Page 93 of Taking Sides

My face heats and then warmth spreads through my body. If I’d known this was going to be the reaction, I might have bought myself a Conrad Shepard jersey weeks ago.

The coach of the Moonshot Hockey team comes into the locker room, greeting the boys with a warm smile and a wave of one hand. The other is tucked into his suit pants pocket. He has a presence to him, and when the players give him their attention, so do the boys.

“Thanks for coming out tonight to help cheer us on,” he says. “I’ve heard great things about you boys. I hope this won’t be the last time I see some of you in this locker room.”

“Trying to replace us?” one of the Moonshot players shouts out from the back.

Their coach laughs it off, then pulls a piece of paper from his pocket. “Can I get one of you young men to read this for me?”

Landon is standing the closest to him and hesitantly takes the paper. “Is this the starting lineup?” he asks, voice filled with awe and trepidation.

“Sure is. Who do we have tonight?” Coach asks him.

Landon reads off the first name, “Galaxy.”

There’s a chorus of cheers, and the Moonshot players all clap once.

Landon glances around like he’s making sure it’s okay to continue, then reads the next one, “Bennett.”

Another cheer and clap.

“Marlowe.”

I catch Danny grinning as his teammates give him the same applause.

“Shepard.”

While everyone else cheers and claps, I look over and meet Conrad’s gaze. The rest of the room fades away as Landon reads the final two names. My skin pricks with an awareness that whatever it is we’ve been doing—it’s just taken a turn into something more. I have his name across my back, but I think my heart is firmly in his hands.

Up in the box, I get caught up in the game with the boys. Moonshot is playing Chicago. The teams are pretty evenly matched, but the home team is up by one going into the second period.

Conrad takes the ice, briefly looking up toward the box. I doubt he can see me from this distance, but goose bumps dot my skin all the same. He looks good down there. He’s effectively disrupted the Chicago offense so that they aren’t getting a lot of good looks at the goal.

I’ve also noticed there’s a shift in momentum when he’s on the ice. Everyone looks just a little sharper when he’s out there. And most importantly, he looks like he’s having fun. He’s serious when the situation calls for it, but between plays he seems to take it all in, smiling and cheesing it up with his teammates. If I weren’t already falling for him, watching him play hockey might seal the deal.

Chicago wins the face-off and the action moves to the far side of the rink. I take a sip of my Coke (they don’t have Dr Pepper for reasons unimaginable to me) and follow Conrad even when the puck is away from him. He’s in front of the net, carefully watching the Chicago play unfold. He shifts with every pass, every movement. By the relaxed way he holds himself I could almost believe he’s being lazy, but I’ve seen him play enough to know that he’s smart and patient, and his reflexes are sharp.

Chicago attempts a long pass and that’s when Conrad lunges into action. He’s intercepted the puck and flying down the ice before anyone else realizes it. I suck in a breath and get to my feet.

“Oh, that was sick,” Pepper says, standing next to me as Conrad skates fast toward the opposite goal.

Players on both teams chase after him, but he’s too fast. Conrad takes the puck to the right side and fires a shot over the goalie’s left shoulder. The goalpost lights up, and I’m shouting and jumping along with everyone else in the box.

His teammates crowd around him, making it impossible to see Conrad except for on the jumbotron. They zoom in on the celebration, and the moment Conrad comes into view, he’s looking up into the stands. He lifts a hand and points toward the top of the arena—toward us. That makes the boys go wild all over again.

“No freaking way. That was for us,” one of the boys says.

Grady leans over and whispers, “For us or for you?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I focus harder on cheering and clapping and avoiding Grady’s stare.

After the game, we head outside to wait for our bus back to the high school.

“Driver says he’s about two minutes out,” Grady says.

“Okay.” I check that the boys are all accounted for and then pull out my phone. I send Conrad a quick text to congratulate him on the game. I don’t expect him to answer right away. He’ll undoubtedly have to talk to the media and want to cool down and celebrate with his team.

I pocket my phone and wrap my arms around myself to keep warm. I left my jacket on the bus and am seriously regretting it right about now.