Page 104 of Taking Sides

The applause is almost loud enough to drown out the blood pounding in my ears as I head to the podium. I have speech notes in my pocket, but I don’t trust myself to pull them out and unfold the paper with everyone watching. I should have had those out already. Fuck. I’m screwing it all up already.

“Thank you.” I speak a little too close to the microphone, and the words are loud and muffled. My face goes hot as I readjust.

Fuck. I’m at center ice in front of hundreds of people and all I want to do is make a run for it. I find Whitney and instantly my anxiety lessens. She smiles at me like everything is fine. It isn’t patronizing or reassuring or anything but happy. I don’t know if I can do this but her believing in me makes me want to at least try.

“Thanks for having me,” I try again, resting my hands on the top of the podium and turning my gaze to Coach Carson. “It’s surreal to be back here. The place feels smaller.”

Laughter rings out around the arena. And then cheers.

A familiar voice yells, “Yeah, Shep!”

“I’ve been playing hockey since I was a kid. Over the years, I’ve had the privilege to learn from a lot of different coaches. But none of them have left as big a mark on me as Coach Carson.”

More chanting is yelled down from the same familiar voice, and this time I place him. I freeze, exactly like I feared I’d do up here in front of everyone, but it’s for a completely different reason than I imagined. Halfway up the bleachers, wearing their game day suits, are D-Low, Trav, Galaxy, and Penn. Trav is the one standing, hands raised over his heads as he cheers me on.

D-Low grins when he realizes I’ve spotted them. Galaxy gives me a thumbs-up, reminding me people are waiting for me to talk.

“Good coaches, like good teammates, are invaluable.”

This gets me more loud cheers and applause from my friends. I can’t believe they showed up for this. There aren’t a lot of free weekends between now and the end of the season and they used theirs to be here for me.

When I look at Whitney again, her smile is wider. I keep my stare locked on her as I talk about what Coach Carson means to me and how I’ll carry his kindness and lessons with me forever. Part of me wonders if the speech I wrote wasn’t directed more at her than Coach C, but when I’m finished and my old coach heads up to the podium, he has tears in his eyes.

“I’m so proud of you. I know that wasn’t easy, but I appreciate it.” He speaks quietly so only I can hear and pulls me into another quick hug.

After Coach Carson’s thank-you speech, the principal recognizes me and several of my old teammates as distinguished alumni, then there are pictures and lots of handshakes. At last, it’s over, but before I can walk off the ice, the current coach asks me to say hello to his players.

I agree without immediately understanding the request. Once I see the wide-eyed amazement on their faces, it clicks. To them I’m not the loser who went to school here. I’m Conrad Shepard, professional hockey player. If they only knew what I was like when I was in their skates. But all they see is the man I am now. Maybe it’s time I do the same.

Finally, I’m released. Whitney has joined the rest of the guys and my parents and they’re all waiting for me by the concession stand. The game is starting, and everyone else around the arena is locked into the action.

“Shep! Shep! Shep!” my friends chant as I walk toward them.

I let out a laugh, shaking my head. “What are you guys doing here?”

“Are you kidding? We wouldn’t miss this.” Trav comes forward and hugs me, then D-Low, Galaxy, and Penn.

“You knew?” I ask Whitney.

“Not until we got here. I promise. Danny texted when we were in the parking lot, and I almost blew the surprise.” She wraps her arms around my middle in a side hug.

“We needed directions.” D-Low grins.

“Wait. How did you know I’d be here?” she asks him.

He chuckles. “I had a hunch.”

TWENTY-SEVEN

Whitney steps into my apartment with her arms full. “Hi. Hi. I’m so sorry. Practice ran late. I need to change, but I’ll be ready in fifteen minutes. Twenty, tops.”

She gives me an apologetic smile and leans up on her toes to give me a quick kiss. As she pulls back, I loop an arm around her waist to keep her in place and kiss her again. Since we got back from Washington on Sunday evening, I’ve barely seen her. Stupid hockey and everything else that’s kept us occupied.

“We don’t have time,” she protests, but only with her words because her mouth slants, and she lets out a little hum of approval as my tongue sweeps in to tangle with hers.

After a few more seconds, she pulls back. “I’m sweaty and still in my practice clothes.”

I let her go, then take her in. Leggings, sweatshirt, hair pulled up into a ponytail. I reach out a hand and hook it around the whistle hanging from her neck, giving it a little tug.