"All right, ladies!" Coach's voice echoes across the ice. "Line drills. Let's see some hustle!"
I force myself back onto the ice. This time I focus. Block out everything except the feel of the puck on my stick, the sound of blades cutting ice, the rhythm of the drill. By the time practice ends an hour later, I'm drenched in sweat, and my head's clearer.
Chase corners me in the locker room while I'm unlacing my skates.
"So," he says, dropping onto the bench beside me. "You gonna tell me what's wrong, or do I have to guess?"
"Nothing's wrong."
"Bullshit. You've been off all morning." He pulls his jersey over his head. I can tell he's not letting this go. "Does this have anything to do with Maya showing up yesterday?"
I focus on my laces. "Why would that matter?"
"Because you looked like someone punched you in the gut when you saw her."
"I was surprised, that's all."
"Uh-huh." Chase isn't buying it. "And the fact that you could barely look at her all night? That you practically ran to the basement the second Em finished making up her room?"
"I was tired."
"You're full of shit." He tosses his jersey into his bag and leans against the locker. "Look, I'm not trying to get all up in your business, but you're my captain. My friend. And you're playing like garbage."
I yank my skate off harder than necessary. "Drop it, Chase."
He holds up his hands. "Fine. But whatever's going on with you two, you might want to deal with it. She's staying for a while, and Emma's going to notice if you keep acting weird."
That's what I'm afraid of.
The drive home takes fifteen minutes, and both of us are lost in our own thoughts. I should probably apologize for snapping at him. Chase is my teammate, my friend, my family, and he's been nothing but supportive since I moved in.
But I can't talk about Maya. I can't explain that I've been in love with her for years, that I kissed her a year ago, and then rejected her because I'm a coward. That seeing her last night looking so broken made me want to pull her into my armsand never let go.
Chase would understand. Hell, he'd probably tell me to go for it.
But I can't. She's Emma's best friend. And right now, she needs support, not me making everything more complicated.
We pull into the driveway behind Maya's car. The house looks quiet.
Inside, the TV's playing some kids' show, but the volume's low. I hear Ethan's voice first, that toddler babble that's half words, half sounds.
"No, buddy, like this." Maya's voice. "Stack them up. See?"
I follow the sound to the living room and stop in the doorway.
Maya's sitting cross-legged on the floor with Ethan, showing him how to stack blocks. She's wearing leggings and an oversized sweater, her curls bouncing around her face. Ethan's concentrating hard on placing a blue block on top of a red one, his tongue sticking out.
"There you go!" Maya says when he gets it. "You did it!"
Ethan claps his hands, knocking the blocks over in the process. Then he laughs—that pure toddler joy that makes everything else disappear.
And Maya laughs too.
It's the first genuine sound I've heard from her since she arrived. Not forced, not performing.Real.The sound hits me square in the chest and reminds me of the girl who used to laugh at all my stupid jokes, who could find humor in anything.
She looks up and sees me standing here. The laugh dies, and the walls go back up so fast I almost miss the transition.
"Hey," she says. "How was practice?"
