I gasp. “Is she okay?”
“Yes,” Roe and Cara say together.
“Is that allowed?” Allie asks, and they nod, not taking their eyes off the game.
“Isanythingnot allowed?” I ask.
“Plenty, like high sticks, tripping, fighting—well, real fighting,” Roe says. “But this was clean.”
Allie leans in. “Define clean, because I’m ready to go yell at them to get their bodies off our girls.”
There’s no time to argue with Allie, because the other team steals the puck and rushes toward our goal. The goalie drops low, pads flaring out like wings.
I stand without realizing it, Vero still in my arms. “Oh no. Oh no. Oh no.”
“Sit,” Cara orders, grabbing my sleeve. “You’ll block the view. You need to chill.”
The red team shoots. The puck rockets forward. Time stops completely.
The goalie blocks it.
The crowd erupts. I scream directly into Allie’s ear. “Yes!”
Allie claps wildly. “Go! Go! Go!”
Roe laughs at me sitting on the edge of my seat. “Natalie, you’re doing great.”
“I’m not,” I say. “My heart is trying to escape my body, and I still don’t know how this girl is sleeping through all of it.”
The girls start lining up again.Face off, Mom, Bella would scold if she could hear my thoughts.
“Why do they seem so aggressive? They’re teens,” Allie says.
“They’re hockey players,” Roe replies. “It’s not aggression, it's competitiveness, and it’s basically a love language.”
The puck drops. Sticks clash. Bella darts forward like she’s been shot out of a cannon, like she was born to do this. It tugs at my heartstrings. Nick would have loved to see her.
“There she goes!” I shout, pointing.
“Yes!” Cara says. “That’s it. That’s the breakaway.”
Bella weaves past one defender, then another. My hands are clenched so tight, my nails bite into my palms.
“She’s going too fast,” I say. I don’t want to look, but I can’t take my eyes away either.
“That’s the point,” Roe says. “She can do this.”
Bella shoots.
The puck hits the post with a hollow clang and ricochets away.
The entire rink groans. I feel it in my bones. I collapse onto the bench. “I can’t survive this.”
“Stop being dramatic. She’s killing it,” Cara utters before shouting, “Come on, girls. Show them who owns this game!”
Allie pats my arm. “If it helps, I still don’t know what’s going on.”
“It does not help,” I say, but I smile anyway.
