28. Grant
TWENTY-EIGHT
GRANT
After a pitstop at Amelia’s hotel so she can change into something comfortable, I scan my team ID outside the practice facility.
“Are any of your teammates joining us?” She cranes her neck and looks around the parking lot. “Am I going to have to explain why I’m in DC when I should be in Baltimore?”
“Nope. The guys are enjoying their days off. Coach’s office is at the arena, and the media isn’t allowed here.” I put my hand on the back of her seat as I pull into my usual spot. “This will be our secret.”
“Good to know.” Amelia’s shoulders relax, and she unbuckles her seatbelt.
“We might be on your home ice, but I always bring my lucky skates with me on road trips.” She hops out of the car, taking her black skates with her.
Bauer Vapor FlyLites, with red laces to match the Goldminers’ colors.
I wonder how long she’s had them. “This is going to be fun.”
“Damn.” I jog up the stairs and swipe my ID again, holding the door open for her. “You’re competitive about everything.”
“I’ve always been this way.” There’s a softness to her admission. Embarrassment in the dip of her chin as she falls in step beside me in the empty hallway. “I’ve tried to turn it off and be casual about things, but it hasn’t worked very well.”
“Fuck that. I’m a big believer in loudly loving what makes you happy. If people want to make fun of you, that’s on them.”
“That’s one of the reasons I like spending time with you.” Her arm brushes mine. One touch, and I swear I need to be resuscitated. “You never make me feel like I have to change who I am.”
“Never,” I reaffirm, nudging her side. “Be competitive as you want with me, Amelia. I can handle it.”
Her smile is warm when she sits next to me on the bench, scooting over so she can stretch out her legs.
We lace up our skates and I grab some stick options for her to choose from.
She surprises me when she goes with the CCM JetSpeed FT5, a heavier stick than the Bauer VaporLite I use that matches her skates.
I’m going to need to start a new notebook to keep track of all the hockey gear she likes, and I snap a quick photo of what she picked so I can jot it down later.
“Are you going lefty or righty today?” Amelia pulls her hair up into a ponytail so it’s out of her face. “And what are you going to do in New York?”
“Righty. Always feels more natural.” I chuck fifteen pucks across the ice and step away from the bench. “I’m not trying to be an asshole with this question, but you know how the Skills event runs, yeah?”
“There are a couple rounds, right? And it ends with an obstacle course.” She follows me on the ice with easy movements. “What events are you hoping to get?”
“Fastest skater, stick handling, one-timers, and the passing challenge. I’m decent enough at all of those to put up a good showing. If I get stuck with the hardest shot challenge, I’m fucked. My power could use some work.”
“Weak wrists, most likely.” Amelia taps her stick against a nearby puck. She slides her blade under it, lifting it with a toss before catching it back on her blade. “A slap shot would be your best bet.”
“My least favorite.” I scoop up my own puck, mimicking her. “Each target in the passing drill is worth different points.”
“Do you have anything to use for the targets today?”
“We have some cones. Those should work.” I skate back to our stuff and take my time to warm up my legs.
I reach over the boards, grabbing six cones and setting them up on their sides at various spots on the ice with the opening facing us.
“I know you’re strong as hell, but we can keep the intensity relaxed to start. ”
“You’re asking me to hold back?” She taps a puck before launching it straight at a target and sinking it perfectly. “I don’t like having to dim my shine for anyone, Everett.”
I let out an awed breath.
I’ve seen plenty of her old game highlights, but Amelia is an even better athlete in person.
Her shot is fluid, something I could watch for sixty minutes and not get bored.
She told me she felt a calling to coach, but there’s not a doubt in my mind she could sign with a PWHL team tomorrow and be one of the best in the league.
She’s beautiful all the time, but when she’s in her element, she’s fucking devastating.
“No.” I shake my head and fumble with my gloves, sliding them on my hands. “I’d never want you to hold back with me, Coach.”
“Line up,” she says, and the order sends a thrill racing through me. “I’ll start at center ice.”
She passes three pucks my way, and I nail two of them in the cones.
The third goes wide left, but I tell myself I’ll have more area to work with on the night of the event.
We move to the right side of the rink where I only land one shot.
I groan when the third ricochets off the cone and flies toward the boards.
“Eyes on the puck, Everett,” Amelia calls out. “You’re lifting your chin instead of keeping your attention on its path for the duration of your shot. It goes against your instinct to keep your eyes up during a game, but this is a different scenario.”
