“If you don’t want to tell me,” I reply, “Kennedy will.”
Volk stops what he’s doing, and my foot falls to the ground with a thud. “Donottell Kennedy anything. You’ll ruin it.”
“Ruin what?”
He sucks in a breath. “I’m proposing to her. Tomorrow.”
“No shit! You are?” I shout loudly enough to draw the attention of several teammates.
Volk’s glare is murderous. He didn’t look this intense when I accidentally clipped his side mirror backing out of his driveway.
“Nothing to see here,” I try to cover. “Volk was telling me how he’s thinking of dying his hair blond.Platinumblond. I told him he should clear it with Kennedy since, you know, she’s the one who has to look at him, and he doesn’t want to piss her off because she’s got a temp—”
Volk taps me lightly on the side of my head to cut off the made-up explanation quickly spiraling out of control.
“Dude. I just had a concussion.”
“You’re fine,” he says, not the least bit concerned.
I’m about to have my head rocked harder than that on the ice. If I can’t take a simple jab, I’m in trouble.
He picks up my skate again and resumes threading laces. “And you’ll remain fine as long as you keep your mouth shut.”
I mime zippering my lips. “Does anyone else know?”
“Gemma does. She’s taking Kennedy to the practice arena—”
“You’re proposing at thepractice arena?”
He lowers my leg to the ground, shifting to his locker to get ready for the game. “It’s significant for us… and no, I’m not telling you why.”
“Congrats, Volk. This is the best news.”
His jaw clenches again. “She hasn’t said yes yet.”
“You worried she’ll say no?”
Volk stares down at his skates, wringing his hands.
I smack the side of his arm. “I barely saw her when we lived together because she wanted to be with you. She’s at every game, wearing your jersey. You two are the next Matt and Gemma. Soon, you’ll have a little Zach running around.”
Volk barks out a laugh. “You think we’ll name our hypothetical kid after you?”
“Zachary Volkov,” I sing-song. If Volk needs me to be a jackass to get him out of his head, I’ll do it. Gladly. I love any excuse to be a brat. “It has a nice ring, doesn’t it?”
His response?
He exits the locker room, heading toward the tunnel.
“This conversation isn’t over,” I call playfully.
I’m excited for tonight’s game, so I’m not sure why I’m lingering here. Most of my teammates are already warming up on the ice. It’s not the injury holding me back—I’ve been hurt more times than I can count. I never don’t get back up.
This is the first time since coming into the league I’ve missed games because of injury. And this injury reminded me of everything I could lose.
But I’ll be damned if I let fear stop me.
I pull my black jersey over my head, take a deep breath, and sprint down the tunnel until my blades glide on ice. Jennings saucers a pass to me from center ice, and I take it on my stick, heading straight toward our empty net, where a handful of my teammates fire shots.
