“Uh huh.”
Everyone wanted to impress Wade Foster, even Max. And not just because Dad was the founder of this camp and the head coach of the boys’ team. He’d played in the NHL for years, but he took a break when my mom got sick. After she died, he tried to go back to playing but barely lasted a season. He retired and turned to high school coaching.
Over the years his reputation for nurturing young talent had become legendary. More of his protégés went on to become professional hockey players than any other high school coach in the country. And this camp was where the magic happened. At least, it was for those who our dad deemed worthy. He only selected the best players to train with him personally.
I glanced down at my dinner. My appetite still hadn’t returned after I got put off chicken wings for life, so I pushed my plate toward my brother and stood.
“Where are you going?” he asked, barely hesitating as he happily took my food. The boy usually ate more in one meal than I did in a whole day. At least he knew how to do it with his mouth closed.
“Back to the rink.”
“But we practiced all day.”
“Yeah, I know. I just want to skate for a bit and clear my head.”
He shrugged, then turned to the full plate in front of him.
It was getting cooler out as I made my way to the ice arena. The locker room was empty as I changed back into my gear, and I was pleased to find the rink just as vacant. I smiled as I slid onto the ice, which must have been freshly resurfaced because it was smooth and clean under my skates.
The coaches had told us the rink was off limits outside official practice sessions, but I figured if my dad was running the camp, I might be able to get away with it. And to be honest, it felt worth the risk. I’d been waiting for this opportunity for years, and I didn’t want to waste a second of it.
As I warmed up, the sound of skates hitting the ice drew my attention. I turned to find my rink had been invaded by a boy. He was wearing one of the camp practice jerseys with the number twelve stitched to the back of it. He didn’t look my way, and his focus was on the puck in front of him as he skated over to the net on the opposite side of the ice. I knew I should probably leave him be. But the icewasoff limits, and I didn’t really want an audience right now.
“You’re not supposed to be out here,” I called to him.
He spun around, and I swallowed as I took him in. Dark hair. Bright blue eyes. Lips that hinted at trouble. He was tall, about my age, and there was a cheeky grin on his face that told me he was unbothered by my warning.
“The rink is closed after practice,” I continued, skating closer. “They told everyone at orientation. You don’t want thecoaches to catch you.”
I came to a stop by him and pulled off my helmet, shaking out my blonde hair. His eyes widened with surprise, but it was only for a moment before pure mischief filled his gaze. “You’rehere.”
“Yes, well…” I paused, not wanting to pull the Wade Foster card.
“You…” he prompted.
“I’m special,” I finally replied.
“I can’t argue with that.”
The way his lips curved and his eyes glittered made it hard to remember what we’d been talking about. Boys my age were supposed to be awkward and annoying. Their eyes weren’t supposed toglitter.
“Okay, good,” I replied. “Bye then.”
I went to turn away, but he called out. “Sorry,special, but I didn’t say I was leaving. If you want the rink to yourself, you’ll have to play me for it.”
“What?”
“If I score on you, I get to stay. You stop me, I’ll get out of your hair.”
My eyes narrowed. “You think you can score on me?”
“I want to stay on the ice, and I’ll do just about anything to make that happen.”
I paused as I considered him. “Why do you want to stay on the ice so bad? Is it really worth getting in trouble for?”
“I think I’m already in trouble.” The way he smiled was totally disarming. I got the distinct impression he was used to getting away with anything he wanted.
I shook my head. “You really expect that to work?”
