Page 140 of Need You to Choose Me

Today it feels different, though.

All of those feelings are there.

The adrenaline.

The warmth.

But in the back of my mind, I’m thinking of her. Wondering. Worrying. It consumes me.

Clarkson skates beside me. “Head in the game,” he reminds me, eyeing me through his helmet.

Moskins skates on my other side. “Trust me. Whatever is on your mind can wait until after we stomp on these fuckers. Distractions aren’t welcome on the ice,” he tells me, skating away.

My jaw grinds, even though he’s right.

I can’t afford to be distracted.

When the game starts, we get into formation.

I crouch down, holding my stick and feeling the cool air hit my face. My fingertips clench the wrapped graphite as the whistle goes off.

I don’t know what comes over me.

Maybe I get possessed, or maybe something snaps into place. But I remind myself how far I’ve come to get here, and how much I have to lose if I let it go away.

Distractions aren’t welcome on the ice.

Those words echo in my head.

I intercept the puck and use my body to block defense from getting it back. I maneuver around him and pass it to Nelson before someone trips me and sends me flying across the ice stomach first. Ice chips fly up and spray me, fueling the rage that’s been bubbling there for a long time.

Channel it.

I get up as the referee intervenes, calling a tripping penalty and sending the douchebag to the box for two minutes. It’ll barely give us the upper hand, but I plan on taking full advantage.

Clarkson gestures to me and I show him I’m fine before we’re back at it.

There are only a few minutes left in the quarter, and the pressure of the clock starts weighing on me.

Forty-five seconds.

Moskins sends the puck to Nelson, who gets blocked by the defense, but I manage to get the puck as they’re sending it across the ice.

Twenty seconds.

Two big players come at me with speeds evenI’mimpressed by.

I bypass one and narrowly miss the other.

I still have the puck.

The goal approaches, and I can tell they’re not going to have enough time to stop me.

I pivot away from the oncoming player and move the puck away from him before whipping it as hard as I can toward the net.

The goalie lunges to stop it.

But he misses.

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