Just for a second. Everyone stops mid-drill, sticks frozen, heads turning. Then Marcus, the new captain, breaks away from the group and skates over, his face split in a huge grin.
"Holy shit. Anderson?" He stops hard in front of me, ice spraying. "What the hell are you doing here? I thought you weren't back until Monday."
"Surprise," I say, tapping my stick against the ice.
"You're damn right it's a surprise." He laughs, then reaches out to knock his glove against my shoulder. "Welcome back, Cap. I mean, former Cap. Shit, that's weird to say."
"It's fine. Captain Marcus has a nice ring to it."
"It really doesn't." He taps his stick against mine. "Good to have you back, man. Team's not the same without you."
Before I can respond, the rest of the team swarms over. Jenkins crashes into me with zero grace, nearly taking us both down. Reeves is right behind him, grinning like an idiot. They're all talking at once, a mess of voices and‘welcome backs’and‘holy shit you're here.’
"Thought you'd make us wait until Monday," Jenkins says, still hanging on my shoulder.
"Yeah, well. Got tired of sitting around."
"Bullshit," Reeves says. "You missed us."
I don't argue.
Coach blows his whistle, cutting through the noise. "Enough standing around. Anderson, you're rusty as hell. Let's see if you remember how to play."
I grin. "Let's find out."
We run drills. I'm slower than I was, out of shape from all the stress. But it comes back fast. The muscle memory, the positioning, the instincts. By the end of practice, I'm drenched in sweat and grinning like an idiot.
In the locker room, Coach pulls me aside.
"You did good out there. A little rusty, but that'll come back." He crosses his arms. "What you did, going after that doctor, was stupid. Could've cost you everything."
"I know."
"But I get it. Someone hurt someone you care about, and you wanted to make them pay. I can't fault you for that." He pauses, studying me. "Just don't do it again. This team needs you. Play hockey, not vigilante."
"Yes, Coach."
"Good. Now get out of here, your sister's got a baby to take care of, and your girlfriend probably wants to see you."
I freeze. "My girlfriend?"
"Maya. You think I'm blind? You've been swooning over her for months, the whole team knows."
"Emma doesn't."
"Then maybe tell her before she figures it out herself. Pregnant women are terrifying, postpartum women are worse."
He's right. Emma's getting suspicious—I can see it in the way she watches Maya and me together, the questions she asks, the calculating look in her eyes when we stand too close.
We were supposed to tell her before the playoffs started. But then the arrest happened, the news about Maya broke, and Emma went into early labor. In the chaos, we never found the right moment.
But it’s only a matter of time before she figures it out herself.
And when she does, I have no idea if she'll forgive us for lying to her for months.
34
MAYA
