Fake Skating(107)

So I’d stopped thinking about her altogether.

Hell, I was glad she was sick.

Her being there would’ve been too much.

After she left the other morning, I drove myself nuts trying to figure out what the hell had happened to make everything change so fast, because she’d seemed honest when she said it wasn’t about the fight.

But if Worthington and the fight had nothing to do with it, how had we gone from fucking perfect to her crying and breaking up with me?

It didn’t make any sense.

What the hell changed?

But the bottom line was that I couldn’t let it mess with my head. I didn’t have the luxury of being a heartbroken little bitch about this, because it was tourney time.

And we were facing St. John’s Academy in the quarterfinal.

Between having to play against the guy who could’ve had me arrested (which would’ve destroyed my future) but didn’t, and having to deal with the emotional bullshit of getting dumped a couple of days before the tournament, it was going to take every bit of mental focus I had to be a hundred percent locked in.

So the only thing I was thinking about was lacing up my skates and sending St. John’s home.

Shoving our win down Worthington’s throat.

“I’m a little dialed into other things right now,” I said, doing my best not to sound like a dick.

“For sure,” Vin said, nodding in agreement. He gestured to my headphones with a smirk. “God, I can’t even imagine what kind of softass bullshit you’re rocking for this game, Z.”

Everyone roasted me for listening to the opposite of “pump-up” music (aka Zeus’s Lady Tunes, Barczewski’s Emo Jams, Alec’s Pregame Cryfest) when gearing up for games, but I swear to God they had it all wrong. I didn’t need music to get me going—fuck, my goddamn brain never slowed when it came to hockey.

No, I needed the calm before the storm.

Which today came in the form of “exile,” though the lyrics were hitting a little too close, making the calm a little tougher to settle into than usual.

“Well, what the hell is on your playlist at the moment, jackass?” I asked. “What banger is fucking amping you?”

Vinny flashed an unrepentant grin, pointed at me, and said, “This motherfucker right here with the ludicrous question.”

“Aw, shit,” I said, laughing in spite of myself. “Walked right into it.”

Vinny was obsessed with Lady Gaga and had been on a kick all season, torturing us with his playlists whenever he had the opportunity.

“?‘How Bad Do U Want Me,’?” he said, “is fucking fueling me, man.”

And Vinny proceeded to hold up his phone and crank the volume so the entire bus had no choice but to give in to the Gaga.

And—God help me—give in they did.

We all did.

By the time the police escort left our side, the whole damn team was singing along.

When we got to the hotel, we dropped our bags in the conference room. It was reserved for our equipment, so we unloaded our stuff immediately, laying everything out to dry from practice, and then we checked into our rooms. I was staying with Vinny, which was good because he was pretty chill, and Richie and Kyle were in the room next door.

“I can’t believe they took our phones,” Kyle said when we walked through the lobby an hour later to get back on the bus to go to the banquet.

“Yeah, what the hell am I gonna do tonight to fall asleep?” Richie asked. “Lie down and just close my eyes like a pioneer?”

“Watch TV, dumbass,” I said, wishing we could fast-forward to game time tomorrow.

I knew—because my parents had reminded me about a hundred times—that I should soak up everything about the tournament, but it was hard when I just wanted to go.





CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN Dani




I almost couldn’t watch the game.

Seeing the guys get introduced, watching the fans going crazy, witnessing the place erupt in chants of “Mr. Hockey” when Alec was announced (because, according to my grandpa, he was the favorite to win the award)—everything inside me wanted to be at the sold-out X so badly.

But I was with Grandpa Mick, instead, watching from a distance.

After the panic attack yesterday, I cried like a blubbering baby as I told him about the postcards, the fake dating, the real dating, and then I told him the truth about why I really broke up with Alec (after swearing him to secrecy).

I’d needed to tell someone, and, as odd as it sounded, I trusted my grandpa more than almost anyone else.

I expected him to call Benji a little shit or something, but he’d just handed me a box of tissues and told me to blow.

Then he shocked me by saying I didn’t have to go to school on game day because I was going with him to Tom Reid’s Pub downtown to watch tournament games all day. We showed up at the hockey pub before lunch, and we’d been sitting there ever since.

It’d been kind of fun, watching games with Grandpa and learning hockey until Southview’s game started at seven. I was so nervous for Alec and so sad I wasn’t there that I couldn’t even sit; I had to pace around our table, cracking my knuckles and wringing my hands.

And the game was insane from the second the puck dropped.

Richie scored a goal ninety seconds in, a lucky empty netter that had Grandpa Mick and me yelling and high-fiving everyone around us. Alec played like he always did, somehow managing to be everywhere and everything all at once, doing an amazing job protecting the goalie. He looked faster than usual, if that was even possible, slamming players into the boards while doggedly going after the puck.