Beckett came at me hard during a possession drill, shoulder-checking me with enough force to test whether I’d hold my ground.
I did. Barely shifting. He gave a small nod and skated past.
It was his way of showing approval, and it was noted.
Asher tried to strip the puck off me twice and failed both times.
“Fuck off,” he muttered as I slipped past him again.
“Work harder,” I shot back.
“Arrogant prick.”
“Eyes up!” Coach barked.
Asher peeled away with a grin. “Later.”
I almost smiled in return. Fuck, I’d missed playing. It had been a long, long summer.
We shifted into a scrimmage. Full pace. Full contact.
I took the puck at center ice, cutting left, then right, drawing one defender before slipping between two of them.
The noise of the rink blurred into something distant.
All I could hear was the scrape of blades and the thud of sticks on the ice.
A player came in fast from my blind side. I saw him at the last second and adjusted, letting him overshoot before pulling the puck back under control.
Clean and efficient, just the way I liked it.
Cayden intercepted a pass seconds later, skating alongside me.
We didn’t speak. He flicked the puck forward, giving me an in. I took it and shot.
The net snapped back, with the puck sinking in the back left corner.
Coach blew his whistle, signifying the end of practice. It was disappointing. I was just hitting the zone.
“Not bad,” Beckett called from behind me.
“High praise,” I said.
“Don’t get used to it.”
Cal skated in front of me. I headed for the bench and stepped off the ice. I needed a shower. My muscles were screaming. My own training had nothing on a hardcore practice. I’d need to recover properly. Unfortunately, I was expecting to have a very pissed-off neighbor when I got home. To let my new stepsister know I was serious about cleaning up her act, I’d taken the liberty of “tidying up” some of her things.
I could hardly wait.
Selena
The playMuch Ado About Nothingwas funny and tragic at the same time. As I lay on my new bed, reading through the play, it hit me how little the issues in the story had changed since Shakespeare’s time.
A knock on my door later in the afternoon broke my concentration.
“Who is it?” I called, just as my mother’s voice came through the door.
“Selena?”
