Page 38 of Blocked Score

“So, do you feel like your horizons have been expanded?”

“Hm.” A low, rumbling, ruminative noise from the back of Lane’s throat is all the answer I get.

I’ve never seen Lane so in his head like this. Instead of dancing around it, I come right out with, “Is it about your return to hockey?”

That has his head whipping in my direction. “What?”

“What she was saying in there, it seemed to sort of hit you. Did it get you thinking about your return to hockey? Are you worried about it?”

He turns his head back to face in front of him. “I guess you’ve been at Brumehill long enough to hear about it, huh?”

A sad feeling twists in my chest. Yeah, I’d know about Lane’s anticipated return to the ice in a couple days thanks to how oftenpeople on campus are talking about it, even if I didn’t know beforehand.

But Ididknow beforehand. I’ve been keeping track of Lane’s career ever since I got home from Chicago at the end of that summer, like a creeper.

“I’m sure you’ll still be as good as you ever were,” I say.

“You’re sure, huh?” He asks the question likeheisn’t.

I realize all I did was say empty words, hoping to make him comfortable. And people don’t take comfort in empty words.

So, I choose meaningful words.

“You know what, you’re right. I can’t promise that.”

Lane stops and turns to face me.

“But I know you’ve done everything anyone in your position can do to make sure that that’s going to be true. I know you’ve trained as hard as anyone can. I know you’ve practically killed yourself to make sure you’re ready, because you don’t want to let your teammates and your coach and your fans down. And I know that you’re going to play with every ounce of your heart when you get back out there.”

My eyes are locked on Lane’s, and it feels like the tether that connects them vibrates with the effort of my trying to make Lane understand the truth of what I’m saying.

I continue. “When we passed that shop back there the first time, you said yourself how meaningless trying to predict the future is. What matters is whatyoudid in the past to prepare yourself for a big moment when it comes. Well, you’ve done everything you could have. I wasn’t here to see it, but I know, because I know you. At least, I know you well enough to know that. So, don’t worry about the future. If there’s anything to worry about, worry that you haven’t done enough to get back into shape or keep up with the latest strategy, or whatever the heck it is that hockey players need to do to prepare for a game. But you don’t need to worry about that. I know you don’t. So, youdon’t need to worry about anything. Give yourself permission to believe in yourself as much as you should.”

I have to pull in a deep breath. Damn, where did that pep talk come from? I guess I just hated so much seeing that glimmer of doubt in Lane’s eyes, I needed to do anything I could to make it go away.

The air between us feels somehow still and charged at the same time.

I start to walk forward again, and Lane does the same.

“And also,” I continue, because I guess I’m on a roll of dispensing wisdom, “don’t beat yourself up if you’re not immediately where you want to be. You had a bad injury. It can take time. Believe in yourself and believe in the work you’re putting in, no matter how long it takes. I know you hold yourself to high standards, but you can’t hold yourself to impossible standards.”

A tiny chuckle rumbles in Lane’s throat. “Hudson was telling me that the other day.”

“High standards good, impossible standards bad. Write that on a flashcard.” I take a step back into some lighter bantering.

“Hey, who’s tutoring who today?”

“Don’t get me wrong, I could definitely take some lessons from you in the high standards department.”

Through the corner of my eye I see Lane turn to me, his brow pinching. “What do you mean?”

I huff a self-deprecating laugh. “I mean that I let my own standards for myself sit at the bottom of the ocean sometimes.”

“Bullshit.” The sharpness and quickness of Lane’s response sends a little jolt of surprise through me. “You wouldn’t be at a college like Brumehill if that were true.”

I press my tongue against the inside of my cheek. “I wouldn’t have totally wasted three years of my life after graduating high school if itweren’ttrue.”

“Remember when we got off the plane in Chicago?” Lane asks.

---