Page 62 of Puck Wild


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Now the word scout drifted through the air like smoke from a house fire.

I scraped together a response. "What scout?"

Pickle bounced upright, his mullet echoing his movements. "Rockford, man! Coach mentioned it yesterday. They want to see you play." He beamed like he'd delivered the best news in hockey history instead of lighting a fuse to blow up my life.

An eerie silence reigned in the locker room.

Twenty guys focused on their equipment and pretended they weren't listening. Someone's gear bag zipped shut too loudly.

"Guess I better keep my trap shut during warm-ups then." I glared at Pickle.

Hog laughed, and a couple of other guys joined in. Usual locker room activities resumed.

Except for me. When I looked up, I saw Evan staring at me.

Our eyes met across the rubber mats and scattered gear, and an impenetrable fog descended over him.

He turned back to his skates, fingers working at the laces.

My heart pounded. It wasn't excitement. It was panic about what might happen next.

To say I was distracted during practice is an understatement. Coach's voice echoed around the arena. "Vegas! Stop trying to impress your imaginary girlfriend and play hockey!"

I couldn't stop thinking—the scout.

Tomorrow.

Watching.

My blade caught an edge during a simple crossover, and I nearly ate the boards. Pickle shot past me with a sympathetic wince.

Meanwhile, Evan had transformed into a defensive savant. Every breakout pass threaded perfectly through traffic. He calculated every angle to kill plays before they developed. His movements were precise and unstoppable.

I tried to catch his eye during line changes. He looked past me. I was as transparent as glass.

A play developed around me while I tracked Evan's movements instead of the puck. He picked off a pass at the blue line and immediately hit Kowalczyk with a stretch pass that carved through three defenders. It was a perfect tape-to-tape delivery.

Kowalczyk buried it five-hole.

Evan coasted back to position without celebrating. He didn't acknowledge the assist and didn't high-five anyone.

Is he angry? Disappointed? Already writing me off?

I bobbled the next puck that came my way and watched it squirt into the corner like a dying fish.

"Riley!" Coach yelled across the rink. "Water break. Now."

He skated over while I hunched against the boards, sucking air through my mouth guard. The rest of the team scattered toward the bench, but Coach planted himself between me and any escape routes.

"You're overthinking." His voice was almost fatherly in tone. "Don't get fancy tomorrow. All you need to do is show them you belong."

I nodded, but I heard his words wrong in my head.Show them.That wasn'tshow us.Was it an indication he thought I was already gone, bailing out on my Thunder Bay family?

"Yeah, Coach. I got it."

During the water break, I skated up close to Evan. He stood rigid, helmet tucked under his arm, staring at the far boards.

I wanted to say something. I could apologize for sucking at practice, promise I wasn't going anywhere, or ask what the hell was happening behind those gray eyes that used to see me.