CHAPTER 1 OF CRUISING ON ICE
“Go, go, go! Charge up, Voltage!” Less than ten seconds on the clock. I would have held my breath if I hadn’t needed it to scream.
My favorite player and the best guy I knew, Kingston Brewer, broke free of the opposing defensemen as the puck sailed toward him from across the ice.
The beating in my chest accelerated like a drumroll as I flattened my hands against the Plexiglas.
His right hand slid down the stick as he brought it back for a slap shot.
“You got this!” I shrieked. “Give ’em a Brews-ing!
” The black rubber disk made contact with the tape on his stick.
It whizzed over the goalie’s shoulder and into the back of the net.
I threw my arms in the air as the red light flashed and the horn sounded, signaling the end of the second overtime period.
I leapt onto my seat and yanked the pom-pom of my knit hat so I could throw it over the glass. A flock of caps flew toward the ice to celebrate his hat trick. Hockey was full of fun traditions, and this one never got old.
As his teammates skated toward him, Kingston looked over to me.
His brother and I were watching at ice level, next to the Palmer City Voltage’s penalty box.
Our eyes connected, and he winked, sending those butterflies that had made a home in my belly into a tailspin before he was tackled by Alexei Kriz, one of the team’s alternate captains, and then the rest of the team.
I tried to remain cool, but his attention was a drug I would never get enough of.
This Crush of All Crushes began when I first saw him.
He and my sister, Chelsea, became besties their freshman year of high school.
He was around. A lot. But I’d managed to avoid an introduction for months because I was an awkward sixth grader and .
. . he was not. I could never have let on about my crush, not then and not now.
The humiliation of his rejection was something I couldn’t bear to face.
Over time, and with much effort, I’d perfected the art of not showing anything more than friendship toward him.
I’d had to. Especially when Chelsea started dating Jackson, Kingston’s older brother, and our families got connected.
By the time I reached high school, Kingston had been recruited to play hockey for a prep school, and I spent most of those years pining for him and dating guys who never measured up.
It’d been easy to be friends with him when he moved back home to play for Palmer City’s minor-league team.
Safe, even. My unrequited crush was always doomed to go unnoticed while he still thought of me as the little sister he never had.
And it wasn’t like he would be introduced to any other perspective while in our small town.
In a lot of ways, everyone treated me as the runt of the litter growing up.
My small frame, high-pitched voice, and preference to hang out with Chelsea and her friends over my own peers made me the adorable and somewhat annoying tagalong of the neighborhood.
When we got older, Kingston was one of the few people who did take me seriously on occasion.
In the middle of a late-night talk after Chelsea and Jackson had fallen asleep in front of the movie we were watching, we recognized that my psychology training and extensive knowledge of his background made me his ideal mindset coach—and he realized just how desperately he needed one.
When I stepped into that role, I was a different Taylor Ranford in his eyes—intelligent, disciplined, perceptive, and most importantly, effective.
But still not a love interest.
“YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” I screamed as forcefully as my throat would allow, throwing my hands in the air and then reaching for Jackson.
He had tears in his eyes as he engulfed me in a bear hug. “They did it!”
“He did it!” I corrected, laughing. I fixed my gaze on the ice, where Kingston had all but disappeared under his team after scoring the winning goal of the championship series.
Jackson set me down and turned back toward the celebration below, no doubt looking for my sister while I high-fived everyone around me.
He and Chelsea were back together after breaking up while he was at med school.
Chelsea had moved back to town last summer to coach at our all-star cheer gym, where I taught preschoolers the basics of tumbling.
She also moonlighted as one of the Voltage’s spirit-squad members.
When they announced the three stars of the game, Kingston was number two, just behind the goalie. I was so incredibly proud of him. He skated to the center of the rink to thunderous applause and screaming. I’d need to drink some lemon tea tonight if I wanted to have a voice tomorrow.
“C’mon.” Jackson took my arm and reached for my bag.
