Chapter 16
“Come on. Come on. Come on,” I whisper under my breath, watching the play in front of me, and desperately wanting to be out there.
My knee won’t quit bouncing, and I’m counting down the seconds until I’m called back onto the ice. I rest my chin on the stick, watching Henry, our newest center who transferred at the end of last year, run Brooks through another ridiculous play.
The guy makes me sweat. He’s good—really good. On one of my off days, he could probably outplay me, and that thought alone is enough to remind me to never be complacent.
Yeah, I’ve earned my spot as one of the top centers in college hockey, but that doesn’t mean I get to relax. There’s always someone coming for your place. Always someone hungry enough to take it.
He can try, but I’m not giving up a damn thing. Not when I’ve fought this hard to get here.
And I’ve earned it. I fucking earned it through coming early to every practice and studying every team we played. I didn’t party. Girls are bored of me because I’ve never shown them any interest. My sole focus for the last year has been my classes and hockey. Always hockey.
“Call me out there,” I mutter.
I want to play so fucking badly.
I glance over at Coach McKibbon, wanting to remind him I’m here, but he doesn’t look at me.
Not once. He’s locked in a conversation with Erik, dissecting our last rush up the ice.
Can’t say I blame him; the guy practically gift-wrapped two goals for me with his assists, so of course Coach is all over him.
My lips curl a little with mixed feelings about my teammate, only tempered down when I see Amelia smiling and waving at me from across the ice.
She looks adorable in a Crushers beanie and my jersey.
I give her a short wave back, but focus back on the game. Amelia knows how important it is to me so she’d understand.
Buzz.
“GOAL! Covey Crushers,” the announcer calls.
I stand, clapping Henry's goal, giving us a 3-1 lead. It’s good, but not good enough. St. Michael’s has been sluggish all game, and if I can get one more goal, we might actually settle into a lead that feels safe.
“First line. You're up,” Coach says.
Fucking finally.
I'm on my skates and on the ice before he finishes.
“Let's do this.” Erik bumps my shoulder.
I grunt in response, still not completely over everything that went down between us last year.
It wasn’t just that he turned my love life into a joke. He torpedoed the only real chance I’d ever had with Laura.
It took me six months before I'd pass him the puck in practice.
The only reason we're on speaking terms now is because when Cade and Dash left for the Atlanta Anglerfish, he was promoted to my line. That, and we still live in the same dorm, which means I’m forced to sit through the occasional movie night with him if I want to use the common room, but it never goes past that.
He tried a couple of times to apologize and have a heart-to-heart, but honestly, it felt like I was trying to talk to Cade’s dog, Stanley. Eager to please, but no real understanding of what he did wrong.
The important thing is he doesn’t meddle in my life anymore. It’s mainly because he’s too busy sticking his nose into some football player’s relationship drama. Whatever he’s doing over there keeps him occupied and far, far away from mine.
The second the puck hits my stick, I push past Nick Caine, St. Michael's center, and charge the net. In just one flick of the wrist, I've hit it over the St. Michael's goalie, Jensen, straight into the top left corner of the net.
4 -1.
The goal horn blasts through the arena, and I skate straight toward the boards where Amelia’s standing. I thump my glove against the glass right in front of her. Her smile is so bright it makes the whole play feel twice as good.
She’s jumping up and down, her arms flailing with zero shame. I can’t make out her voice, but I can tell she’s chanting along with the rest of the arena.
Scotty! Scotty! Scotty!
Hear that? That’s my name they’re shouting. Not my father’s.
Alex is at my side in an instant and drapes his arm over my shoulder as he cheers alongside me.
“Fucking beautiful, Hendricks!” Alex bellows in my ear. “That's how you finish a goddamn hat trick!”
I pull away from Alex, skating back to center ice for the face-off.
St. Michael's regroups while their coach yells obscenities from the bench. They're desperate now, pulling their goalie—the weird one who likes to serenade the post when no one is looking—with eight minutes left in the third.
It's a risky move, but they've got nothing to lose.
The puck drops, and I win it clean, snapping it back to our defenseman. I position myself near the blue line, watching the play develop. Their forward makes a sloppy pass that Alex intercepts, and suddenly we're on a three-on-two breakaway.
I'm flying down the left wing, my stick ready. Alex has the puck in the center, Erik on the right. The two St. Michael's defenders are scrambling, trying to cover all three of us, but we’re too quick.
Alex fakes left, drawing both defenders toward him, then dishes it across to Erik, but Erik doesn't take the shot—he sends it right back to me, a perfect tape-to-tape pass that lands on my blade.
Empty net. Wide open.
I pull my stick back and—
A St. Michael's defender comes out of nowhere, hooking my stick just as I release. The puck goes wide, sliding harmlessly past the empty net and around the boards.
“Fuck!” The word explodes out of me as the ref's arm shoots up.
It’s a power play.
I skate to the bench, my jaw clenched. Coach nods at me as I step off.
The second line takes over, and I drop onto the bench beside Alex, watching as they set up in the offensive zone. My leg starts bouncing again, but this time it's different. Not anticipation. Just… restlessness.
Amelia catches my eye from the stands again, giving me a thumbs-up. I force a smile, too tense to think about anything other than this game. We might be leading, but things can change so quickly.
Two minutes left. Our guys are running down the clock, keeping possession, making St. Michael's chase us.
When the final buzzer sounds, the bench erupts. 4-1. Another win. Another three points for me.
I get back onto the ice and shake hands with the opposing team.
“Good game, Hendricks,” Nick says with a wide grin. I swear that dude could be having the worst day of his life and he’d still smile through it.
“Thanks.”
Right before I skate off the ice, I glance back to Amelia and mouth “meet me outside the locker room.”
