Gina
Mom just told me Dove’s uncle is selling the orchard. Thought you’d want to know.
My brow lowers and my jaw clenches as the bus pulls to a stop, and the guys start collecting their bags. My thumbs fly across my screen, as the guys are filing out by rows.
Maverick
Gina just told me. Where are you? Can you talk?
“Hey, Big Town, you coming or what?” Saxon stands at the edge of my row, and I shove the phone into my breast pocket, grabbing my bag from the overhead bin.
“I’m impressed she can invent so much and still get paid for it,” I grumble.
“She’s a natural-born storyteller,” Sax continues.
“Natural-born something,” Gavin quips, nodding for the cameras as we file off the bus.
A blinding line of photographers greets us as we arrive, and we walk in a line to the arena entrance. We’ll head to our locker room, where we’ll change for what I hope is the final game, but as soon as we’re inside, I duck away, into a corner and tap her icon on my screen, listening as the phone line buzzes.
“Maverick?” It’s noisy where she is, and I cover my ear with my hand to hear better.
“Dove?” I say her name louder. “Where are you?”
“I’m a little drunk.” The smile in her voice eases the tension in my neck. “I’m at Lagniappe with Darcy and Boo. We bribed the bartender to put the game on all the TVs, and we’re all cheering for you. Except for Bob. He’s a Georgia guy, but he can stay if he keeps his trap shut.”
She’s putting on a brave front, but I know the truth. “Are you okay?”
“Not really.” Her voice turns quiet, and my eyes squeeze shut.
I press my fist against the post, dropping my chin. “I should be there with you.”
“No. For the next three hours, we’re going to watch you win. Win for me, Maverick.”
My throat is thick, but I clear it. “I will.”
We disconnect, and I’m running out of time. Turning over my phone, I scroll through my contacts, thankful his number is right at the top.
I hear the guys rattling around in the locker room, and I quickly tap his photo. He answers on the first ring.
“Dad, I need you to help me with something, and it needs to happen now—today if possible…”
We’re halfwaythrough the first period, and Atlanta is coming on strong.
It’s the most physical game I’ve played since my injury, but there’s no avoiding it. Everybody’s getting hit hard, and we’re all chasing the puck, slip-sliding over the ice, extending sticks, and slapping shots hard.
The game is tied at the end of Period 1, and it’s tough not being on our home ice. The stadium echoes with chants of “Frost, Frost, Frost,” and everywhere we look is navy and gold.
Haddy and Gina made the trip with Lucy and Maddie, since this game could decide it. They’re the one bright spot in their purple, white, and black team jerseys, blowing air horns, and chantingMav and Gavalong with the small group of fans surrounding them.
We march back to the locker room in all our gear, and Coach Leek gives us something of a pep talk.
“You’ve played hard all year.” He looks around the room at the team whose confidence he has yet to win. “You worked to make it to this game. Don’t let it go now.”
Donovan is the next up, and he’s team captain for a reason. “Sax, Hancock, remember last year against Edmonton? Keep putting that pressure on the defensemen, shake them up. Schultz, keep slamming those big guys. Keep them off Mav. Sly? It’s your first season with the big boys. You’ve proven you belong here. Mav and Gav? Time for the dynamic duo.”
We slap gloves in a circle, and we march back to the ice.
Another period, another cluster of flying sticks and body checks. The Number 91 Frost attacker slides into the paint hitting Akers. They both go down as the puck sails past, andCoach Leek challenges the score for goaltender interference.
