Page 113 of Worth the Shot

Desperate times.

“Please tell me this isn’t for what I think it’s for,” Shayne says, watching me.

I don’t answer, because it absolutely is, and there’s not a single person on this planet who will be able to talk me out of it.

“Please be careful!” he yells after me. I load everything into my car and head to the rink.

As soon as I pull in, I see his truck. The lot is pretty empty, no doubt just the employees and maybe even a few people using the other rink. It’s small and outdated, used primarily for the junior teams, and Mountaineer practices of course. I cut the engine, grab the gear and head inside. I nod at the security guards who obviously know who I am through Shayne and now Brennan, and I head to the locker room. I slip in quietly, setting everything down before creeping toward the doorway. I peek out onto the ice just in time to see Brennan slam his stick against the ice, the sound echoing through the space. He curses under his breath, sharp and frustrated, before circling back toward the blue line to reset. My chest tightens. I’ve never seen him like this and I can feel my heart physically crack. I pull back, forcing myself to look away, because standing here watching him tear himself apart isn’t helping anyone.

My focus drops to the pile of gear at my feet. I stare at it for a long time, long enough to question every decision that led me here. And then, the door swings open.

“What are you doing here?” I whisper-yell, spinning around, equal parts annoyed and not even a little surprised to see Shayne standing there.

“Relax,” he says, holding his hands up. “I’m not staying.”

I narrow my eyes at him.

“It took me about thirty seconds to realize you’d never get into that the right way without my help,” he continues, nodding toward the gear. “So I figured I’d at least save you from humiliating, or hurting, yourself before you even make it onto the ice.”

“I’m not going to do either.” He just looks at me, and I pause. “…Okay, maybe a little. But that’s not the point.”

He snorts. “Right.”

“I mean it,” I add, crossing my arms “Help me and then leave.”

“I will,” he says, already stepping forward. “I promise I won’t stay to watch the rest. Even though, for the record, this sounds wildly entertaining.”

I glare at him as he keeps grinning, and honestly? I would slap him if I didn’t actually need his help.

He sticks to his promise and leaves the second I’m buried in gear and my skates are laced tight enough to cut off circulation. I grab the stick he handed me, shove the helmet over my head, and very confidently step onto the ice. I don’t fall, which already feels like a win.

The second Brennan sees me, he stops. “Delaney?” he calls, blinking at me like I’m a hallucination brought on by overexertion. He tries not to laugh, but I hear it anyway. “Is that…is that Shayne’s gear from high school?”

“Middle school,” I correct him, wobbling slightly before catching my balance and straightening like I absolutely meant to do that. “And for the record, it’s very heavy.”

He skates closer, slower now, like he’s approaching a wild animal that might bite. “Okay,” he says carefully. “Why are you here right now…in Shayne’s middle school gear, Laney?” His eyes flick over me—helmet too big, pads slightly off, skates that definitely aren’t made for me—and something in his expression shifts. The amusement is still there, but there’s something else underneath it now and it looks a lot like concern.

I tighten my grip on the stick. “We’re going to do some drills,” I say.

He blinks. “…We’re going to do what?”

“Drills,” I repeat, like this is completely normal behavior. “You. Me. Ice. Hockey. Keep up.”

“Laney,” he says, dragging a hand down his face, already half irritated, half trying not to smile. “You can barely⁠—”

“I know,” I cut in quickly. “I know I can’t skate. I know I look ridiculous. I know this is probably the worst idea I’ve ever had.” I take a small, shaky glide forward. “But you’re not garbage,” I whisper. His expression shifts immediately as he cocks his head slightly, like he’s not sure where that came from. I don’t elaborate on that part. “And you’re not off or a step behind or whatever else you’ve convinced yourself of this week,” I continue, my voice softer but steady. “You just need reps. You need to get out of your head and back into it.”

He just stares at me.

“And lucky for you,” I add, lifting my stick slightly, “I am a great distraction.”

There’s a long pause. “…You drove all the way here,” he says slowly, “put on Shayne’s middle school gear…and risked your life on skates…”

“Debatable,” I mutter.

“…to run drills with me?” he finishes.

I shrug, like it’s nothing and my heart isn’t pounding out of my chest. “Yeah.”