Page 6 of Home for the Hockey-Days

She rubs her palms down my arms. “Tranquilo, amigo. We’ll figure it out.”

Air flows into my lungs a little easier on the next breath. “You’ll help me?”

“Of course I’ll help you.” She scrunches her face up like she’s offended I implied otherwise. “We’re family.”

Something unknots in my chest, just enough for a breathto snake past and into my lungs. “I swear, Hen. I’ll pay you back. I promise.”

She nods. “I know you will. It’s all going to be okay.”

I have no idea how things will be okay, but my bestie is going to bail me out long enough to figure out a path forward.

So much for a Merry fucking Christmas.

Guess I’m not giving up that tutoring gig after all.

CHAPTER 3

August

Ihate having nothing to do.

Too much time with my own thoughts is never a good thing. Especially when I’m thinking about the beautiful, shell-shocked woman who rear-ended my car yesterday. I want to be furious, she took away my freedom, my vehicle, and I have no idea who she is.

She didn’t write down a name in my notebook, only her address and cell number, and I didn’t notice until I got back to the hockey house. I was too busy trying to keep her upright. She shook so hard I have no idea how her legs didn’t buckle underneath her.

So, when the Eastern Iowa Airport broadcasts yet another round of delays due to the snow storm which seems to be taking a dump over Cedar Rapids right now, I can’t help but groan.

Waste of fucking time.

At the announcement over the intercom, those on the team who aren’t catching flies with their Zs groan with me. We’ve been here for hours, as evidenced by the two teams of snoring hockey players stinking up the departures area. Ourteam, the Cedar Rapids Raccoons and the Wisconsin Wolves. They were in town for a game last night, and now we’re all fucking stuck.

Our collective optimism has long since been buried under the inches of snow falling outside. We’re grumpy, we’re tired, and we’re fucking grounded. Not only that, but the Christmas playlist that’s been on repeat since we got here is making me want to stab myself in the ears.

I wish someone would just call it, make the executive decision and say, “Hey, just fucking go home. We aren’t sending planes up in this white, fluffy shit today.” But that would be too close to common sense, so instead, we wait. And we wait.

And we fucking wait.

Raffi and Tate both dig out their guitars from their cases. I guess excess baggage isn’t an issue for people with deep pockets. They start strumming some tune I’ve never heard before, but even my tone deaf self can admit they sound pretty good together.

I close my eyes and try to let myself sink into the music, let it weave its restorative powers into my soul. My muscles are tense, wound so tight I’m afraid something simple like a sneeze will break me into pieces. I haven’t slept for four days, not since I got pulled into Coach’s office and told I need to pull my socks up, or I’m off the team.

My chest knots tighter.

It’s my final year in college, and all I’ve ever wanted to do was play hockey in the NHL like my uncle Bob. I’ve never been book smart, in fact, most days I feel dumb as a bag of rocks. I never planned to go to college, but the scholarship brought with it a crack in the door to fulfill my dream, so I crammed my toes in there and urged it open, one hard-earned test paper at a time.

The thought that I could lose it all, that the NHL is within my grasp, and I could fuck it all up just because I can’tmath... Well, that makes my stomach churn. I found a tutor. Or rather, my hockey team found me a tutor, Rowan Armistead.

Her name sounds kinda stuffy. And she hasn’t even bothered to write me back yet. Kinda rude.

I hope she has a magic, wicked smart wand she can wave at me, because Coach said the team can’t afford to lose its captain.

And we both know I can’t afford to lose the team.

My older brother is in prison for stealing cars. I have three cousins in foster care because their parents are addicts or crooks, and I’m the first in my family to go to college. To go... anywhere, really.

The pressure is immense. Not even from my family, but from myself.

I don’t want to fail. I can’t fail, I won’t accept it. So if I need some nerdy know-it-all to teach me how to count, I don’t have the luxury of being affronted. I need to suck it up and find a way to scrape a pass.

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