Page 48 of What We Knew Then
I shook my head and explained, “Not enough time. Plus, you were right there. I knew you had it.”
Coach claps my back and boasts, “That mindset? That’s Great Lakes U hockey.”
Cora stays back on the bench, letting all the guys get in on the mob that’s now at center ice. Our eyes lock for only a second. The push I typically feel, the urge to not fuck this up and not get sucked into whatever she does to me, is gone. She smirks, shaking her head, and I tip my chin to her.
We let whatever is between us go. At least for now.
Someone spins me around. I expect one of my teammates, but instead, it’s someone from Grove College. Steven Smith—his name is about asgeneric as his playing style. We’ve played against each other ever since our youth league days. He’s decent, but my team has typically won every time we’ve played against each other.
“Twenty-Seven, make sure you don’t have too many tonight, huh?” He mimics driving a car and swerving, hitting something. The lights might be blue in the arena but I see fucking red. Steven laughs and gets even closer, his chest bumping into me. “Wouldn’t want this team to throw you on your ass.”
“What the fuck did you just say?” I ask, my teeth practically grinding.
He tips his chin and sneers, “You fucking heard me, Maxwell.”
I know I shouldn’t hit him. But my body and brain feel like two separate entities and I pull my arm back to get a solid swing in. Leo steps between us, and Troy pulls me away. A few other teammates from each side skate over, wanting to see what’s going on.
Coaches voice booms, “My guys. Get your asses to the locker room. Now.”
Troy is on one side of me and Matty on the other, forcing me to skate toward the tunnel.
When we get to the locker room, Troy snaps, “Be smarter than that. You don’t punch anyone unless it’s during the game. Don’t fuck this up.” He pushes my chest.
I know he’s right.
Leo bumps his shoulder with mine. “You can’t get in trouble over someone named Steve Smith. That would be diabolical.” He smiles.
It lessens the anxiety running through me.
But not by much.
Chapter 30
CORA
I’minmydad’soffice, working on finalizing and confirming some of the game stats before I go home. This is something I started when I was in high school and why I have such a good relationship with the college newspaper—I’ve been sending them stats post-game for years.
The rush from the game is wearing off, including the second wave of adrenaline from whatever happened in front of the bench, and I can feel the exhaustion hit my bones. My mouth feels like a desert and I take a swig from my water bottle—trying to remember the last time I had a drink of water.
The team was solid tonight. I don’t know if I remember an opening home game as good as that one. Maybe part of that is because this is my last one—senior feelings and all that. But the stat sheet doesn’t lie. They looked like they’ve been playing with each other for years—which most of them have—but the way Lane found his spot on the ice with them, getting a little more comfortable every shift? It was incredible.
I hate to be this person. But it feels like we have a real shot at the Frozen Four this year. I laugh at myself; every diluted hockey fan says this when their team wins the first game. Gets their first taste of success.
I send the email to my contact at the paper and sit back in my dad’s chair. My head feels heavy, maybe some of the adrenaline catching up with me. Taking another long drink from my water bottle, I close my eyes and do some deep breathing.
Cora, you dehydrated idiot—of course you feel like trash.
Just then my dad comes in, smiling like it’s his job. “You done? That was fast.”
“I’ve been doing better at keeping track during the game. Sharpening that skill,” I answer him, moving back and forth on the swivel of his chair.
He laughs at me, grabbing a folder from his desk, where a freshly printed stats breakdown from tonight rest on top. I tell him it’d be easier to email, but my dad still prefers to watch the games and take notes on the back of printed stats sheets. Every time.
He’s in the doorway when he asks, “You out of here soon? Got big plans tonight?”
“Yes. Almost done. Just have to get my bag from the bench. And not sure what my plans are.”
He walks over, puts a kiss on my forehead and says, “Okay, well, they’re still cleaning up out there. Don’t wait too late. I don’t like you walking out alone. There’s still a few players in the locker room, so try not to be the last one, ok?”
