While I settle into position, Aiden glides backward, stick in hand, cocky smirk on his face. He won’t be wearing that expression for long. Because Aiden has a tell. I’ve never told him that I discovered it, but after watching him play hundreds of games by the time he retired when I was a teenager, it’s obvious to me. For years, he dazzled crowds and destroyed defenseman and goalies. He could skate literal circles around the biggest and best players, and it wasn’t always the goals he scored that were his best plays. It was how he knew precisely when to pass. A goalie would be preparing for him to take that direct shot. He had it most of the time. The goal was his to score. But then he’d pass it at the last second, and the shot would come from a completely different angle.
And his tongue always,always,gives him away. Though I seem to be the only person in the world who’s discovered this. Because my uncle can’t help but press his tongue against the corner of his lip, just for an instant, as he prepares to shoot.If he goes right, that tongue darts out on the right side of his mouth. If he’s going left, his tongue goes to the left as well.
It’s such a fucking easy thing to miss. It’s barely a lick. I’m not even sure he knows he’s doing it.
He skates toward me, his stick work as impeccable as ever. That’s where my attention is supposed to be. Goalies are trained to never take their eyes off the puck. But doing that means they miss other details.
Which is why Brooks drilled into me the importance of taking ineverything. During a game, I’ve got to keep track of what fiveopponents are doing and be ready for anything, but practice, with only one opponent, should be much easier.
And it would be if that opponent weren’t Aiden Langfield.
Being one-on-one with such a skilled center is the stuff of nightmares for most goalies.
But I’ve been doing this my whole life. As he gets closer, I survey the whole scene. Aiden gliding toward me, playing with the puck, the slice of his blades as he quickens his pace, the sound they make when he comes to a stop quickly. His arm flies back, his position giving me every indication that he’s going for a wrist shot toward my right shoulder. A split second before he moves that arm forward, his tongue pokes left, and I’m there, catching the biscuit, a smile on my face.
“Kid’s still got it.” Aiden skates backward, grinning and pointing at me. “Okay, let’s let?—”
“Again,” Gavin calls from the other side of the ice, an arm sweeping out, signaling the guys he’s working with to move closer to us. “Show us that again.”
With a shrug, Aiden goes back to his spot. “I’m not going to go as easy on you this time.”
I laugh as I drop into position. “Do your worst, Lep,” I tease, using the nickname the crowds used to chant at games. They called him Leprechaun because they believed he was the Bolts lucky charm. Before Uncle Aiden, the Bolts had never won the Cup. With him on the roster, they won three.
It’s silent except for the sound of the puck smacking against his stick as he glides straight for me. He doesn’t play with the puck this time. No, he picks up speed like he’s on a breakaway. He doesn’t stop or even slow as he moves into position to shoot at the low left corner of the net. I wait another fraction of a second, and when his tongue goes to the right, I’m ready to go that way too. And when I block it smoothly, a thrill goes through me.
“Jesus,” one of the rookies mutters.
“Fucking incredible,” another says.
“Again,” Gavin yells.
We do this five more times before Gavin instructs the offensive line to take turns doing the same. Eventually, I bow out and head to theside of the rink where Aiden and Gavin have gathered while the goalies take turns blocking.
Ten minutes before practice is set to end, Gavin calls me over. “Go shower and get changed. I’ll keep the guys here until you’re done.”
“Thanks.” I really do need a shower, and since our practice arena only has one locker room, this is the only way that’ll happen.
I collect my gear and turn away, but Gavin calls me back.
“Addie,” he says, his tone serious. “It’s a sin you don’t still play. It was damn fun to watch you today.”
“Thank you.”I duck to hide my smile and the way my cheeks heat at the praise. But as I glide off the ice, I stand a little taller. Because for a little while, I didn’t just keep up with players in the NHL, I fucking dominated them.
FIFTEEN
JJ
“Fucking unfair,”Sidney grumbles.
“You want in?” I turn to him, frowning. I’ve been focused on Adeline, so I don’t know what his problem is, but now that’s she’s disappeared, I pull myself together.
Dirk’s taking hits from the offensive line now, and he’s handling himself okay. He’s nowhere near as good as Adeline, but not a single person in this room could do what she just did—including myself.
“I’m talking about Addie. It’s a damn shame she can’t play.” He blows out a breath. “She’s better than most of the goalies in the NHL.”
Grinning, I turn his way. I shouldn’t feel this sense of pride; I don’t have any claim over her and I’m not responsible for a lick of her talent, but it’s hard not to swell when someone else recognizes it too.
And he’s right. It’s a damn shame she doesn’t get to compete at this level.
