Eventually, I pull back enough to look him in the eyes. “Your opinion means something to me.”
Zach swallows a lump in his throat. I wait for him to speak, expecting a ramble in response to my brazen statement. He remains silent, gazing at me but not in a way I find uncomfortable. I like this opportunity to memorize every section of his face.
Finally, I say, “We didn’t go to the place you wanted to take me.”
“We’ll go someday.” Zach waves a hand, shooing my worry away. He acts like we have all the time in the world. I can’t helpthe smile stretching across my face at this promise. “You ready for the gym?”
“Let’s go.”
When I settle into bed later that night after spending the day with Zach Briggs, that smile is still on my face.
20
Zach
It’s been a weeksince the team doctor cleared me to rejoin practices with my team, as long as I wear my bright yellow contact-free jersey.
Everything with concussion protocol moves intentionally slow to protect players, but I’m antsy to play the game I love the way I like. Battling for pucks in the corner. Providing net front to screen the goalie to create a better chance for a shot to go in or to tap in a rebound. Checking guys with surprising force, given my size. Scoring goals on a breakaway. Landing passes on my linemate’s tape. Goofing around with teammates. Celebrating wins.
I miss it all.
“You all right?” Jennings asks beside me in the locker room.
We’re all putting on gear for a long-held tradition of the Palmer City Wolves—family skate. Families in the stands wait for their players to come out. My genetic family’s all in Canada,and everyone in my adopted family is already in this locker room or in the stands waiting for my teammates.
I pull my green jersey over my head, straightening it until it hangs loose over my black shorts. “I’m good. Areyou?”
Jennings shoves my shoulder, getting my subtle message to stop asking me. I’m on my way back to the game I love and have shed every lingering worry my injury could mess with my career. Instead, I’m thinking about the woman I wish was upstairs waiting for me, the one who occupies every waking thought not focused on my game.
I flick the green pom-pom sitting on top of the black hat on his head. “You got anyone here for you today, Princeton?”
“Actually, yeah,” he answers as we head out of the locker room toward the tunnel to the ice. “My older brother’s in town. It’ll be his first time on professional ice.”
“Daddy!” A kid decked out in gear and skates tugs Isak Holm’s jersey. He’s a winger on Jennings’s line and a single dad who went through a nasty divorce in the offseason. “Can we skate together, Daddy?”
He hands his son a stick. “I wouldn’t want to skate with anyone else, bud.”
“Is this the famous Danny?” Sawyer holds out his hand to the boy for a fist bump.
“Princeton!” Danny says. “Briggsy!”
“Hey, kid,” I reply, slapping his hand.
We walk toward the ice at a glacial pace, thanks to Holmie’s kid, but soon enough, the crisp smell of ice fills my nostrils and my blood pumps faster. Niko Halonen—the center on my line and the guy brought in to push our team closer to winning the Cup—speedwalks past me after bumping my shoulder without saying a word.
“Hey, jagoff!” I shout, and Holmie smacks my arm, gesturing to his kid. As if he won’t hear worse language hanging around the team. “We’re walking here.”
Halo spins, continuing to walk backward toward the ice. “Places to be, Briggsy.”
I’m surprised we all fit in the locker room with his ego. He knocks his stick once on the mat before spinning and gliding across the ice, weaving in and out of my teammates and their families.
“He loves himself entirely too much,” Jennings mutters.
“Fu—yeah, he does,” I answer, catching myself before I blurt out foul language again.
“Ready, bud?” Holmie asks, holding his arm out toward the rink. The kid ambles along until his skates land on the ice, and he propels himself forward with Holm gliding alongside him.
I’m still laughing at what Jennings said about Halonen when the skaters part, leaving me a clear path to seeher.
