Chapter 9 #2
Dani snorted, but then her gaze very deliberately traveled from the top of my head down to my shoes. It was unmistakably appreciative.
“Definitely not.”
My face warmed, but I climbed up on the sled.
The metal runners shifted slightly under my weight as I stood on the flat platform, the sled rocking just enough to make my balance uncertain.
My shoes scraped against the metal as I adjusted my footing, instinctively reaching for the vertical bars in front of me.
Before I could register her movements, Dani had grabbed onto the handles and lowered herself into the same sprinter’s stance that she’d tried to coach me to do.
“Hold on,” she warned.
I only had enough awareness to grab onto something solid and stable before she drove forward.
A startled yelp ripped out of me as the turf blurred beneath us.
The metal runners screeched against rubber while Dani powered forward, her strides fast and explosive. The entire weight room seemed to rush past in a sudden, dizzying streak of gray flooring and racks of equipment.
I clutched the bars tighter as the sled rattled beneath me.
The sled traveled the length of the weight room in seconds before Dani finally slowed and brought us to a controlled stop.
My heart was pounding.
Dani looked mildly winded, but also extremely pleased with herself.
“What the hell was that?” I challenged.
She laughed. “Conditioning.”
I stepped off the sled and stretched my legs like I’d just completed a marathon instead of being pushed across the room like cargo.
“That,” I said, pointing at the sled, “was aggressive.”
Dani grabbed a water bottle from the bench nearby. “You survived.”
I snorted. “No thanks to you.”
She tossed me my own bottle without asking if I wanted one. I caught it mid-air and twisted the cap off, grateful for the distraction of something normal to do with my hands.
Up close, Dani’s face was flushed from the workout, loose strands of hair escaping the bun she’d twisted together earlier. She leaned back against the bench, stretching one leg out in front of her.
“You can write that part in the article,” she said. “Reporter courageously attempts elite hockey training.”
I took another sip of water, glancing around the room again. The weight area was quiet except for the low hum of the ventilation system.
“So you do this every day?” I asked.
“Most days.” Dani rolled one shoulder, working out a tight spot. “Depends on the schedule. Game days are lighter, obviously. But strength work’s a big part of it.”
“What about goalies?” I asked. “Do they have the same workouts?”
Dani laughed. “Not even close.”
“Why?”
“Because they’re weird.”
“That’s not nice,” I admonished.
“You’ve met Cat,” Dani said, doubling down. “I love the girl, but she’s a certified weirdo.”
A laugh bubbled up my throat.
Dani tipped her head back and took a long drink of water. “Cat’s starting at home against Minnesota next week.”
I perked up. “Really?”
As the team’s backup goalie, Cat’s playing time was limited.
If the score of a game had gotten out of hand, the coaches might sub her in to avoid the starter getting injured in a game that was already decided.
And sometimes she got a start if the staff wanted to give the regular goalie a night off—like resting an everyday catcher in baseball.
Still, it didn’t happen often.
“It’s a promotional night. The first three thousand fans get their very own Cat Pearson bobble head,” she said with a wry smile. “The coaches thought it might be nice if she got to start on her special night.”
It surprised me a little how pleased I felt hearing that.
I wasn’t on the team. I couldn’t even really call Cat my friend, either.
I’d probably forfeited that privilege by not staying in touch after college.
But the idea of the crowd cheering for her, of a goofy bobblehead version of her big goalie mask and bright smile—it made me happy in a way that felt oddly personal.
“She’s going to love that,” I said.
“She’s earned it,” Dani said.
She leaned forward and rested her elbows on her knees. Her water bottle dangled loosely from her fingers.
“Cat and I have played together since we were eighteen,” she said. “College, national team camps, half a dozen world championships. Four Olympics.”
Her tone wasn’t bragging. If anything, it was reflective.
“She’s one of the best goalies USA Hockey’s ever had. And now,” Dani said, glancing down at the floor, “she’s sitting on the bench most nights waiting for the game to get out of hand so she can get a few minutes of ice time.”
The words weren’t bitter, but they weren’t light either.
“It’s the hardest part of this job,” Dani went on. “You give your life to it for twenty years. And then one day somebody younger and faster comes along and suddenly you’re the veteran presence in the locker room.”
She rolled the water bottle between her palms, thinking.
