Page 75 of High Sticking the Heart

Why not?

Me:

My dad wouldn’t like it

Wish you were coming

Why aren’t you btw?

Sunshine:

Well, I like you in your hat Thatcher

Wish you wore it more…

Apparently the paperwork for my travel arrangements was lost.

It’s fine though it’s just preseason, and I made sure I’m all good from now on. Monroe will be focused on experimenting with line combinations and testing new strategies. I can’t help with that anyway.

I already gave him my player evaluations, so really, he doesn’t need me there.

Me:

I need you.

Sunshine:

You have me, Thatcher.

I’ll cheer you on. Always.

THIRTY-FOUR

DALTON

HERE LIES DALTON. KILLED DUE TO HIS DUMBASS DECISIONS.

What the fuck did it mean if she sent a heart emoji?

How did I ask her to send me a picture of herself without sounding like a creep?

“Hey, Cap.” Jimenez snuck up beside me, jolting me out of the internal question I’d yet to come up with an answer for since the night before. “Woah. When did you become such a fan of sugar-free Red Bull? I don’t think I’ve seen you ever drink an energy drink in our entire ten years of friendship.”

I pulled my screen away from the nosy fucker, glaring at him over my shoulder. Instead of getting the silent message and minding his own damn business, his smile spread, eyes twinkling with mischief.

Fuck me. Here we go.

“But I do know of a ball-busting Mexicana who drinks those.” He slung an arm over my shoulder. “Cap, are you buying things for Ari?”

“She is my girlfriend,” I grumbled, grabbing my bag so we could make our way out to Betty.

He snorted. “I think you can afford something more than a can of Red Bull.” If only he’d seen the receipt for the dresser. “God, you’ve been out of the game that long? You’re supposed to get like some lingerie or something for your girlfriend.”

I glared at him, but his shit-eating grin only grew as we made our way to my car, the others all still licking their wounds from practice in the locker room.

Monroe hadn’t let up one bit today. It was like he was on a mission to push us past our limits before preseason started Monday. I could still feel the sting from those relentless puck battles and backchecking drills. My legs were heavier, and my lungs were burning on the ice. Monroe wanted us sharp—hungry.

I glanced over at Jimenez, who was rolling his shoulders and muttering about needing an ice bath. The rookies had looked even worse, seconds away from collapsing. Still, I could feel the fire in the team, that drive simmering just below the surface.