And I’ve earned it. I fucking earned it through coming early to every practice and studying every team we played. I didn’t party. Girls are bored of me becauseI’ve never shown them any interest. My sole focus for the last year has been my classes and hockey. Always hockey.
“Call me out there,” I mutter.
I want to play so fucking badly.
I glance over at Coach McKibbon, wanting to remind him I’m here, but he doesn’t look at me. Not once. He’s locked in a conversation with Erik, dissecting our last rush up the ice. Can’t say I blame him; the guy practically gift-wrapped two goals for me with his assists, so of course Coach is all over him.
My lips curl a little with mixed feelings about my teammate, only tempered down when I see Amelia smiling and waving at me from across the ice.
She looks adorable in a Crushers beanie and my jersey.
I give her a short wave back, but focus back on the game. Amelia knows how important it is to me so she’d understand.
Buzz.
“GOAL! Covey Crushers,” the announcer calls.
I stand, clapping Henry's goal, giving us a 3-1 lead. It’s good, but not good enough. St. Michael’s has been sluggish all game, and if I can get one more goal, we might actually settle into a lead that feels safe.
“First line. You're up,” Coach says.
Fucking finally.
I'm on my skates and on the ice before he finishes.
“Let's do this.” Erik bumps my shoulder.
I grunt in response, still not completely over everything that went down between us last year.
It wasn’t just that he turned my love life into a joke. He torpedoed the only real chance I’d ever had with Laura.
It took me six months before I'd pass him the puck in practice. The only reason we're on speaking terms now is because when Cade and Dash left for the Atlanta Anglerfish, he was promoted to my line. That, and we still live in the same dorm, which means I’m forced to sit through the occasional movie night with him if I want to use the common room, but it never goes past that.
He tried a couple of times to apologize and have a heart-to-heart, but honestly, it felt like I was trying to talk to Cade’s dog, Stanley. Eager to please, but no real understanding of what he did wrong.
The important thing is he doesn’t meddle in my life anymore. It’s mainly because he’s too busy sticking his nose into some football player’s relationship drama. Whatever he’s doing over there keeps him occupied and far, far away from mine.
The second the puck hits my stick, I push past Nick Caine, St. Michael's center, and charge the net. In just one flick of the wrist, I've hit it over the St. Michael's goalie, Jensen, straight into the top left corner of the net.
4 -1.
The goal horn blasts through the arena, and I skate straight toward the boards where Amelia’s standing. I thump my glove against the glass right in front of her. Her smile is so bright it makes the whole play feel twice as good.
She’s jumping up and down, her arms flailing with zero shame. I can’t make out her voice, but I can tell she’s chanting along with the rest of the arena.
Scotty! Scotty! Scotty!
Hear that? That’smyname they’re shouting. Not my father’s.
Alex is at my side in an instant and drapes his arm over my shoulder as he cheers alongside me.
“Fucking beautiful, Hendricks!” Alex bellows in my ear. “That's how you finish a goddamn hat trick!”
I pull away from Alex, skating back to center ice for the face-off.
St. Michael's regroups while their coach yells obscenities from the bench. They're desperate now, pulling their goalie—the weird one who likes to serenade the post when no one is looking—with eight minutes left in the third.
It's a risky move, but they've got nothing to lose.
