Page 1 of Only Ever You

part one

CHAPTER ONE

you’re amazing

MICHAEL

Eight years old

I pull off my helmet, and my hair instantly falls into my eyes. I try to blow it away, but it’s no use. Maybe Mom is right. Maybe I do need a haircut.

Asher Vaughn grins at me from the bench, and I smile back. I’m friendly with most of the boys on the team, but Ash is my best friend.

The boards are decorated with fake snowflakes, the scoreboard lights set to red and green, and ‘Jingle Bell Rock’ plays during every stoppage. It’s Christmas Cup Day, a little competition my dad and his friends organized for my team. It’s meant to be a fun way to give us more playing experience. I’m excited, like the rest of the team, and maybe a little smug. Several players from the California Thunders are watching from the stands, and they are here because of my dad—Colton Thompson, their team captain.

The game is almost over, and the crowd is cheering and yelling like we’re in the NHL playoffs. The score is 3–3, so either team could win, but I’ll do anything to make sure we’re the champions.

The last thing I want is to lose the game in front of my dad and his teammates, to embarrass him if I don’t play well.

Coach taps my shoulder. “Go get us a win, Thompson.”

With a nod, I strap on my helmet and skate toward the center of the ice. Usually, we play on half-ice, but Dad set it up so we have the whole rink for the game. My stomach flips when I take my position, readying for the face-off.

The puck drops, and all my senses narrow. The stick in my hands, the puck on the ice. Nothing else. The arena disappears, and all I hear is the sound of my skates scraping the ice.

I win the puck and send it to my left, straight for Asher’s stick.

When he easily takes control, I silently cheer. Yes, we’re so on! He speeds up, I follow, and then, it’s just me, my best friend, and a goalie.

“Go, Michael!” Mom yells from somewhere behind me. I’d recognize her voice anywhere. She’s my biggest cheerleader.

“Take it all the way, boys!” Dad shouts. The encouragement fuels my movements, setting my skin on fire. His support always makes me push harder, do more. More than anything in the world, I want him to be proud of me.

Legs burning, I catch up to Ash. He fires the puck at the net. It hits the crossbar, and a zing of dread spreads through me.

The puck ricochets, and I catch it on the blade of my stick. I shift my weight from my back foot to my front, controlling the biscuit like I was taught. Then, with a quick flicking motion, I shoot it between the goalie’s pads and into the net.

I look up at the scoreboard. My goal puts us ahead 4-3, and there’s no time left on the clock.

The small crowd erupts with cheers and yells.

“Yes!” I throw my fist into the air.

“We won!” Asher rushes toward me and slams me into the boards. The next thing I know, our whole team is here too, dogpiling us, shoving us further into the boards.

“We did it!”

“Dude, your wrist shot was sick!”

“You’re gonna be in the NHL, just like your dad!”

I’m only a kid, nowhere near as good as my dad and his teammates, but it’s hard not to hope that last part is true.

“You were amazing, kiddo,” Uncle Clay says, ruffling my hair. He’s one of my dad’s best friends and my godfather. “You have a bright future ahead of you, I have no doubt.”

“Thanks.” My cheeks hurt from smiling, even as warmth seeps into them. “I did my best.”

“You sure did.” He nods. “Your last shot? That goalie had no chance of stopping you.”