Page 21 of The Obvious Check
Pheep!
The whistle slices through the arena, and the game erupts into motion. I barely register the puck hitting the ice before Scotty has it. I surge forward, dodging players as I try to keep pace with him. When Scotty spots me, he fires the puck my way, and I take it in stride, my skates carving the ice as I fly down the boards.
One of Brighton U’s defensemen, a brick house with more muscle than brains, moves to cut me off, but I see it coming a mile away, shifting my weight and slipping past him with a deke so filthy it should come with a warning label.
“Move it, Cade!” Erik’s voice cuts through the noise from somewhere behind as he trails the play.
I don’t need the fucking encouragement. I’m in the zone where nothing exists except the ice beneath my blades and the net ahead. Their goalie squares up, trying to track my movement. I wind up for a shot, see him flinch, and at the last second slide a pass across the crease to Scotty, who buries it in the open net.
The goal horn blares, and my teammates swarm me as we celebrate the first goal of the game.
“Nice feed!” Scotty says, slapping my helmet as we skate back to the bench and the next line is up.
Coach McKibbon slaps my shoulder as I walk past. “Good start,” he mutters and I tip my chin in acknowledgment before taking my seat.
Even though I should be watching the play, my eyes betray me, drifting to the Covey Crusher’s mascot, Crushie, and the two painfully empty seats next to him.
She’s not here.
Yet.
There’s my overly hopeful brain hoping for something that clearly is nothing.
When Coach calls our line back into the game, I switch my focus. Winning. That’s the most important thing to do when I’m on the ice. Shift after shift, I feel like I’m flying. The puck seems to follow me. My every pass is crisp, every shot is sharp, and halfway through the first period, I intercept a lazy breakout pass from one of their defensemen and find myself alone in the slot. Without hesitation, I snap a wrist shot toward the top corner of the net and it sails past the goalie.
“Bright scores!” The announcer’s voice echoes through the arena and the crowd erupts.
“Dude, who sucked your dick to make you play like that?” Erik asks when we’re heading into the locker room after the first period. He slaps me on the back hard enough to dislodge a kidney as he grins from ear to ear.
“No one,” I say, trying to casually glance over my shoulder at the stands without looking like a lovesick moron. Unfortunately, there are too many bodies in the way for me to see the only seats I give a damn about.
Erik whacks my ass with his glove, pushing me forward into the locker room.
“Then give your hand an extra clap tonight because it’s doing an impeccable job.”
I shake my head, making my way over to my cubby, and start to tape my stick with more focus than the task deserves.
“It’s not my hand,” I mumble under my breath, knowing damn well it’s the green-eyed girl who isn’t even here that’s got me playing like I’m possessed.
“Then what’s the deal?” He playfully nudges me on the shoulder before chugging down his water.
“Yeah,” Scotty chimes in from the other side of the locker room. He’s sitting next to Dash, who hasn’t taken his helmet off since the start of the game. Sometimes he doesn’t. He’s weird like that. “You’re acting differently.”
“In what way?”
“Well, you aren’t scowling at our goalie, for one thing.” He nudges Dash, who answers with a grumble.
I do my best to tame the twitch of my lips. “Just feeling good, I guess.”
“Feeling good, huh?” Scotty smirks, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Does this have anything to do with that girl?”
“Savannah,” I quip without really thinking.
“Oh, shit. Did you finally make a move?” Erik asks excitedly, pushing me in jest.
I sigh with a nod, realizing I’m going to have to give them something now that I opened the door. “Asked Coach if I could have the family tickets next to Todd tonight and offered them to her.”
“Wait, you gave her the best tickets in the house just to ask her out. Bold move.”
