Page 99 of Scoring Lessons

WHEN HAVE I EVER BEEN ABLE TO SAY NO TO YOU?

“Today’s going to look a little different, boys,” Coach Sloane said as soon as he stepped into the locker room for our huddle before the game. “I’m making some last-minute changes.”

“Can we afford that right now?” Donovan asked, unsure.

Our captain had a point. It was almost February. We were playing against the Dallas Riders, who were a tough team to beat. We were falling through the ranks quickly. We all doubted we’d make the playoffs this year.

A change was going to throw things off.

“At this point, we need to try,” Coach said with that tone that made it clear there was no room for discussion. “Hayes, you’ll be playing with Anderson and Donovan tonight.” His eyes settled on Sullivan. “You’re benched today.”

“Coach, this is bulls⁠—”

“Careful with your next words, Sullivan,” Coach warned. “Frankly, I’ve had enough of your attitude and your unwillingness to be a team player as it is. I’ve made my decision. Deal with it.”

After Coach walked us through a few more changes he was making, we broke the huddle and headed out to warm up.

I found Olivia along the way.

She stared me down, her eyes narrowed. “What are you smiling about?”

“Coach put me in to play in my old line.”

Olivia actually squealed and wrapped her arms around me in a quick hug. It was both endearing and hilarious. “That’s amazing!”

“It’s no big deal. He’s trying some new things,” I said, trying to remain casual even though I felt anything but.

“Still. You deserve it.” Her smile was bright, and her septum ring gleamed against the lights.

God only knew if I were a braver man, I would have kissed her like my body was screaming at me to. It was the only thing that could have made this night even better.

I leaned against my stick with a lazy smirk. “You going soft on me, Livvie girl?”

She erased her smile from her face, replacing it with a glare. “This is why I can’t say nice things.”

“You wouldn’t have me any other way.”

“Oh, no. I definitely would.”

I mocked a gasp. “Now, why would you try to hurt my feelings right before the game?”

She pushed a finger against my chest. “Because someone’s gotta keep you humble,” were her last words before she stepped to the side and walked away from me without so much as a glance back.

One minute left, and we were tied when Coach Sloane sent us out for our shift.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t riding a high. I hadn’t played on this line since last season, but it took all of ten seconds to fall back into rhythm.

Now it was the third period, and we had work to do.

Anderson won the draw clean and sent it to me on the left. I was already moving before I fully had it—muscle memory taking over, my legs finding whatever I had left.

Their defenseman gave me a lane. I took it toward the net, and when he closed, I pulled it back to Anderson and drove hard to the front.

The goalie shifted. I felt the defenseman’s stick jam into my thighs, trying to push me off the post. I didn’t budge.

Anderson held it long enough to draw pressure then slid it back to me.

The shot came in low. I redirected it across my body and inside the left post.