Page 11 of Puck Me Back to Life

For a second, the room goes completely still. Hayes stares at me, like he's trying to determine whether I'm joking.

I don't joke about things that matter.

Eventually his gaze drops. A faint flush appears along his neck. “Thanks.”

The answer is quiet. Honest. And for some reason, hearing it feels surprisingly good. The kind of good that makes me suspicious of myself.

I stand before I can examine that feeling too closely.

“Try to take a nap or something. You look dead.”

Hayes laughs. “Great advice.”

“I know.” I head toward the door. “I'm basically a therapist.”

“That's terrifying.”

“There are definitely lawsuits involved.”

The corner of his mouth twitches. It's the closest thing I've seen to a smile all day. I leave before I can say something stupid.

A few minutes later I'm stretched across the couch in Coach's office, trying to squeeze in a nap before game time. But every time I close my eyes, I find myself thinking about Hayes.

About the way he looked standing under that shower.

About the sadness in his eyes.

About how surprised he seemed when someone told him they had his back.

The thought follows me all the way into sleep.

The locker room feels different before a regular-season game. There is always energy. Always noise. But opening night carries something extra. The excitement sits just beneath everyone's skin. Even veterans who've played a thousand games can't completely hide it. Equipment clatters against the floor. Music blasts from a speaker somewhere near the back of the room. Guys move between stalls, taping sticks and lacing skates while trainers weave through the chaos.

Dante drops into the stall beside mine and immediately starts talking.

“She's coming tonight.”

I grunt, trying to focus.

Dante continues anyway. “The girl I told you about.”

I pull on my shoulder pads. “What girl?”

“The fact that you don't listen to me is honestly insulting.”

“Maybe say more interesting things.”

Dante throws a roll of tape at my head. I catch it before it knocks me in the temple.

“The brunette.”

Still nothing.

“The nurse.”

Nope.

“The one I've been seeing for three weeks.”