Page 84 of Blocked Score

Tied game. Two minutes left. The last season of my college career on the line.

Northeastern gets control of the puck. Hudson blocks two solid shots on goal, but we can’t seem to wrestle the puck from them. Until Rhys barrels into their center with a bone-clattering body check and snags it.

He fires it up the ice to Sebastian. Sebastian fakes out one of the Northeastern defenders and sends the puck to Tuck, whoskates like a streak of lightning around their net and slides in a wraparound goal.

4-3.

The twenty-five seconds on the clock aren’t enough for Northeastern to do anything with.

Time expires, and we advance.

It’s pandemonium in the locker room. Tuck has Jamie hoisted on his shoulders in a fireman’s carry and is spinning him around like a helicopter propeller. Sebastian, for some reason, is humping one of the lockers. Rhys rushes up to me and gives me a chest bump so hard I fall right onto my ass.

Hudson pulled everyone into bear hugs as soon as we got back here. That’s about the extent of how wild he gets to celebrate a win. Now he’s chatting with Summer on his phone.

Speaking of …

I go to my cubby to check my phone. The first thing I see is a notification for a package delivery.

Excitement pulses in my chest.

I made an order right before we left for our four-day stand in Massachusetts for the regionals. I sprung for one-day shipping, because I wanted to be sure it got there quick. For Scarlett.

It’s another gift for her. But a very different kind of gift than any I’ve bought for her so far. It’s a gift for me, too.

After being away from her for a year and a half, these four days feel too much to bear. Just thinking about it dulls some of the thrill of our victory and has an ache of longing sticking to my ribs.

But this delivery will help both of us soothe the sting of separation.

I open my texts and find that Scarlett’s already sent me a congratulations message, featuring all capital letters, plenty of exclamation points, and a strew of emojis.

I tap her contact icon and press the call button.

“Hey, there, future college hockey champion,” she answers.

I chuckle. “Don’t jinx it.”

“You’re right. Should I instead say break a?—”

I wince, cutting her off. “Let’s not go there.”

After we both laugh, I say, “Check for a package on the porch.”

I hear the sound of the door opening from her end of the phone. “Yep, you got something.”

A smirk arches on my lips.

“Be at your computer in an hour and a half. I’m going to FaceTime you. Have the package with you, but don’t open it until then.”

“What’s this all about?” she asks.

Anticipation flickers in my chest. “You’ll see.”

42

SCARLETT

Ihave no idea why Lane wants to FaceTime me instead of celebrating his big win with his teammates, but the husk in his voice when he told me to be at my computer with the package he ordered had me counting down every one of the last ninety minutes.

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