Page 35 of Snowballed

I didn’t see him leave today, and he’s Game Day Noah. He’s wearing a dark suit, white shirt, tie, and polished black dress shoes. Naturally, Noah’s suit looks a hundred times more stylish and expensive than anything Derek would wear. There’s a vast gulf between us. Cat-loving Noah is the exception, not the reality.

“Hi. I forgot to ask if you like to eat a meal after a game. Derek used to eat something light before games and a real meal after. But he isn’t exactly setting dietary standards for athletes.”

“I’m the same. I eat my real meal after games,” Noah says. “Otherwise my hunger can wake me up in the night.”

I head to the fridge and pull out a plate I prepared earlier. “My mom or I will leave these for you. Then you can just microwave them when you get home.”

“You don’t have to do all this,” he says.

“It’s part of your room and board. Anyway, we’re used to doing it for Derek.”

“Well, thanks. I’m going to change first.”

I watch him leave, his shoulders looking extra-broad in the suit jacket.

When Noah returns in sweatpants, hoodie, and T-shirt—looking equally hot—I’ve got his dinner waiting for him.

“Looks great.” He begins eating. I sit across the table with my cocoa. This moment feels surprisingly relaxed and intimate. Noah transformed from slick dude in a suit to the casual, bundled-up guy I know better.

“So, I went to the game tonight. All the better to watch you screw up,” I begin with a taunting smile.

“No shit. I sucked big time.”

Wait, this isn’t in our script. I’m supposed to make fun of Noah, and he’s supposed to be full of ego. I have no idea how to deal with an insecure Noah. “What are you talking about? You played great, and you guys won.”

Noah shakes his head. “I had three turnovers, my point shot in the second didn’t get through and led to a two-on-one, I missed making an outlet pass to J.D. at the beginning of the third.” He continues, listing off all his minor errors.

“Stop,” I interrupt him. “Why are you doing this?”

Noah looks at me like I’m the one who’s crazy. “To get better, I have to fix the flaws in my game.”

“You were one of the strongest d-men on the ice. You made my brother into a better player, just like you did with me.”

He scowls and puts down his fork. “My dad used to call me after and fine-tune my game. He’s really good at that.”

This is even more horrifying. My father always found something positive to say about my games, and I’m not even a quarter the player Noah is. If Dad had criticized me constantly, I would probably have quit. I feel an unexpected sympathy for Noah. This is what it’s like to be a prospect: with skill comes a ton of pressure.

“What are your expectations around hockey?” I ask.

“I have none. I’m in my fifth year of college hockey, and no NHL team has ever been interested in me.”

I want to ask him why he keeps pushing himself so hard, but he looks too upset. So I change the subject. “Welcome to women’s hockey. We work just as hard, but there’s no pot of gold waiting at the end of our careers. I’m not talking about players like me, but good players like Rocky or Aria. Even if they make it to the women’s pro league, there’s no money.” Every player in the women’s league has another job to support herself.

“You don’t have to lecture me. I’ve only heard this from my sister a hundred times.”

“She’s a really good player, isn’t she?”

“Yeah, Chi’s trying to make the national team. She’s close.” His expression lightens when he talks about his sister.

“Chee? That’s a pretty name.”

“It’s short for Chinatsu. That’s a Japanese name.”

Well, if he introduces the topic of race, I can’t be accused of othering. “How come she has a Japanese name, but you don’t?”

He smiles for the first time tonight. “Chi has asked that question many times. In her mind, it’s just another way that boys are treated differently in the Goodwin house. Adam and I have Japanese middle names.”

I enjoy talking naturally and not having to be sarcastic or mean. This feels like the first real conversation we’ve ever had.

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