Page 83 of Wild Card 13

The building shifted with them. Parents settled into their seats. Someone behind us argued about line combinations before the puck had even dropped. A little kid two rows down bounced excitedly against the glass wearing a jersey that looked two sizes too big.

I pulled my scarf a little higher around my chin.

"You know," Naomi said, "I still don't understand hockey."

"You don't have to."

"I know icing now."

Arlo snorted. "No, you don't."

"It means..." She frowned. "Something about the red line?"

"The wrong red line," Arlo corrected.

"There are too many lines."

"There are literally five."

"Exactly."

I smiled despite myself. "You two are exhausting."

"We're delightful," they answered together.

The puck hit the ice.

Instantly, Ty exploded forward.

It never looked like effort. That was always the part that amazed me.

Other players skated.

Ty flew.

Every stride seemed to carry him somewhere impossible, hisedges carving effortless arcs through fresh ice while the rest of the game struggled to catch up. He wasn't simply fast.

He saw openings before they existed.

A defender reached for him barely thirty seconds into the shift. Ty slipped around him so smoothly it almost looked rude. The crowd rose with a collective gasp.

"Oh, he's feeling himself tonight," Arlo laughed.

"He knows you're here," Naomi teased under her breath.

Ty crossed the blue line carrying the puck, faked a slap shot that froze both defenders for half a heartbeat, then feathered a ridiculous backhand pass through traffic to Mase.

Mase caught it cleanly.

Missed the net by inches.

Ty threw both hands into the air. "You had the whole net!"

Mase answered with a gesture that Coach definitely pretended not to see.

I laughed. "So mature," I murmured.

"They're basically toddlers with better balance," Naomi replied.