“You’re welcome, teach.”
It’s unmistakablymyAmy. Just seeing her feels like I just got rammed into the boards. My heart pumps so hard in my chest, I’m afraid I’m going to pass out.
“Don’t let your kids give you any grief today.” The young barista behind the counter encourages her.
“Thanks, Trista. I’ll be sure to tell them you said that.” The beauty of her smile still illuminates the room, even if it’s not aimed in my direction.
I grip the edge of the counter, grounding myself in the feel of the cool wood beneath my fingers. How is it possible Amy is standing in front of me?
When she turns toward the door, our eyes connect. My breath falters even as emotions flit across her face—recognition giving way to anger and disdain before flipping to a maskso blank it causes my stomach to drop. Without a word of acknowledgement, she saunters out the door.
I don’t move.
I can’t speak.
It isn’t until the woman behind the counter clears her throat prompting, “Sir?” I blink and realize I’m holding up the line.
“Right,” I mutter. “Uh, I’ll have that honey latte thing. Also a piece of honey loaf bread.”
“Would you like it here or to go?”
“Here.” I tap my card, add a tip, and take a seat along the wall, my back to most of the room. I stare out the window until sunlight blinds me. As my eyes adjust as rapidly as my heart, I realize two truths.
I didn’t imagine her. And there’s no way this is a coincidence.
Whipping out my phone, I text Mark:
Me:
You knew she lives here?
Of course now is when he chooses not to respond. I’m grateful when my name is called to pick up my order. After sitting back down, I take a sip and consider what I heard. She’s a teacher.
She always said this is what she wanted.
We’re sprawled on the grass outside the library. Amy goes quiet as a line of sorority girls from Delta Phi pass by. Brielle purrs, “Hey Brennan.” A flare of anger hits when I realize she doesn’t acknowledge Amy.
I’m grateful when she takes her blingy backpack brigade and rounds the corner. That’s when Amy pipes up. “I want to teach so kids feel safe. Not just from learning but from social status. Learning should be a safe place.”
I look at her because her voice has gone soft in that reverent way it does when she’s brushing up against something sacred.
“I want kids who don't quite fit in to realize they have a voice—a place.” she continues, fingers twisting blades of grass into knots. “I want to be the person they feel comfortable coming to if they haven’t found it yet.”
I scored two goals last night. Coach is talking me up to the pros non-stop. Yet none of that feels as important as what Amy wants to do.
Amy isn’t talking about a career. She’s talking about a mission she’s already committed to.
I drain the last of my coffee, with questions running through my head. How long has she lived here? Is she married? I’m rattled in a way I haven’t been since I took the hit.
Why would Mark suggest uprooting my life to drop me back into hers?
Because suddenly, the town’s behavior doesn’t seem so random. It's protecting one of its own.
Against me.
6
NEUTRAL ZONE TRAP: DEFENSIVE SETUP TO CLOG THE MIDDLE OF THE ICE
