Page 116 of Here We Go Again

“Dude, I can hold a hockey stick.”

“Then show me.”

“Why? Because you’re a team captain?” I say, hating the way my voice sounds. Too sharp, too caustic. But I’m losing my grip here—figuratively and literally. The stakes have never felt so high, and I’ve never felt so incapable of just doing what I need to do.

Carter’s expression hardens. “Because I know you’re lying to me, and I want to know why.”

My eyes lift and scan the arena. Coach Kimzey has gathered the rest of the team on the opposite side, but Holly is at the goal with our defense coach, mask pushed up like he’s watching us.

I force a breath out through my nose as I glance up at Carter, then I pick up the stick, gripping it with my left hand. Except, I can’t fully close my fist. Without the glove as padding, my fingers can’t close the gap. My hand starts to tremble with the effort before I finally cave.

“It’s easier in the morning,” I say. “When I’m not so tired.”

“Dude. What are you doing? Why are you even trying to play right now? It’s no wonder you can’t make a shot.”

“It’ll get easier,” I insist. “I just need more time.”

“So take time,” he says. “Get better. Why are you pushing so hard right now? Does Nico even know how bad it is? You know how it works, man. Your spot’s still going to be here whenever you’re ready to come back.”

“That’s just it,” I say. “I’m not sure it will be.” I reach for my gloves and shove them back onto my hands.

“What does that mean?” Carter says. “What are you talking about?”

I take a slow, deep breath. Carter’s going to be pissed when he hears about my conversation with Shawn. Mostly because I didn’t tell him about it immediately after it happened. I don’t even know why I didn’t tell him. I was preoccupied with Becca, but it was more than that. It was shame. Frustration. Anger that it’s me they’re talking about trading and not him.

But I still have to tell him. He needs to know what’s truly on the line for me.

“Shawn called me when I was in Florida,” I say.

My brother frowns. “What about?”

I shrug. “Trade rumors. Front office talk about getting me off the books so they have the cap space to get a power forward good enough to replace Miles.”

Carter swears. “They wouldn’t do that.”

“I didn’t think they would. But according to Shawn, they’re the ones who brought it up. Which means I can’t be dispensable right now.” I reach for my stick. “No matter how badly it hurts, I have to keep playing.”

“Unless you play badly,” Carter says. “Which will do the opposite of what you want.”

I pull on my helmet. “Then I won’t be bad,” I say. Because what other choice do I have?

I push back onto the ice and skate toward my team.

Carter catches up with me just a few seconds later, grabbing my arm and tugging me to a stop. “It’s the tightness at the end of your shot that you’re missing,” he says, his voice low. He holds up his stick and shifts it forward, his wrist rotating barely an inch. “The snap at the end. It’s probably your lack of grip strength. But if you shoot wide on purpose, you might be able to fake it.”

“Shoot wide?”

“Like, six feet wide,” he says. “I’ll see if we can run the play again, then I’ll make sure you’re passing to me. I’ll make sure I’m wherever you’re sending the puck, so it at least looks like you’re doing it on purpose.”

I nod. “Good. That could work.”

“I’ve got you,” he says. “But you have to be honest with Nico. You can’t fake it through a game, man.”

“I will. I’ll talk to him.”

With Carter working double to cover for me, I make it through most of practice without looking too inept. But then we end with a scrimmage, and Carter and I are put on different teams.

I’m on my own now.