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Alec finishes his countdown, and I yell, “This is our house!” as loud as anyone else.
* * *
Hockey fans are hockey fans everywhere. So, I’m not surprised to hear boos as well as cheers when I’m announced and skate onto the ice. My reputation has never been stellar, even more so since the fight with the fan.
But there are less boos than I expected. Maybe because I’m dating Parker Douglas, a hometown sweetheart. According to her, the Harvest Hollow Happenings Instagram account is a fan, for whatever that’s worth. They’ve been running a poll on our couple name. Pogan is in the lead, though I’m a fan of Larker.
In any case, the boos fuel me just the same. Proving people wrong is one of my favorite things to do.
I scan the stands for Parker, even though it’s almost impossible to pick out individual faces. Not only because The Summit is full to overflowing, but because I have no idea where she’d be. Maybe not in the stands at all. Honestly, I expected to see her before now. But at least I know she’s here. Sad as it might be, I normally don’t have a single person I know personally at a game for me. It makes me want to play even harder.
“You ready?” Van asks as we take our places on the ice. He’s in front, ready for the face off, Alec and I flanking him, Nathan and Tucker behind.
“More than ready.”
I banish thoughts of Parker somewhere in this building, watching us, watchingme. Even though I swear I can feel her presence, a prickle of awareness along my skin.
“Good,” Van says, turning his attention on the other team’s center, a guy with a sneery expression and a nose that looks like it’s been broken too many times. “Because I want blood.”
Okay, then. I glance at Alec, who sighs and gives me a small shake of the head. But he’s got a fire in his eyes too. I feel the familiar uptick of my pulse and the slowing of my thoughts that always comes at the start of a game.
The smell of the ice—yes, there’s a smell—the sound of blades cutting through it, the feel of flying or even the feel of crushing someone up against the wall. Hockey both energizes and calms me. I’ve never felt this sense of peace anywhere else.
Except with her.
The puck drops and thoughts of Parker are lost.
Immediately, we have them scrambling, the first shot coming in the first two minutes of the period. The crowd is wild, a dull roar like a TV on in the background while your focus is elsewhere.
For the past few weeks I’ve practiced with these guys, but it’s a whole other thing to play alongside them in a real game. Van isn’t the only one out for blood.
From the start the dynamic is different than what I’m used to. It usually took me a few games or more to meld with any team. To feel like we were one, or even anything close. It’s not easy to anticipate someone’s plays, to trust them to be where they need to. But tonight, it feels like we are a machine with a single purpose: annihilate.
I feel like I’ve always been here. Like I belong. Like I’m home.
By the end of the second period, I’ve had two assists and scored once. Felix has held the other team scoreless. They’re panting and sloppy, their frustration only making them play worse. And rougher.
We get several power plays and three more goals—another one mine—by the time the final buzzer sounds and the whole Summit goes wild.
The guys pour off the bench, sticks getting tossed, and we pile against the back wall, where Dumbo last stole the puck from Atlanta’s left wing. It’s a throng of bodies, the stink of hockey, and the hot pulse of victory. Felix catches my eye, nodding, and I realize we’re both grinning like idiots.
“Glad to have you,” Alec says, leaning close so I can hear him over the roar of the crowd and the music blasting through the speakers.
“Though we could have done it without you,” Van says, smirking.
“Yeah, pull your weight next time, man,” Eli adds, tapping my helmet.
“I’ll see if I can do better next game.”
“You do that,” Alec says with a wink.
As though drawn by some invisible magnet, I glance up and my eyes find Parker’s. She’s behind the bench near the coaches, beaming at us. At me. No win has ever felt so good. All I want is to skate over to the bench, pull her into my arms, and kiss her like we aren’t in an arena filled with people.
But then, Parker’s smile shifts. It looks forced. Her eyes get glassy and bright.
Is Parker … crying?
Movement behind her snags my eye, and I see Brandon climbing down the stairs. Nerves make my stomach clench, especially as he reaches Parker, who is definitely crying. Brandon pulls her into a hug, then scans the ice until his eyes meet mine.