“Good feedback.” I reposition the cones and pass the pucks back to her. “I’ll fix it.”
And I do. I hit the three cones on the left side in quick succession, the angle perfectly linear from my release to the follow-through. I pump my fist and accept a high five from her as we move to the set of cones on the right.
I’m successful with two out of the three again, cursing under my breath when the last one clips the front of the target and comes to a stop just short.
“Better,” Amelia says, and the praise makes my body heat.
I want to be the best I can for her.
The third round is where I shine. My eyes lock on each puck from the second I touch it until it lands in its designated spot. I go six for six, hitting every single one, and I hold my stick above my head in celebration.
“Fuck yeah,” I say. “That felt good.”
“It’s fun to watch you respond to critique. You don’t question it; you fix the problem and move on.”
“Why would I question someone who knows what they’re talking about?” I use the hem of my shirt to wipe my forehead. “I can admit when what I’m doing isn’t working and I need to adjust it.”
“That’s why your ceiling is so high. Because you’re willing to not be right all the time.” Amelia glances at me. “Stick handling is next, right?”
I tuck her compliment close and say, “And backward skating, which is my weakness.”
“I’m surprised they’re not making you jump through a hoop of fire,” she says.
“Right? They should blindfold us too.”
“Shit.” Her laugh echoes around us, and, hell. It really is my favorite sound. “I’m proposing that to the Player’s Association for next year.”
“Evil.” I smile and knock all the pucks out of the way except for one. “Will you watch and see what I can work on?”
“Of course. Remember to keep your eyes on the puck again. You won’t have any defenders to track. The goal is proficiency.”
I start the drill and keep the puck close to my stick as I move around invisible barriers. I zig-zag back and forth until I reach center ice, turning a sharp corner and switching to skating backward.
“Eyes up now,” Amelia says from beside me. “Look over your shoulder so you keep your balance and don’t get too far over your toes.”
I adjust, staying upright without losing possession of the puck. At the final blue line I spin, pushing to my right. I pair a spatula lift with a toe drag and knock the puck in the goal.
“Nice job.” Amelia holds up her phone. A stopwatch is displayed on her screen. “Thirty seconds.”
“Thirty seconds?” I groan. “I need to be faster than that.”
“Work on your transitions between stations when you run it again. Anticipate it and react sooner.” She resets her phone. “I know you’re focusing on control, but you’re a great skater, Grant. Don’t be afraid to push the speed.”
“Another round,” I say, already making my way to the opposite end of the ice. “I’m going for twenty-eight seconds this time.”
I do better than that, clocking a twenty-seven-second run that leaves me drenched in sweat.
“Didn’t think I’d be getting a workout today.” I stop for water and to catch my breath. “I need to remember not to get frantic.”
“Controlled urgency is a good way to look at it.” She skates up to me and hops on the boards to sit. “You want to be quick, but you don’t want to be sloppy.”
“Do I look like I do anything sloppy?”
“No.” Her eyes travel from my hair to my face, moving down to my chest and arms. The tension between us is palpable, and I swear her cheeks are darker than they were before. “You look like you’d be very meticulous.”
I might not have a ton of experience, but the sure, impressed lilt in her tone, the slight tip of her head and teeth clamped on her bottom lip make me think there’s another meaning behind her observation.
Flirting, maybe?
Wishful thinking?
I’d be so fucking careful with her.
I take another sip of water and look away. I’m afraid if I don’t, I’ll push her against the plexiglass. I’ll show her how meticulous I’d like to be, how hard I’d try with her.
“Now is your chance to show off your speed in a race,” I say, hoping my voice doesn’t sound like it’s cracking in two. “End to end, turn at the goal line, then head back to where we started. First person to cross the blue line wins.”
“How about we agree it’s best two out of three? We’ll switch sides each turn to keep it fair. You know this place better than I do.”
“I’m sure I do, which is why I’ll even let you take the right side and I’ll go up the left. Maverick swears he moves faster on the right, but I don’t know if I believe him.”
“Guess you’re going to find out.”
We head for the far end of the ice, skating side by side.
“I’m scared,” I say, and her laugh echoes around us.
“Why?” she asks. “This is going to be fun, Everett.”
“More like this is going to be Coyote and Road Runner. Don’t drop an anvil on my head when you’re waiting for me at the finish, okay?”