Page 27 of Cross Check

That was really important to hear. Thanks!

Probably going to talk with our team psychologist about this next week.

Hope she doesn’t think I’m overly emotional about things that shouldn’t be a big deal if I start to cry lol.

@AmeliaGreen

More men should cry.

@GMoneyEverett118

I’m 100% positive I cry more than you!!!

@AmeliaGreen

And that’s okay!

@GMoneyEverett118

Thanks for listening to me, Amelia.

@AmeliaGreen

That’s what friends are for. See you next month, Everett.

TWELVE

AMELIA

APRIL, SIX SEASONS AGO

I’m always up before my alarm on game days, but I’m awake even earlier today.

It’s barely five in the morning, and I’m staring at the ceiling. I’m grappling with why I can’t put a damper on the energy pulsing through me, and it’s annoying as hell.

I try to sort through the reasons that might explain my anxiousness, but I come up short.

The last game of the season doesn’t hold any special significance for the team—we could sit every starter and it wouldn’t matter. Being second in the Western Conference standings and at the top of the Central division means we’ve already punched our playoff ticket. My job isn’t on the chopping block, and my friends got home safe after the three of us had dinner together last night.

Everything is great, and yet, I can’t sit still.

In the deep recesses of my mind, in the spot where I’ve only allowed myself to go on a handful of occasions, I know why I’m so jittery.

We’re playing DC tonight, which means I’m going to see Grant.

And I don’t know how I feel about it.

He’s been sneaking into my thoughts in between the social media messages we’ve exchanged; a fleeting wonder about how his day is going. The smile I tuck away when I see a highlight of his assist on ESPN. A new photo from book club I stare at for longer than I should, Grant front and center with the widest grin on his face.

I throw my sheets back, desperate to get my morning started. My routine is perfectly crafted on game days. Caffeine, a long walk to stretch my legs, heading to the arena for a team meeting before lunch at home, then going back to the arena two and a half hours before puck drop.

There’s no room for thinking about him, and I’m glad about it.

Hair up in a ponytail, a hat pulled low, and bike shorts paired with a Goldminers Hockey quarter-zip, I make my way to my favorite coffee shop. The smell of fresh croissants revives me when I step inside, and I decide today is going to be a good day.

“Morning.” I smile at the barista. “Could I have a large coffee with cream and two sugars, please?”

“Sure.” She taps the register. “That’s three dollars. Anything else?”