I roll it out a few times, wincing for effect. "It's been better," I lie. "Send it back."
She swings at the puck and somehow manages to fucking miss it.
"That's terrible. You're not golfing."
"Youmade me come here."
"Just try again."
At least this time, she connects with the puck, and it almost makes it to me.
"Try to block it this time."
"Elias, it's one in the morning."
"If you try, you can sleep in tomorrow. I'll make breakfast."
"Ugh, fine. I'll stand in the middle and let it hit me."
I laugh. "Good girl."
My puck control seems to be just fine as I skate the outside of the rink, counting each shot. I take twenty over the next hour and a half, and Saige accidentally blocks two of them.
And still, my shoulder feels just fine.
It'll probably hurt in the morning. Unless she is right. I know Dax thinks I'm faking, too.
"Elias, I'm tired. This shit's heavy, and my legs hurt. Can we go home now?"
"Yeah, we can go," I tell her.
She drops the skates and equipment into the return bins, and we walk back to the car.
"How'd it feel?" she asks when I pull out of the parking space.
Honestly? It felt really fucking good. I feel at peace on the ice in a way I've never felt anywhere else—like I'm home.
It felt like that. But I can't say that.
"I don't know. Kind of weird. My arm's a little sore. Next time, I'll teach you how to shoot."
"Next time?"
"I knowyouwant to hitme. I won't even wear pads."
Saige bites back a smile, turning toward the window so I don't notice. "Okay."
"Why are you the first one up and making breakfast?" Dax asks, grabbing a mug from the cabinet.
"I told Saige she could sleep in."
"Why?"
"Just felt like it," I say.
I grab a plate and sit across from Nolan before Dax sits next to me.
"Maybe I should wake her up," Dax says. "She has class at nine."