“Cat handles it better than most people would,” she opined. “She shows up early. Works harder than half the kids on the roster. Still the loudest voice in the room.”
Dani glanced up at me again.
“But I know it eats at her sometimes.”
I didn’t say anything. I wasn’t sure there was anything to say.
“And the thing is,” Dani added with a small shrug, “one day it’ll be me.”
The way she said it—so casually—made it sound inevitable.
“I’m thirty-six,” she continued. “There’s always someone younger coming up. Faster legs. Quicker hands. That’s the nature of the game.” She smiled faintly. “One day I’ll be the one wondering if the next contract offer is the last one.”
Dani seemed to shake herself. She stood and stretched her arms overhead until her back arched slightly.
“Come on.”
“Where are we going now?” I asked cautiously.
“Field trip.”
I followed Dani out of the weight room and down a short hallway that opened onto the practice rink. The moment we stepped through the doors, the temperature dropped.
The practice ice stretched out in front of us, smooth and empty under the bright arena lights. Without the usual noise of a game or practice, the space felt enormous.
Dani walked up to the glass and rested her forearms along the railing. Her gaze drifted out across the untouched ice.
I stopped to stand beside her. “Do you ever get tired of it?”
Dani turned her head slightly. “Of hockey?”
I nodded.
She was quiet for a moment, looking out across the ice.
“Never.”
Something about the way she said the word made my chest tighten a little. To be so sure of something.
Dani glanced over at me again. “When am I getting you out there?”
I huffed a small laugh. “I haven’t skated in a very long time.”
“Not a lot of ice rinks in Phoenix?” she asked.
I blinked.
I hadn’t told her where I’d been before taking the Boston job. Had she been following my career all this time?
I looked out at the ice instead of at her.
I was too much of a coward to ask.
So I just shook my head.
When I got back to Charlestown, my brain was still stuck in the weight room.
I pulled up in front of my parents’ building and grabbed my workbag from the passenger seat. The wind off the ocean had that sharp evening chill that made me glad I’d left the practice facility when I did.
The front door opened easily when I pushed it.
And I immediately heard my mother.
“Well, this isn’t ideal.”
I looked up the stairwell just in time to see her on the first landing with two grocery bags hooked over each arm and a third balanced awkwardly against her hip.
“Mom?”
She looked down and visibly brightened. “Oh good, you’re home.”
I jogged up a few steps and grabbed the bag that was about to slide out of her grip.
“You know you don’t have to carry these all in one trip, right?” I pointed out.
“I was being efficient,” she sniffed. “Besides, they’re not that heavy.”
“Uh huh.” I grabbed another bag and turned toward the stairs. “And you also know,” I said as we continued the climb, “you and Dad could sell this place and get something with an elevator.”
“We’re not selling the building.”
“You say that like I just suggested burning it down.”
“We’ve lived in this building for nearly forty years,” she said. “Your father practically rebuilt half of it himself.”
“That still doesn’t make the stairs any easier.”
She glanced back at me. “This is where we made all our memories. This is where we made you, Reesy.”
“Gross, Mom!” I groaned.
She laughed, entirely pleased with herself, and kept climbing.
“Besides,” she added, “you’re here now.”
“For now,” I said.
She waved a hand dismissively. “You say that.”
“I mean it. I’m going to find an apartment.”
She hummed like she didn’t quite believe me.
“I am,” I insisted.
“You just got back to Boston,” she said. “You don’t have to rush off again.”
“I’m not rushing,” I said. “I just don’t plan on living in my childhood bedroom forever.”
“It’s not your childhood bedroom,” she said. “It’s a perfectly nice studio apartment.”
“Attached to my parents’ place.”
“Conveniently located near people who love you and cook for you.”
We reached the third floor, and she nudged the apartment door open.
“Put those on the counter,” she said.
I did, pulling out milk and eggs while she started unloading the rest.
My phone buzzed in my jacket pocket. I pulled it out automatically, expecting a work email or maybe a message from the station about the following day’s schedule.
Instead, a single text sat at the top of my screen.
How did you enjoy your first elite training session?
A laugh escaped me before I could stop it.
“What?” my mom asked, glancing over from the stove.
“Nothing,” I said quickly, sliding the phone back into my jacket.
But the smile stayed there anyway.