Page 101 of XOXO, Summer
“I stand corrected,” I say, unflinching. “I’ve never taken out a teammate who didn’t deserve it.”
“Neither has Landers.” He turns away from me, clapping his hands to gather the team’s attention. “Get back out there, Landers. Try to remember you’re on the same team as Sutton.”
Landers skates by me, pointedly not looking my way. He’s skating a little stiffer than usual. It’s the posture of someone who knows they now have a mark on their forehead.
Good.
“Don’t fuck with the big dogs, little puppy, or you’re going to find out who’s boss in this barn,” I yell at him.
He keeps skating, giving no indication that he heard me. But he did. We both know it.
I take a breath and give myself a second to recenter.
There’s so much work to be done before the season starts, and by the looks of things, I’m not sure the preseasonis enough time to get our shit together. There’s a lot of talent on the ice, and we’re fortunate to have veterans back for another year. But we’re just not gelling as a team. We’re not coming together. And if these new guys don’t step up and get their heads on straight, we never will.
I glance at Coach. “You sure you can pull this team together in two weeks before preseason starts?”
He takes off his hat, scratching between the few hairs hanging on for dear life. His gaze sweeps across the arena. With every inch it moves, his frown deepens.
“This is what we have to work with,” he says, putting his hat back on. “We have the best players in the league. If we can stop the rookie’s bad habits and the veteran’s egos, we might have a chance.”
I feel his sigh in my hockey soul.
“Whatever happens,” I say. “It’s going to be a hell of a season.”
“It sure is.” He motions for me to get back on the ice. “Now let’s get to work.”
The next few hours go by quickly—thankfully, with no additional blindsides or bullshit. Everyone puts their heads down and does their job. By the end of practice, I’m slightly more hopeful that we can create some semblance of an actual team before we take the ice against an opponent.
I hang around the bench until everyone else has gone to the locker room, then grab my stick and a puck. It’s my favorite time of the workday. With the arena quiet and my body calm after a blistering practice, I have the place to myself. I missed having the warm-up before practice because I had to run a few errands. Important, but it stole the time I like to put in prior to dealing with others.
This is where champions are made. It’s where you getahead. Working on the basics, creating muscle memory—putting in time when everyone else is relaxing. This is the time that matters.
I work on a few shots that gave me a bit of trouble today and kill another hour. It’s one hour less I’ll have at home, missing Summer.
Fuck, I miss her.
I miss the way she laughs at the most random things and the way her smile lights up my insides. I crave her touch, kisses, the taste of her tongue first thing in the morning. Every day without her feels off. Unbalanced. Incomplete. Less in every way.
I just . . .I love her.
“Screw this,” I mutter, heading for the tunnel. I need to hear her voice. In reality, I need to see her, to touch her, but hearing her voice will have to suffice.
But just as I turn toward the exit, it’s not the mouth of the tunnel that catches my eye. It’s the woman in the stands just to the right of it.
Ten rows up.
Summer stands.
My speed slows and a smile stretches across my face.She’s here?As if she sensed the desperation I’ve been feeling.
She comes running down the steps to the edge of the tunnel and leans over. “Can I have your autograph, Maverick?” she teases.
Setting my stick against the wall, I chuckle. “I can do you one better.” I pull off my gloves, dropping them on the floor and dumping my helmet right after.
I missed that smile shining for me like I’m the only one in the world deserving of its light.
“Oh yeah?” she asks, grinning. “What’s that?”
