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She stands up and I can’t hear what they’re saying on the other end. “Oh crap. Tonight? No, I’m not going to forget every game this season. There’s no way we won against the Iceholes in the last game without me.”

It’s hard to keep a smile off my face with a hockey team name like that.

“Okay, I’ll hurry and get there. Did the schedule change or something? I’ll text you the address.”

She hangs up the phone and starts letting her thumbs fly across the screen.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” I ask, walking closer to her.

Kenzie shakes her head and finishes the text. “Nothing. I just forgot about my hockey game and my brothers are never going to let me live it down. We’re already short as it is. Damian is coming to pick me up.”

“I can drive you wherever you need,” I say, lifting my hand to rest on her upper arm.

She gives me a close lip smile and says, “Thanks, but if you’re as tired as I am, you might want to stay and relax.”

“What about your gear? How are you going to get that?”

With her bag in hand, she says, “My dad keeps it in the back room. Then I don’t get complaints from roommates that my stuff stinks.”

“Can I come watch?” Why am I pushing so hard?

Something flickers in her eyes and I’m not quite sure what it is. “If you want, sure.”

I grab the keys to the car and head to the garage.

For some reason I didn’t register the fact that she actually plays hockey. I remember a handful of girls at the hockey camps I went to growing up and I’m curious how good she really is. She claims she used to eat, breathe, and sleep hockey. She’s either amazing or awful. And the curiosity is killing me.

“You’re going to be bored,” she says, buckling up.

“No, I won’t. Watching beer league is fun.”

She shakes her head. “Not as fun as playing it as a career. We’re heading to the Alvey Ice Center.”

I grin. “I haven’t been there in a while. I used to skate there a lot as a kid.”

Kenzie doesn’t say anything, looking more agitated than I’ve seen her.

“Are you nervous?” I ask, trying to hold back a smile.

“A little,” she says, closing her eyes for a moment. “I know, it’s lame to get nervous because this doesn’t mean a whole lot, but the nerves usually fuel into energy once I get onto the ice.”

I drop her off and look for parking.

The rink is abuzz with people everywhere and I smile. Even this late at night, the ice brings people together.

I walk past the front desk and am surprised by the man standing there taking money for concessions. Once the line has cleared out, I say, “You’ve been working here for a while, right? I think I remember you from my youth hockey days.”

The man has salt and pepper hair, but his face has barely aged in the last ten to fifteen years.

“That I have. How are you, Mr. Hatch?” He reaches out a hand and I shake.

“It’s Trey, thanks. My dad is still the owner of the formal name. Remind me your name again,” I say, wishing I had a better memory for names.

“I’m Brian. What brings you here tonight, Trey?”

“Oh, um, my, uh, friend is playing. I asked if I could tag along.” I pause, connecting all the dots. “You’re the one I bring my skates to. I usually drop them off with someone up front but you do an incredible job sharpening my skates. I should’ve put that together before now.”

Brian leans over the counter and whispers, “Good luck. You’re going to have everyone in the vicinity wanting a picture or an autograph.” He leans back and nods. “I like it when I get your skates. Something about seeing you in a game and knowing I helped just a bit makes me happy.”