Page 279 of Cross Check

It feels like someone’s taken a shovel to my chest, dug out my heart, and thrown it in a blender. I hurt in ways I didn’t know I could hurt, both emotionally and physically. I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. Every time I close my eyes, I see Grant. I hear the plea in his voice when I told him I needed space. I feel his hands on me, trying to reassure me that he’ll figure everything out. That he’ll make it all go away.

The worst fucking part is that being with him would cure all the pain.

A hug from him would help me sleep. A smile from him would make me want to eat again.

But I can’t be near him.

Distance is what’s best to keep my mind focused on the job in front of me.

Distance is what protects my reputation.

After tonight’s game, I need to seriously reflect on what my future looks like. Does it include Grant? Does it include taking some time away from the sport I love? Is love worth the punishment coming my way?

They are questions I’ve avoided asking myself, but I’m out of time now. The second I’m back in Baltimore, my whole life might change. I need to be ready for it.

“Not well,” I admit. “I knew it would be bad if anyone found out about us, but I didn’t know it would be this bad. I’m expecting to be suspended. I wouldn’t be shocked if I was fired. Everything I’ve worked so hard for is likely to be taken away from me.”

“I talked to some of the guys in Baltimore. The locker room is in agreement, and we all have your back,” she tells me, but it does little to soothe the ache I’m carrying. “We don’t care what personal relationships you have. Your job is to coach us, and you do it better than anyone else. We’re prepared to stand up for you if the punishment is excessive and unfair.”

“If only the league didn’t care about personal relationships.” I rub my jaw. “Unfortunately for me, they don’t.”

“Have you talked to Grant?” she asks.

“No. I said it would be best if we stayed apart until we got home. He’s giving me that space, and I’ve avoided all the places where I might run into him.” I pause. “Have you… you’ve seen him, right?”

There’s no doubt in my mind that she has, but I’m afraid to hear her answer.

“Yeah. I got dinner with him, Mav, and Hudson last night.” Emmy pauses. “He doesn’t look good, Amelia. He’s going through hell too.”

I’m a terrible person for being glad he’s also miserable. At least we’re both suffering.

“I hope I’m not too much of a distraction for him. I don’t want the men to lose because his mind is somewhere else.” I swallow. “That wouldn’t be fair.”

“You could never be a distraction. An inspiration and an icon? Absolutely. The women are playing the gold medal game tonight in your honor,” she says, and her voice dips to soft and reverent. “It’s our thank you for the things you’re doing for those of us who love this sport. For lifting up your peers and being the first, but not the last. We’re going to make it happen because you paved the way.”

“Thank you for being a friend during this really shitty time,” I croak. “For being an athlete I admire and respect. For being kind. I really appreciate you, Emmy.”

“You’ll get through this. And when you do, you’ll have a gold medal to your name.” Emmy stands and fixes the sleeve of her jersey. “See you out there, Coach.”

“Stop being scared to take the shot,” I say to the women on the bench during a timeout. “I like the passes we’re initiating, but I want to see more aggression at the crease. Someone needs to be the leader if we want to close out this game.”

It’s the third period, and we have a one-goal lead on Canada. We knew this matchup would be a barn burner going in, and the energy from both teams has been palpable from the start. With a packed arena and decades of rivalry between the two squads, you can’t blink without being afraid you’re going to miss something important.

The second the puck dropped, the outside noise in my life quieted. I sunk into the sport that I love, and coaching this immensely talented group of women has been a relief. With my whiteboard in hand, I feel like myself. I’m not someone who tarnished their reputation. I’m not someone who did anything wrong. I’m not whatever other horrible things that have been tossed my way in the aftermath of those photos being published.

They can try to tear me down all they want, but I’m not going without a fight.

I’m Amelia Green. I’m in my element, and I’m a goddamn badass.

“Berkshire,” I call out, and Alice looks at me while she finishes a sip of her sports drink. “I want you, Hartwell, and Gander to go to a low-to-high rotating triangle. It’ll stretch Canada’s defense, and we’ll see if we can wear them down to create a shooting lane.”

“Sounds good.” She finishes her sports drink and fixes her cage. “Who do you want in the slot?”

“Make Hartwell the puck carrier to start. You take the slot, and shift Gander over to the corner.”

“Got it.” With a look of determination, she glances at the ice, running the play in her head.

I pace behind the bench while the timeout wraps up and don’t let my mind wander from anything other than the game happening in front of me.