The puck hits my tape, and my hands finally stop shaking. I swing it across to Weston, and he drops it back to Kai, who threads it between two sticks like he’s solving a puzzle only he can see.
We’re through.
We reset.
Again.
And again.
For minutes at a time, I’m fine.
Then my mind drifts, uninvited, to her sitting on the bleachers earlier this week with her arms wrapped around herself, as if she needed protection. Protection fromme.
And that’s when my timing goes half a beat late.
A pass hits the heel of my blade instead of my tape. It skips. It dies in the neutral zone like a bad secret.
Coach’s whistle shrieks. “BENNETT.”
I turn, skating backward. “Yeah?”
Coach points his stick at me like he’s aiming. “You want to be here today?”
Heat climbs up my neck. “I’m here.”
“Then stop skating like your head’s in the stands.” His eyes cut over my shoulder toward the empty bleachers, like he can smell my distraction. “Again.”
I nod once, jaw tight, and push off harder.
Weston glides past me on the reset. “You’re playing like you got cursed.”
“Shut up,” I mutter.
He grins. “That’s a yes.”
Kai doesn’t say anything, but when we line up again, he bumps my shoulder, telling me wordlessly to get my shit together. I try my best.
Coach shifts us into special teams.
Power play unit runs first: set breakout, drop pass, swing through the neutral zone, enter with speed. It’s structured, which I normally like. There are rules. There are lanes.
Today, the structure feels like something I can hide inside.
Kai runs the top as center, calling the entry. Weston and I are the wings. We execute the set like we’ve done it a thousand times—because we have. Puck to Kai. Drop to me. I draw a defender and shove it back wide. Weston crashes the far post like he’s allergic to staying upright.
Asher watches from the crease during reps, tracking everything with that goalie-stillness that makes him look like he’s already seen the future.
We get into the zone, set up our umbrella, cycle high-low. I slide into the soft space at the dot, stick down, ready.
Kai looks off the defenseman, then snaps a pass that finds my blade like it was always coming there.
I shoot.
The puck hisses past Asher’s shoulder and slaps the net.
Asher doesn’t react. Just glances over his shoulder like,noted.
Coach barks, “Again!”
