“Please, Dr. Platt.” I drop my arms, returning to his side. “I have to meet him. If there’s anything I can do to save the trees, I have to try.”
My professor nods. “Either way, if Armillaria is here, you’ll want to include it in your research. I’ll make the introductions and let you work out the details. You’re a good student, and I’m sure Simon will appreciate your drive. He’s an old tree-hugger himself.”
“Thank you.” I swallow my tears, doing my best to hold my confidence steady.
The truth is, I’m terrified. I’ve never seen my uncles so afraid. At the same time, I’ve spent three years studying the worst diseases in the plant kingdom—and their cures.
I will go to Los Angeles and find a way to beat this thing. I won’t let our trees die. I won’t let this thing take it all without a fight.
2
MAVERICK
Two months later
The puck glides across the ice straight to my stick. I dig in with my skates, guiding the small black disc to the cage where the goalie is on his knees, tracking my every move.
He thinks I’m going to take the shot, but at the last second, I flick it around to Owen, who’s waiting in the wings.
My boy Sly scoops it up before making a quick pass to Gavin, who the Beavers’ defensemen didn’t see coming from behind the net. I grin, watching him follow the steps we’ve drilled over and over at practice.
Gavin sends it to Hancock, and it’s almost my turn again. I’m gearing up, ready to make the score and win the game when a shoulder hits me right in the sternum. The breath grunts from my lungs as I’m pinned against the boards.
It takes me a second to catch my breath again. I shakethe stars out of my eyes and the Beavers’ giant of a defenseman grins down at me like he’s having the best time attempting to break all my ribs.
Rage sparkles at the edges of my vision like singes on a sheet of paper. I lunge forward and grab him around the neck, not even caring he’s a good three inches taller than I am. I drag him down to my level, punching the side of his neck and shoulder pads repeatedly.
“Give it,” Schultz grunts, and our six-foot-five brute of an enforcer glides up and drags the asshole away.
They’re going at it, and I’m pissed. I’m not headed to the penalty box, but it doesn’t matter since I missed the shot. Owen saved it, which is the important thing. Our newest trade has fully bloomed this season, scoring hat tricks, rescuing important plays.
It stings a little to be left out of my signature layup, but our winning streak is still intact. Our path to the finals is wide open.
The fans go crazy. Our faces flash on the Jumbotron to the chorus of air horns and our newest victory anthem, “All I Do Is Win,” by DJ Khaled. Yeah, I might have had something to do with that selection.
My helmet is off, and I glide around the ice, grinning up at the swinging shirts and girls jumping up and down. Number 74, my jersey number, is all over the stands. Lifting my stick, I wave at them, and the cheers grow louder.
In our family’s section, my cousins wave and dance in their jerseys. I remember a time when they were all in 74 as well, but a lot has changed in the last two years.
Haddy wears Gavin’s number 5. Gina wears Owen’s number 13 along with Owen’s sister Heather, and the little ladies—baby Lucy and Owen’s daughter Maddie wearjerseys withDaddyon the front, and Numbers 5 and 13 on the back for their dads.
It’s all good. Seeing them happy, cheering, having fun makes me smile. That’s what it’s about for me. I’m still the star, but it’s a team effort now. That’s just how I like it…
For the most part.
“Good game, bro.” Gavin pulls me by the neck into a hug. “If Schultz hadn’t pulled that guy off you, it would’ve been a dogpile.”
“You okay?” Owen glides up on my other side. “That looked like a rough hit.”
I circle my arm, feeling a slight catch in my upper ribs. “Nothing I can’t handle.” Then I nod at the line of fans cheering for him on the other side of the glass. “You’d better see to your public.”
His chin dips, and he huffs a laugh. “Our public.”
Owen’s older than all of us by about five years. A single dad, he played in the minor leagues his whole career before being a late-season trade in October.
He lived with me the first half of the season before falling hard for my cousin Gina, stealing my last roommate and all the dogs with her. I’ve been going home to an empty house since Christmas, but all of that’s changing this weekend.
“We going out tonight?” Aiden Akers, our goalie and my first friend on the Champions team, waits for me beside the bench.
