“You definitely have.”
“I don’t even know why I’m bothering. She clearly doesn’t want to be found.”
“Or she’s busy.”
“Busy.”
“People have lives, Blake. Classes and exams - part time jobs. She’s not just sitting around waiting for you to wander past. And she knows exactly where to find you if she wants.”
“Thanks. That’s very comforting.”
Russo shrugs. “I’m not trying to be comforting - I’m just trying to be realistic.”
He’s right. I know he’s right.
And yet it doesn’t make me want to stop searching.
17
ZANE
Calloway blows his whistle sharply.
“Alright, bring it in.”
Players glide toward the bench, carving shallow arcs into the ice until we form a loose half-circle around him. Sticks tap against the boards, blades scraping lightly.
The arena is already filling up behind us. The low rumble of the crowd carries across the rink, mixed with the sharp crack of pucks hitting glass during warm-ups at the other end.
Calloway leans forward slightly over the boards.
“Two more wins,” he says. “We take care of tonight and tomorrow, we’re playing at the Showcase.”
The top four teams in the league play the Conference Showcase in November each year. We didn’t make it the last two years I’ve been on this team, but everyone knows that Scouts attend - it’s a huge opportunity. The kind of event that can change a career.
Five years ago, scouts were practically lined up outside Blackwood’s arena. The Giants used to be a team people talkedabout. Then the wins stopped coming and suddenly scouts were looking somewhere else. But this year is different.
Calloway’s eyes sweep across the line.
“You earned this opportunity. These wins didn’t happen by accident. So don’t make it bigger than it is. Play the way you’ve been playing.”
The words almost sound wrong. At the start off the season, we were barely scraping through games and trying not to embarrass ourselves. Now teams actually look nervous skating against us.
Then his gaze lands on me. “Blake. Stay back a second.”
“You know there’ll be scouts at Showcase,” he adds. “You deserve to be there. So, make sure you are.”
I nod. “I will. Thanks, coach.”
He pats my shoulder once. “Now go score some goals.”
Warm-ups are a blur.
The arena lights burn bright against the ice.
I tell myself not to think about what this game means. Which of course means I can’t stop thinking about it.
The puck drops.
