Page 14 of Drop the Mitts

“You wait.”

Grace groaned. “That’s the worst advice you’ve ever given me.”

Her mom laughed. “I know. But it’s the truth. This is one of those things. You don’t have enough information, but at somepoint, you will. You have to find a way to weather this storm until you get some answers. Can you jump into a hobby? Go out with friends? Do something to take your mind off it?”

No, no, and no. Her friends here were all connected with Jenna and Country, and while she’d survived the game the night before, she didn’t relish the idea of playing pretend a second time.

“You could go out dancing—ooh!—or take a Zumba class! I just did one with Lori for the first time the other day. I didn’t think my hips moved like that anymore.”

Grace laughed. “Yeah, not doing Zumba.” The last time she’d danced at a club in her twenties, she’d nearly taken out a guy’s eye. She had less rhythm than Michael Cera in Superbad. “But thank you, Mom. I’ll figure it out. I know you probably need to eat. Lunch is over at one?”

“It is, but if you need to keep talking?—”

“No, I’m good.” She wasn’t good, but no amount of conversation would solve that.

“Alright, well keep me updated?”

“I will.”

“What’s the worst case scenario, Grace?”

She blew out a shaky breath. “That it’s all my fault and I ruin my friends’ lives forever?”

“Or you saved a mother from losing her baby. There are always different angles, and sometimes it’s hard to see all of them. People are more resilient than you think. Just look at us if you need proof.”

Grace nodded, her throat tight. “Love you, Mom.”

“Love you, too.” She hit the red button to end the call, then swivelled back to her computer, and her heart lurched to a stop. There, at the top of her inbox, was a brand-new bolded message.

Chapter

Five

André

This was their rink.Their damn house. And yet, here they were, tied three to three in the third period against Mills Hoodie, a team that had no business hanging with them this long.

André dug his blade into the ice, heart hammering with every rattle of the boards. This was when hockey got good. When the game stopped being about systems and started being about who wanted it more.

The Snowballs were on the kill, twenty seconds left on a bullshit hooking penalty against Ryan Vargo. Mills Hoodie had their top unit out, their big defenceman quarterbacking from the point, waiting for an opening.

Sean anchored the PK like a brick wall, stick active, eyes locked in. Mike was with him, covering the low slot, ready to eat a shot if he had to. Country and André were up front, running the chaos.

The puck cycled back to the point with a bad bounce, and that was all Country needed. He read it like he was sniffing out a storm. Country jumped the lane, chipped the puck past their D-man, and suddenly, they were flying up the ice—two-on-one, short-handed.

The crowd exploded. André caught up fast, the rush unfolding perfectly. Country had the puck, dragging the defender toward him, waiting, waiting?—

Then he flipped a saucer pass over the guy’s stick. It rolled head over tits to the top of the net, but André caught it on the tape and flicked it back. Their goalie snatched at it with his glove, but it ricocheted. He dropped and lunged right, Country flicked left.

The red light flashed, and the crowd roared. André collided with Country against the boards, grunting when Mike and Sean joined the huddle.

They skated back to the bench, Country pumping his fist. Up one. Now they only had to lock it down.

They played out the next ten, but with five minutes left, Mills Hoodie was getting desperate. Their forecheck had gone full kamikaze, throwing everything at the net. Boyd was blocking faster than a twenty-two-year-old blonde on Hinge. Brett chirped a guy in front of the net, cross-checking him lower than the refs could see.

André loved this shit.

Finally, Mills Hoodie pulled their goalie, and in the chaos, he poked the puck free. Tyler grabbed it. No hesitation—he launched it from just past their own blue line.

---