Page 13

THIRTEEN

Tate

The stadium roars as Coach Jenkins gives us final instructions. Even if I tried to ignore the way my stomach is churning, the scoreboard reminds me—this is Game Seven of the Calder Cup Finals, tied with a minute left on the clock.

I grip my stick, my legs burning from the relentless pace. Chicago has been a brutal opponent—fast, aggressive, playing like they’ve got nothing to lose. But we’ve held them off just enough to give ourselves a shot.

When we take the ice, the face-off is in our zone. Brax steps in at center, and the Titans’ forward leans into him, trying to muscle him off the puck, but Brax resets and pulls it back cleanly to Leo.

He barely has time to move before a Chicago winger barrels toward him. He fakes right, dragging the puck just in time, but the hit lands anyway, sending the puck spinning loose.

I hustle toward it, reaching it just in time to pass it to Rourke, who fires a shot toward the goal. The goalie makes an insane save, sending the rebound flying straight into a mess of sticks and skates. Bodies crash together, with Brax and Leo in the mix, both trying to get a piece of it.

Then it’s gone, and I look down the ice to see their fastest player, Nathan Cross, breaking away with nothing but open space in front of him.

I react instantly, pushing off with everything I’ve got.

My skates carve hard into the ice as I chase him down.

He winds up, ready to fire on our new goalie, Miles, who’s been practicing for this moment since he joined us.

I dive forward, hooking his shot at the last possible second, causing the puck to veer wide of the net.

The crowd roars, but it’s not over. The puck is still loose, and Cross is scrambling, trying to recover, but I beat him to it, sweeping it around the boards to Rourke.

Brax is already flying down the ice. Rourke cuts inside past a Chicago defender before threading a pass to Brax, who doesn’t hesitate. He rips a shot, and the red light flashes while the horn blares.

I barely process what happens next before my teammates swarm me.

“Yes, Foster!” Brax shouts, shoving me into a headlock before shaking me like an excited golden retriever with a stuffed animal.

Leo grins. “That was insane.”

Rourke smacks my helmet. “That block! That’s going in the highlight reel.”

When we reach the locker room, the guys are in high spirits. No one expected us to take down Chicago in the final game, but we did. And we played our freaking hearts out.

Brax is still grinning as he strips off his helmet.

“Amazing shot at the end,” I tell him, giving him a high five as I pass.

“Well, it wouldn’t have been possible if you hadn’t stopped Cross from getting that breakaway,” he fires back. “I thought the game was over then.”

I shrug. “What can I say? I play good defense.”

“Yeah, you do!” Leo shouts from the other side of the room. “Heard Seattle had a scout at the game—looking at you.”

I pause. “Seriously?”

Leo nods. “Yeah. The wives and girlfriends were talking about it. ”

Brendan, our conditioning coach, steps into the locker room and lets out a sharp whistle. “Hey, everyone, Lauren needs you to hurry to the press conference,” he announces before turning to me. “Tate, someone’s here to see you.”

When I step into the hallway outside the locker room, Olivia stands next to two young kids in Crushers jerseys, bouncing excitedly in place.

“We tried to catch you before you hit the locker room, but the crowd was too loud,” Olivia says. “The kids were at the concession stand when I met you earlier, so I missed introducing you. This is my husband, Jake,” Olivia says, gesturing to the tall bearded guy next to her.

I shake his hand. “Thanks for coming tonight.”

“Fantastic game,” he says. “The kids loved it. Especially the way you stopped Chicago from scoring.”

“Was Lauren sitting with you?” I ask, looking to see if she’s around.

“No, she said she had schmoozing to do,” Olivia says. “That woman can’t stop working for even five minutes to enjoy the game.”

“She’s good at what she does,” I say, feeling a twinge of disappointment that she might have missed my best play. Maybe it’s because I wanted her to see the part of me that doesn’t need spin or strategy. The part that’s just me doing what I know how to do—play hockey.

“Kids, over here!” Olivia says as the kids run in circles outside the locker room. “Could you sign their jerseys?” Olivia asks, pulling a Sharpie from her purse.

I crouch down to their level. “Of course. What are your names?”

“I’m Camden.”

I sign my name on the back of Camden’s jersey as his sister steps forward. “And I’m Kaylie.” She has a spray of freckles across her nose and a crooked smile, but her hair is the same shade as Lauren’s .

I sign Kaylie’s jersey next and hand the pen back to Olivia as a little hand tugs at my jersey. “I want to play hockey like you,” Camden says.

“We just started lessons,” Kaylie says. “So he’s not that good yet.”

Her bluntness sounds even more like Lauren, and I can’t help but laugh. “Well, usually, there are some extra kids’ skates stored around here. Do you guys want to hit a puck into the net?”

“Only if it’s not too much trouble,” Olivia says. “Don’t you have to be at a press conference or something?”

“The press can wait a few minutes,” I say, noticing the look of excitement on the kids’ faces. A promise is a promise. When I was eight, a player from the San Jose Sharks took five minutes to show me how to hold a stick properly. Five minutes that completely changed my life.

I root through a storage closet and find some kid-sized skates and hockey sticks. We head to the rink, where Olivia helps lace up their skates.