“Let’s grab my family and see if we can get down to the ice.
” Their parents, Mr. and Dr. Brewer, liked to watch the games from Dr. Brewer’s corporate box.
Tonight, their whole family had crammed into the suite.
Jackson and I had popped in between periods, but we didn’t stay since we both preferred to watch the game from his seats at the glass.
We rushed up the steps and onto the concourse, where we almost collided with the entire Brewer family. Aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents—they’d all come out to see this game.
“Good, you’re already here. Let’s go!” Jackson nodded at his parents and dashed toward the elevator that would take us back down to the ice. I exchanged a shrug with Dr. Brewer and we followed. I wondered if Jackson’s urgency was fueled more by pride for his brother or excitement to see my sister.
I finger-combed my hair absently as I thought about how far Kingston had come in the past year, both with his mindset and his game.
When the third-line left winger for the Denver Edge, the Voltage’s NHL affiliate, had broken his hand, they’d needed to pull someone up, and they chose Kingston.
He went on to play or suit up for more games than I could count.
We spoke or texted—every day—about his goals, mindset, and the daily happenings in our lives.
Before every game, no matter where we were or what time of day it was, I gave him a pep talk.
When the Edge player returned just before the playoffs, Denver sent Kingston back down. It was a blow, especially when the Edge didn’t qualify. Many commentators speculated that they might have advanced if Kingston had stayed with the team.
We worked through it, though. My unofficial client stepped back into his starting-line role effortlessly and led his team to the cup.
His hat trick tonight was icing on the cake.
This ending was possibly the best any minor league athlete could aspire to and should prove to Kingston, beyond a doubt, that he was worthy of a spot on an NHL team.
By the time we pushed through the crowd and arrived at the ice door, all the players had taken their victory laps with the cup and were now posing for a team photo.
They nudged Kingston to the front, although he seemed reluctant to pose.
He’d always been a humble guy. Part of that came from him thinking he was never good enough.
He was a straight-up star. I was used to second-guessing myself because other people were always doubting what I could do, but Kingston?
And in a way, coaching him helped me coach myself.
My brain started believing the things it heard me say, and at his suggestion, I tried out for and made the national cheerleading team. I still couldn’t believe it.
The next several minutes were a blur as the team finished their celebration on the ice and headed to the locker room. I was glad they’d won the championship cup but sad the season was over.
Going to college so close to home had its perks, one of which was being able to come to all the games to see my sister and Kingston.
I had loved reconnecting with him this year and hanging out, and the summer months of no hockey games coming up were already making me feel lonely for our pregame pep talks.
And I’d miss the Gummi Bears he always had for me as compensation.
They were my vice. He even picked out the yellow and clear ones so I wouldn’t have to.
Sometimes I drove to Denver with Jackson when Kingston was playing for the Edge, and he would sneak out of the locker room so we could do our pep talks in person instead of via video chat.
Seeing him suited up always stirred those fluttery butterflies.
There was nothing more manly or protective to me than Kingston bulked up in all that gear, flashing me a devastating smile of gratitude.
Stop it, Taylor. You’re friends. You’ll still see him around. Think about your birthday cruise instead. Day after tomorrow, you and Chelsea will take that sisters vacation you’ve been planning forever to celebrate your graduation and you making the US national cheer team.
There was that. Three weeks from now, I’d be in Florida performing at the International Cheerleading Championship. The timing had worked out perfectly, leaving one week between the end of hockey season and the start of full-team competition practices.
I think I was possibly more excited for the cruise than I was for the International Cheerleading Championship, the ultimate culmination of my cheerleading career.
In part because Chelsea and I had never been on one before.
I was especially excited about the pirate theme.
It’d been a blast putting my costume together.
“Taylor!”
I jerked my head up when Jackson tugged my elbow. He held up his phone. “Chels said King has interviews. We should meet them in the family lounge.”
“Okay.”