Chapter 9 #2
"Colt." Zoey fixes me with a look that could freeze the ice over again. "She is going to be bouncing off the walls until midnight."
I shrug, grinning. "That's future Zoey's problem."
"I am future Zoey!"
Morgan has already inserted the spiral straw and taken a pull so aggressive the cup nearly collapses inward. She surfaces with a gasp, eyes wild.
"This is the best straw I've ever used."
Zoey drops her head into her hands and groans, but I can see her shoulders shaking with a laugh as the arena lights finally start to dim.
A pulse of bass rolls through the arena, deep enough to rattle my ribs. The crowd stirs, conversations dying, bodies leaning forward.
The massive screens flash to black, then explode with the Snow Leopards intro video. Highlights flash, all of it set to a custom remix of "Seven Nation Army" laced with leopard roars and tribal drums that hit somewhere primal.
Morgan scrambles onto her seat, standing on the cushion in her sparkly sneakers, foam finger raised in the air.
Then, out of nowhere… the first Snow Leopard hits the ice.
"THAT'S NUMBER TWELVE! THAT'S SILAS YORK!" Morgan screams, jabbing the foam finger toward the glass. "Mom, he's right there!"
Zoey winces. "Honey, indoor voice—"
"AND THERE'S THEO! AND GABE! Mom, Gabe is HUGE!"
"He's big, yes—"
I lean across Zoey, close enough to catch the citrus of her shampoo. "Fun fact, Morgs. That giant out there? Put me in the hospital."
Morgan's mouth drops. "Gabe did that?!"
"One hit. Lights out. Week-long nap, thanks for coming."
"That's so cool!"
"Colt!" Zoey hisses.
But she's moved on, and now Morgan is practically levitating as she starts fanning herself aggressively.
"Mom… Mom… IT'S SAMUEL VOSS! THE CAPTAIN! HE'S THE CAPTAIN, MOM!"
Samuel glides past the bench, and Morgan waves the foam finger so hard she nearly takes out the man in front of us.
Zoey grabs the back of Morgan's jersey to keep her from toppling over the seat. She shoots me a look.
"If my daughter grows up to be a puck bunny, just know, it's entirely your fault."
I wink. "You're welcome."
The Snow Leopards complete their warm-up lap, the crowd building to a roar that crests when the starting lineup is announced.
Lights strobe purple and gold as smoke pours from the tunnel.
The leopard growl blasts from every speaker, and I feel it vibrate through the soles of my shoes and settle deep in my chest.
I'm home.
"So." Zoey settles back, arms crossed over her chest. "You going to explain the rules, or should I just figure it out?"
I open my mouth to launch into Hockey 101, but she cuts me off with an elbow to my ribs.
"I'm kidding. My brothers are professional hockey players, remember? I've been watching this sport since I could walk."
I rub my side, grinning. "Right. The Morrison brothers. I keep forgetting I'm sitting with hockey royalty."
"Hardly royalty." She reaches across me for a handful of popcorn, and the brush of her arm against mine sends heat straight through my jacket. "More like hockey peasants who got lucky."
"Declan Morrison scored forty-two goals for the Beachside Bears last season. That's not luck."
Her eyebrow lifts, impressed. "You actually follow his stats?"
"I told you, the man separated my shoulder in juniors. You don't forget someone who hits like a freight train." I lean back, stretching my arm along the back of her seat. Not around her. Just… near. "What was it like? Growing up with three hockey brothers?"
She's quiet for a second, her eyes following the puck as it drops for the opening faceoff. Samuel wins it and slides it straight to Cade.
"Loud." A small smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. "Our house was always loud. Equipment everywhere. Sticks in the hallway. Skates drying on the kitchen radiator. Mom worked doubles at the hospital, and Dad drove a delivery route, so most nights it was just me and the boys."
"And you were basically their mom."
"Yeah. I was their everything." She huffs a laugh, but it's warm. "I made dinner every night. Packed their lunches. When I was old enough, I drove Mason to early morning practice because Dad's truck wouldn't start and Mom was already at the hospital."
"You drove them?! You were…"
"Seventeen."
I whistle as the Leopards start to find their groove down on the ice.
"That's incredible, Zo."
She shrugs, like it's nothing. Like raising three boys and running a household as a teenager is just what you do.
"They turned out okay. Mostly. Beck still can't do laundry without calling me, but the other two are functional adults. Ish."
"Probably helps when you live next to the beach, right?" I chuckle, picturing three giant hockey players sprawled on the sand half way across the country.
Down on the ice, the game has opened up fast.
Seattle pushes hard in the first five minutes, testing our defense, cycling the puck low in the corners. Samuel barks from the bench, and I can see Nico's hands moving in sharp, agitated gestures already.
Beside us, Morgan is riveted. She's standing on her seat, foam finger clutched in both hands, narrating every play for everyone around us.
"THAT'S ICING! THAT'S DEFINITELY ICING! THE REF IS BLIND!"
The woman beside Zoey turns around with wide eyes, and Zoey smiles apologetically.
"She's passionate."
"She's right," I mutter, rising to join Morgan on my feet while watching the ref wave off the call. "That was icing. BOOOOO!!!"
Morgan whips around, foam finger swinging. "Can I boo too, Mom?"
Zoey shoots yet more daggers my way.
"Morgs, check this out." I lean toward her, pinching my nose and dropping my voice into an exaggerated broadcaster's nasally tone. "And Jensen takes the puck at the blue line—fakes left, goes right—OH, he's through the defense like a hot knife through butter!"
Morgan giggles, then mimics my tone. "And the crowd goes WILD!"
"The arena is SHAKING!"
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, THIS IS HOCKEY!"
We're both start doing the voice, narrating every pass, every hit, every whistle like we're calling the game for national television. Pretty soon, Morgan is laughing so hard she's barely staying on her seat.
And Zoey…
Zoey is staring at me.
She's not looking at the ice at all. She's looking at me, her chin propped on her hand, her lips curved into something soft.
"What?" I ask.
She shakes her head, dropping her eyes to the popcorn. "Nothing."
But the smile stays.
The first period ends 1-0 Seattle, and the Snow Leopards come out swinging in the second. Gabe levels a Seattle forward with a check so clean the glass shudders, and despite the flinch I make, the arena erupts around us.
Morgan screams so hard her spiral straw flies out of her cup. I retrieve it from the floor, wipe it on my jacket, and hand it back.
"Five-second rule."
Zoey's eye twitches again. "That is disgusting."