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CHAPTER 5

ALEXEI

As we head to the locker room, I block out the excited chatter.

Yeah, we’re up two. It’s not a runaway lead, though, and there are still two more periods.

Our trainers are waiting for us with fresh sports drinks and snacks for the guys who eat during breaks. We have two docs in house tonight, too, and Rusty’s getting his shoulder looked at by Grant Forge, an orthopaedic surgeon and sports medicine specialist.

Everyone has a different ritual.

Hooner strips out of his gear lightning fast and races for the showers. He does that every time he has a bad play. He claims it resets him, so his brain thinks the next period is a clean slate.

Whatever works.

There’s no way I could get my feet back into skates if I took them off mid-game. I strip down my top half, though, leaving my shorts and socks on. A fresh base layer top is hanging behind me in my stall, ready for me to put on before the next period.

And I jam headphones on, so I don’t have to listen to Malik Zondi and Roan “Smash” Dodaj go back and forth like excited puppies next to me.

I drain the water bottle handed to me, then I get up to go take a leak.

As I hang up my headphones on the hook inside my stall, I swear I hear Zondi say Emery’s name.

“What?” I snap.

Malik shrugs, unbothered by my bark. “Just saying I saw Rusty’s ex-girlfriend in the stands.”

I nod. I must have misheard. “Not Shannon?”

He shakes his head. “Someone else. Doesn’t matter.”

Smash laughs as Malik’s brown cheeks darken in embarrassment. “Doesn’t matter because she doesn’t return Zondi’s DMs.”

“She did.” He pauses. “Once.”

Smash dissolves into laughter, and I leave them to go relieve myself.

As I’m flushing the toilet, we get the five-minute warning, and everyone starts re-dressing.

I put on my new base layer, adjusting the built-in custom protection padding over my collarbone before quickly adding everything else.

I haven’t been challenged much in this game, which is a challenge in itself—staying focused, ready, for the moment when the momentum shifts and the shots start piling up.

I can’t have a certain blonde on my mind.

I certainly can’t be imagining her name in every overheard conversation, or dream up glimpses of her in the stands, wearing my jersey.

That’s never going to happen.