Leading the kids onto the ice, I kneel to their level. “Okay, first things first,” I say. “When you swing your stick, you don’t want to?—”

Out of the corner of my eye, a blur of a black stick causes me to duck at the last second. I grab Kaylie’s hockey stick mid-air before it takes my eye out.

“Sweetie,” I say, leveling a look of gentle warning. “Let’s not send me to the ER tonight.”

“Oops.” She gives me a sheepish grin. “Sorry.”

“Let’s try this again. Without any injuries.”

I take a step back, steering clear of their sticks. “Okay, take your best shot.” I brace myself for wherever this commotion is about to go as they whack their pucks toward the net. Kaylie completely misses, while Camden’s puck flies the wrong way.

I nod. “Nice shots. Just, uh, in the wrong direction.”

Both of them giggle and scramble after their pucks, sliding across the ice with zero control. Olivia laughs, snapping a million pictures and smiling like I’ve just given her the best present of the year.

“All right,” I say, once again kneeling down to eye level with them. “After you learn to hit the puck, there’s one more thing to watch for. Do you know what happens when you try to score on a defenseman like me?”

They both shake their heads, eyes wide with anticipation. I drop my voice to a playful growl. “I turn into the big, bad defender. And do you know what that means?”

“What?” Camden whispers.

I crouch low, fingers curled like claws. “It means I will chase you. And I never, ever get tired.”

They look scared before Kaylie splinters the tension with a shriek. “RUN!”

They scatter across the ice, squealing with delight as I lumber after them in slow motion. When I finally lunge forward, Kaylie grabs on to my leg while Camden tackles my arm.

“Oh no!” I groan dramatically, staggering under their mighty attack. “The ferocious monsters have taken me down!” I pretend to struggle, falling in slow motion to the ice as they pile on me.

“This is adorable!” Olivia says catching all of it on her phone. “Where is Lauren? She should be getting pictures of this!”

I’m lying on the ice when Lauren’s voice slices through the air like a blade. “How can I take pictures when I’m busy tracking down a player who’s supposed to be in the press conference?”

I lazily sit up as Lauren marches toward the ice, heels clicking across the tunnel floor as she enters the arena.

“I’ve been stalling for fifteen minutes,” she says, glancing around at the confusion of children and hockey sticks littering the ice. “Rafael Marco is asking where his star defenseman disappeared to, and you’re out here playing monster.”

“Technically, you should be mad at them,” I say, nodding toward the two pint-sized attackers as their mother attempts to hustle them off the ice.

“Aunt Lauren, did you see?” Kaylie exclaims. “We took down a real hockey player!”

A fleeting expression crosses Lauren’s face. “Very impressive, Kaylie,” she says with a hint of a smile before she turns back to me. “But we need to go before this ends up on social media with the caption ‘Tate Foster: Missing in Action.’”

I skate after her, sliding on my guards when I exit the rink. “Come on, you have to admit, the kids are great PR for the hockey team.”

“If only the kids were the one with the PR problem,” she says, not looking back at me.

Olivia steps forward in my defense, holding up her phone. “I got some great shots of Tate.”

Lauren pauses to glance at Olivia’s phone, and for a moment, her professional veneer slips. “These are…actually pretty good.” She looks back at me. “You’re just lucky I have a soft spot for those two.”

“Lucky?” I say. So much for thanking me for giving her family special privileges no one else gets. “How about thank you? ”

She lets out a breath that sounds like an exasperated laugh. “Thank you for making my job harder?”

“I just gave your niece and nephew the best night of their lives. You want me to walk away mid-promise and explain to them why the press is more important than their five minutes of fun?”

Her vision drifts to Camden and Kaylie, who are giggling as they wobble on the ice.

Something shifts in her expression. “You’re right,” she says quietly.

“Thank you for keeping your promise to them. But Mr. Marco is expecting his star player, and right now, that’s you.

” She turns to head toward the conference room.

“Lauren, I usually don’t say anything at these press conferences anyway.” I follow her down the hall. “Nobody cares about defensemen.”

She glances back at me. She’s not just annoyed. She’s trying to help. And I’ve made her job more difficult. “The press wants to talk to tonight’s hero.”

She stops right outside the press conference room and turns to face me.

“That save at the end? Everyone saw it, including the Seattle scout. And this”—she gestures toward the closed doors—“is our moment to capitalize on it. I told them all you’d be here and they could ask you anything.

I’ve spent weeks trying to get them to see what I see in you. Don’t waste this opportunity.”

I study her, realizing she wants this for me, maybe even more than I want it for myself. “What exactly do you want me to do?”

She tilts her head. “For starters, get in there before Mr. Marco sends out a search party. And I don’t care how much you hate it, I want to see those dimples make another appearance.”

“First, the VIP sponsor photo. Now, this. I’m beginning to think you like the dimples, Sunny,” I say, wanting to needle her just a little more.

She looks away, flustered. We both know this is way more fun than a press conference. Lauren rarely lets her guard down, which is why she makes one heck of a PR agent.

She blinks before looking back at me. “What I notice doesn’t matter. The fact is, it’s an asset for your image. So use it.” She gently nudges me toward the door.

I let her push me forward, but I can’t help noticing she won’t quite meet my eyes. “If you say so, Sunny.”