Lake: You know I was. And now I know you like a good growl. If you’re a good girl, I’ll do it again for you.
I’m on fire, and I think I canbe very, very good.
Remy: During a nap lesson?
Lake: Yes.
Maybe I’ll find out about the perfect squish of his ass then too.
19
ALWAYS TOMORROW
LAKE
The loss in Montreal chases me on the plane to Denver. It was a sloppy, lazy game, especially after we strategized for it, and especially since we should have won. We can do better. Hell, we can dominate. That’s my plan when we land in the mile-high city, when we hit the arena for morning skate, and when I line up my gear in just the right order in the locker room later for the game.
Wait. Should I switch out the shoulder pads for the elbow pads this time? Yeah, that’s a good idea. Best to break this losing streak before it even becomes one. I move them around in front of my stall.
“You’re switching things up already?” Riggs asks from his stall across from me.
“You memorized my routine. That’s sweet.”
“Yeah, it’s sweet that I’m observant,” he deadpans.
“Fair point. I’ll allow it.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“And yeah. I’m switching it up. Don’t like losing,” I say.
“Me neither,” Riggs seconds.
“Gotta do whatever it takes.”
Riggs sits back on the bench in front of his stall, his brow furrowed like he’s giving that some thought. “I hear you,” he says, then lines up his gear in the same order as mine right when Miller strides in.
His gaze swings from me to Riggs and back, adding up the evidence. “I’m in.”
As a goalie, he’s got way more gear, but he follows the same basic order and the three of us are getting ready and lacing up our skates in sync.
It’s going to be a good game. I just know it. Even though when I hit the ice, my gaze snags on a banner hanging in the rafters. One that has my last name on it. A reminder that I have a late dinner tonight. One I wish I were looking forward to.
But for now, I have a game to play, and once I’m on the ice, I’m free.
The game always clears my head.
Hockey, only hockey.
* * *
We’re down by one. That’s nothing. That’s one goal to even it, and one more to pull ahead. We’ve got this. My heart is pounding against my rib cage and my thighs are screaming as I charge down the ice, flying toward the Denver goal. I’m jostling for the puck, and I’ve almost got it. I lunge for it with my stick but wind up pulling Denver’s center with it.
Fuck my life.
The ref shoots his arm above his head and calls for a hooking penalty.
I curse up a storm as I skate toward the penalty box. The second the door closes, I rip off my helmet and slam it down.
