“So… How was your day?”
A tired laugh fluttered out of her as she pulled me to my feet and laid a fat one on me. “Things picked up after you got here.”
“Good answer,” I said, and kissed her again.
24
Theo
The first whistle cut across the rink and I shot forward, skates spitting ice, legs stinging with that familiar ache I’d been missing for weeks. The rest of the team followed, blowing hard to get through Coach’s killer drills.
“Okay. Quick cuts along the blue line, pivot at the hash marks, full ice sprint back. Repeat until I see one of you puke,” he called out. “Eyes up, hands ready.”
I hit the ice with everything I had. My lungs weren’t close to begging for mercy, my shoulder didn’t even whimper. My blades dug in, toes angled perfectly on the turns, and I felt sharper than ever. The kind of alive that comes from doing exactly what you were born to do.
“Look at him,” Mason hollered from the corner, laughing through his lazy pivot as I carved the boards. “The guy comes back from an extended vacation, and suddenly he’s a Rockette!”
Grayson jabbed a glove at me. “You’re making us look bad.”
I smirked, leaning into the next sprint. “I haven’t even warmed up yet.”
Tucker’s eyes caught mine as we looped around the crease. “Speaking of warming up, you think Hopper’s magic hands will work on me?”
I spun toward him, a grin tugging tight across my face. “She’s not into guys whose dads are also their uncles. Sorry, bro.”
He snorted, shoving me lightly in passing, and I ducked right into the next sprint.
Coach had us doing a passing cycle next. Three-man rotations along the boards, puck moving tight and fast. One-two, crisp feeds, every blade angled like a knife. I slid into position with Hunter and Tucker for the defensive drill, eyes alert, body on fire but in a good way. A burn I hadn’t felt in too long.
My eyes caught Reese on the trainer’s bench. She was staring right at me, and the look on her face made me hot all over. My spot back in the team, my girl watching rinkside… I was a man who wanted for nothing.
The puck came at the top of the slot, two attackers converging. I cut the lane, Hunter angled the threat past the crease, Tucker pressed for the rebound. Everything clicked. No words needed. Just muscle memory, timing, and a few seasons of trust.
“Nice.” Hunter threw me a high-five.
“What am I? Chopped liver?” Tucker asked, slapping both our butts.
We ran the drill again, looping the ice in a blur. I felt every inch of my body moving, sliding, firing passes, and absorbing hits I wasn’t technically supposed to be taking. Reese tracked every shift, but didn’t say much for most of the practice.
Next drill: full-ice scrimmage. Two lines attacking, two defending, Coach calling rotations. I was paired with Tucker in the defensive zone, Hunter pinching whenever the puck slipped. I blocked a pass, spun, and chased down the puck behind thenet. Reese’s eyes locked on me for a fraction of a second. I skated past, pretending to check a loose puck, but the side of my brain registered her watching, calculating.
The whistle blew, and Coach waved me over to the bench. To her.
“How’s it feeling?” She pressed my shoulder lightly, checking angles, probing for something only she knew.
“Like it belongs to me again,” I said, flexing, testing the motion. “Rehab’s doing its job, and I feel better than ever.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “Looks like you’re pushing it, but okay. Just go easy on the body checks for crying out loud. You wanna make the game, don’t you?”
“Sir, yes, sir,” I said, letting her attention linger a fraction longer than necessary before ducking a pass Tucker sent at me.
I skated back into odd-man rushes, three attackers against two defenders. I skated in tight with them, anticipating the passing lanes, shutting down angles. Hunter flanked us, poking pucks just far enough to throw attackers off. Mason zoomed down the wing, Grayson reading every motion like a chess game. I blocked a shot from the slot, pivoted, and spun the puck up the ice in one fluid motion. Perfection personified. I was flying.
Somewhere in the background, Landon skated past and it was the first I’d noticed him on the ice at all. Which, knowing Landon as a consummate attention-seeker, made me a little uneasy.
I elbowed Hunter. “What’s up with the rookie today?”
Hunter glanced over his shoulder, grinning under his helmet. “Maybe your calm, mature conversation got through to him.”
