Page 9 of Only Ever You

She halts in her tracks and turns to look at me. “Did you leave your practice…” She glances over her shoulder. “Er, your coach’s whole speech for me?”

It’s weird how hot my cheeks become. “I’m…”

“True or not true?”

I sigh and drop my head. “True.”

And now I feel like a total idiot. Her coach is right here; she could’ve helped her instead.

Isla squeezes my hand, her lips tipping up in a warm smile. “Thank you so much.”

The warmth that spreads through my body makes me feel like I’m on a sunny beach instead of on the ice.

I grin back at her. “You’re very welcome.”

“Thank you, Michael.” Elena gives me a polite nod as we reach her. “I was headed onto the ice to help when I saw you rushing to your friend’s rescue.”

“That’s what he always does.” My dad’s voice comes from behind Elena, and he steps into view. Today is his turn to pick us up after practice.

His deep brown eyes are on me, the same shade as mine. I search his face, trying to read his mood, looking for anger or frustration. After all, I abandoned my teammates and missed the start of my practice. Yet, all he does is smile.

“Go back to your team,” he says. “I’ll take it from here.”

I give Isla’s hand a light squeeze and scurry to get my helmet and join the guys. When I get back, Coach doesn’t say anything, but the look he gives me says I’m probably getting a talk after practice.

Coach blows the whistle. “Alright, last ten minutes. You all know the drill. Blue jerseys over here, white jerseys there.”

I grab a blue one before Cade can, and the scowl he gives me as he snatches a white one is enough to make my blood boil. I can’t stand the guy, but it only makes the win taste sweeter, even if it’s just during our short scrimmage.

Asher skates to my side, wearing a blue jersey as well, like I knew he would. He makes a terrific left wing to my center. With him on my team, we can totally win.

“How many do you want to score?” he asks me, pushing his blond hair out of his eyes.

“Two, maybe three.”

I take a deep breath and steal a glance at the stands. Dad is still here, and his presence always makes me a bit nervous. Not because he’ll yell or lecture me for my mistakes on the ice. He’d never do that. It’s because the pressure to do well goes way up when he’s watching. I want him to be proud of me. He had an incredible career, and I’d hate to be a disappointment. Not only to him, but to everyone else who expects Colton Thompson’s son to be a hockey prodigy.

Asher claps me on my back, garnering my attention. “Relax.”

“I’m fine.”

As the rest of the guys join us, I tap my stick on the ice. Cade is across from me, his gray-blue eyes flaring with anger. Lip curled, he pulls on his helmet.

“Centers,” Coach barks, “line up.”

Everyone moves to take their positions, Asher grumbling “good luck” as he skates to my left.

I breathe slowly, inhaling and exhaling to control my heartbeat. The whistle blows, and I easily win the face-off. I skate forward, pushing hard, heading toward the white team’s net, my blades cutting the ice.

Jones, a defenseman, cuts across, but I fake left and slip past him. The net is right in front of me. Ford, the white team’s goalie, stands in front of it, but all I see is the net waiting for me.

From above the right hash marks, I lift my stick; with a slap shot, I send the puck flying. It flies past Ford, catching in the net.

A thrill of excitement goes through me. Yes! The first goal is mine. Asher and the other guys wearing blue surround me, clapping me on the back.

“One down, one more to go,” Ash mutters in my ear.

“An assist for you would be great too,” I tell him as we return to our positions.