I nod. Because that part I can do.
I glance once more at the mirror.
The person staring back looks unfamiliar.
A little broader.
A little rougher.
Not Leonora Shaw.
Every sensible part of my brain is screaming that I should stay here.
Close the door.
Open the anatomy textbook.
Forget this idea ever existed.
Instead, I reach down and grab my hockey stick.
The weight of it feels so familiar in my hands that something inside me calms immediately.
I glance at Willow.
“Ready?”
She beams.
“Let’s go make terrible decisions.”
ZANE
Coach Calloway clears the entire Sunday schedule for the try-out.
Which says everything about exactly how desperate we are.
Normally Sundays are lighter - recovery skates, some drills, maybe video review if the last game was ugly enough to deserve it. Instead, we’re all here early, gear on, sticks tapping impatiently against the boards while a handful of hopefuls wait nervously near the bench.
Russo leans beside me against the glass.
“You ready to meet the future of the sport?” he mutters.
I glance toward the group.
There are maybe twelve of them.
A few look like they’ve played before. Most of them look like they wandered in after seeing a flyer somewhere on campus and thought it might be fun to try.
I sigh. “This is going to be painful.”
Russo smirks.
Coach skates out to the center circle and blows his whistle once.
“Alright,” he calls. “We’ll bring you out in pairs. Short drills. Keep moving. Don’t overthink it.”
The first two hop onto the ice.