She nods, offering me a thumbs-up as I head off the ice.
I'm halfway through unlacing my skates when the locker room door swings open.
Bang!
“Big bro!”
Amelia’s voice echoes through the room, making everyone stop. At least she’s loud enough to announce it so everyone can cover themselves.
She appears in the doorway, her arms thrown open as she makes a beeline toward me. I get to my feet, opening my own arms to catch her in a hug.
That’s when I spot Dan the cameraman trailing right behind her.
That means Jerry can’t be far behind. My smile drops.
Should've known our dad would get her to film her campus tour. I’m surprised Coach McKibbon allowed them down here.
Surely, this affects the TV rights deal with Chally Sports.
Although, I guess this is the locker room and not technically the ice.
I guess one thing that came out of my father’s constant presence here last year: it got the Crushers noticed, and after we made our first real run at a National Championship, the broadcasters were interested.
That gave me the opportunity to finally be anonymous.
To be a team player for the Crushers instead of my dad’s.
“Ames, you were supposed to meet me outside,” I say with a pointed glare. Thankfully, most of my teammates are currently in the shower and not here, but still.
“I know, I know!” She pulls back, still beaming. “But I wanted to surprise you! That was such an amazing game, Scotty. Three goals! You were incredible out there.”
“Thanks,” I mutter, glancing at Dan the cameraman who's walking behind her, albeit with the camera down. I’m guessing he’s been told he’s not allowed to film in here, but has been forced to escort Amelia because I won’t even look at Jerry these days. “You’re not filming, right? Coach McKibbon—”
“Oh, relax. The camera's off.” She waves her hand dismissively. “Dad wants some B-roll for the campus tour segment, which we'll film tomorrow morning. No filming in or around the arena and definitely no filming of you unless you’ve consented,” she sasses back.
After the birthday incident, I had to be honest with my father about the cameras. I didn’t go into detail; I just told him that I wanted to have more privacy while at college, which seemed to work. It was an agreement that I’d still film, but only on my terms.
“Why is Dan here?” I tip my chin in his direction, then wave. The guy is my dad's favorite and has been with us since the start of the show.
“He and Jerry just wanted to make sure I got to you safely,” she says with a shrug. “You know Dad. Since I wouldn't let him come with me to the campus tour, he thought I wouldn't notice Dan or Jerry suddenly acting like concerned fathers.”
Amelia’s eyes flick over my shoulder, and she clears her throat. “Alex, Brooks, would you two like to come to dinner with us?”
I follow her gaze and instantly regret it. The guys are standing there in towels with water still dripping down their chests. Her eyes are roaming.
Roaming in ways I do not want to think about.
“Amelia!” I say sharply. “You can stay here, but please stop staring at my friends.”
She whacks my chest, still not looking at me. “Oh, please, bro.” She waves her hand in their direction. “You act like there's nothing to look at.”
Brooks mutters something under his breath.
“Surprised you can see anything under all of Brooks’ chest hair.”
Amelia tips on her toes. “That’s the best part.”
“Amelia.” I say, throwing her another warning, but she ignores me. She always does. Amelia has such a cute face, that she can get away with saying anything and people still like her.
“Brooks, Alex, are you guys in?”
They look at each other hesitantly, then back to me.
I shrug and pull off my jersey. “I don’t care.”
“Sure,” Alex drawls out.
Brooks nods too. “Yeah, I could eat.”
“Perfect.” Amelia claps once as she scans the room. “Oh, Henry!” she calls suddenly.
He freezes mid-tug of his jersey tug, his eyes wide. “Me?”
“Yes, you.” She beams. “That goal you scored?” She puts her fingers to her lips, then does a chef's kiss gesture. “It was gorgeous. Come to dinner with us.”
Henry’s ears turn pink. Poor guy hasn't had a girl talk to him here since it came out he dated and subsequently cheated on Cade's larger-than-life sister Madison. “Uh… sure? Yeah. Thanks.”
I scrub my hand down my face. “Amelia, please stop collecting my teammates.”
“Are you saying this isn’t the hockey equivalent to Pokémon?” she asks innocently, her blue eyes wide, completely unbothered. “It’ll be fun, and Henry’s adorable.”
Henry coughs, then focuses on something in his locker.
When Erik steps out of the showers, his hair is dripping, his towel is slung low on his hips, and he’s clenching his stomach, making his six-pack more visible. He’s clearly trying to look like he’s not listening. He’s absolutely listening.
Amelia points at him. “You should come too, Steele.”
Erik stops in his tracks and points his thumb to his chest. “M-Me?”
“Yes, you. You guys played so well together today—you should come out with us.”
“You okay with that, Hendricks?” He gives me a raised brow.
“Oh, wait.” Amelia snaps her fingers, pointing between the two of us. “Are you the one who ruined Scotty’s chances with fountain girl?”
Fountain girl.
I hate that's what Laura's been reduced to, but in everyone else's world around me, that is exactly who she is.
No one knows about the fact that we were just on the cusp of something real. I've kept that secret from everyone.
I kept my word to her. I fixed that swing, and never texted her, even though I’d typed out a message multiple times. Each time I ended up deleting it because I wanted to respect her.
Still, I do sometimes wonder what would have happened between us if we hadn’t kept everything a secret, or she had heard me out, but I get it. I fucked up.
“I wouldn't want to intrude,” Erik drawls out.
“Intrude all you want,” Amelia answers for me before patting my cheek. “You’re going. They’re going. Dan is driving. End of discussion.”
Dan, the cameraman-bodyguard hybrid, gives me a grim thumbs-up.
I groan, grabbing my shirt. “Fine. But if Dad shows up because you GPS-shared us again, I’m leaving.”