“Can I talk to you?” he asks.
Chen blinks. “Uh… sure.”
There’s genuine surprise in his voice.
Shaw jerks his head slightly toward the far side of the rink.
They skate a few meters away, stopping near the boards. They talk quietly - too quietly for the rest of us to hear.
I watch without meaning to.
Weird.
For some reason the sight of it sends a small, uncomfortable twist through my chest.
Am I… jealous?
That’s ridiculous. Absolutely insane.
I watch the two of them talk for another moment.
Chen nods slowly at something Shaw says.
Then they separate.
Shaw skates off toward the tunnel without looking back.
I stare after him.
Still trying to figure out why that moment bothered me more than it should have.
11
LEONORA
Saturday morning arrives too quickly.
My body is sore. My ribs ache when I breathe too deeply and the bruise along my shoulder has deepened into a spectacular shade of purple. Even rolling over in bed requires a moment of careful negotiation with my muscles.
But it’s the kind of pain that feels satisfying if you’ve chosen it.
I lie there staring at the ceiling, replaying the game again in my mind the way hockey players always do after a loss, searching for the invisible turning points where the outcome might have been different.
Then I push the blanket aside and swing my legs out of bed, wincing slightly as my ribs protest the movement.
Welcome to college hockey.
My phone starts ringing just as I’m pulling a sweatshirt over my head.
I glance at the screen.
Mom.
“Morning.”
“Leonora.”
Her voice carries that particular mix of warmth and mild anxiety I’ve known my entire life.
