He’s quiet as he stares forward, seeming to understand his assignment. “Any questions?” I ask, tilting my head down to make sure I capture any confusion in his expression.
“I got it.” He nods confidently, and I take a step back with my eyes still glued to him. Nothing about this feels like it’s going to have a good outcome.I don’t have a choice. When I’m confident he’s going to stay in his seat, I spin on my heel and race to the locker room. My stomach is looped into knots, but I’m going to push through it.
It’s just one practice.
How bad can it be?
And please, don’t let this be the day that Bill Baker shows up for practice.
Running my finger along the edge of my skate blade, I double check it before I slip it on. The guys are huge prankers. Anychance they get, they will add clear tape to someone’s blade. I hope everyone is on their best behavior this week, because Bill made it clear he’s watching.
Even so, I don’t trust these guys.
I’m not taking chances with my gear. I can’t afford any mishaps without my lucky glove. My blade is clean, and I drop my skate to the ground and slip my foot inside to begin the process of lacing it up. Tension pools in the back of my neck, making me strain to look down. I usually handle stress well, but this morning was a nightmare.
I can’t even think about the fact that I still don’t have my lucky glove. I pray it’s at that bank when I get done with practice. Resisting the urge to shake my head, I ruminate on how that woman carelessly left her bags in an Uber. My flabbers are seriously gasted over this whole incident.
“You coming?” I look up and find Axl’s foot propping the locker room door open, his gaze zeroed in on me.
I quickly scan the room—all the guys are gone. I was so zoned out that I didn’t notice. “I was double-checking my gear,” I mutter under my breath as I stand and lumber toward him. “Besides, we can’t all be overachievers. Someone has to keep us average.”
“Thanks for keeping us average.” Axl chuckles, but as we move through the tunnel, we both get quiet. I haven’t seen Bill, but he could seriously be lurking around any corner.
It sounds extreme.
It’s not extreme for him.
“Guys, this isn’t the day to slack,” Coach Carlson calls from up ahead as he jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “Get on the ice.”
Rolling my bottom lip under my teeth, I bite down. I’m not one to mouth off. That’s Axl. He’s more than earned that title for our team. I’m the quiet one who knows my place is in the net. I bob my head toward our coach and hustle forward, sighing a breathof relief when my skates finally meet the ice. My mind clicks into focus, and I take my spot in the crease and start my ritualistic procedure of skating back and forth to scuff the ice.
My gaze slides to the stands to find Rigsby. Thankfully, he’s right where I left him. He smiles at me, beaming that one-front-tooth smile he’s been rocking for weeks.
As I turn my head back, my neck feels even stiffer. My whole body wears a new tension. I have to believe it’s because I’m worried about my glove. I don’t know what else it would be. The guys are done stretching, and Coach has instructed them to run through some plays. I slide into position and watch the puck as they bring it down the ice.
