“And skating style?”
Willow grins.
“You already skate like a hockey player.”
That part, at least, is true.
She sits back, clearly delighted with herself.
“We’ll get you to the rink early. Less people around. Less chance of anyone asking questions.”
I swallow.
This is really happening.
“This is a terrible idea,” I say again.
Willow beams.
“But it’s going to be fun.”
6
ZANE
The hit keeps replaying in my head.
Not the fight.
That part is easy to forget. Hockey fights flare up and burn out all the time, a quick explosion of adrenaline before the refs drag everyone apart and the game moves on.
It’s the hit before it that sticks with me.
Our left wing, Tyler Grant, never saw it coming. The defender came in hard from the side, shoulder driving straight through him into the boards. It was late. Ugly. The kind of hit that makes the entire bench go quiet for half a second before the anger kicks in.
Which is when the fight started.
I’d been in the middle of it before I even realized my gloves were on the ice.
But now the reality of it has sunk in - we’re down a forward.
And not just for a game. Maybe for a few weeks.
Which would already be bad if the season was going well… but it isn’t.
The locker room is quieter than usual at practice the next morning. It’s tense in that way teams get when everyone knows things are really starting to slip.
Russo sits beside me tying his skates.
“You hear what Calloway’s doing?” he asks.
“No.”
“Tryouts.”
I look up. “For what?”
Russo shrugs. “For Grant.”
