Page 72 of Of Pucking Course

“Really?” She looks surprised.

“Yeah. Coach Porter wants me to get out of my comfort zone as a defenseman. He wants me to score more. He thinks I can do more than I’ve been doing.”

She offers a gentle smile. “You scored a goal during your last game, so I think he might be right.”

“Yeah, but it’s an adjustment. I’m so used to being the guy on the ice who’s trying to help keep the puck away from the net and give it to my teammates so they can score. I never really thought I could do anything else.”

“But you can,” Dakota says, her tone insistent. “Sam, I watched you score that goal. Even if you were nervous or unsure of yourself, you still did it. Coach Porter’s right. You’re capable of more than you think.”

The corner of my mouth lifts in a smile. It feels good to hear Dakota say that she believes in me.

“The way you play hockey is a lot like how you are as a friend.”

“How do you mean?” I ask.

“You’re very supportive. As a defenseman, you support the forwards by passing them the puck when they’re open so they can score. You support the goalie by covering the opposing players so they can’t get a shot into your net. That’s how you are as a friend too,” she says. “You don’t hesitate to help when one of us is in need. You go out of your way for us. And we love you for it. But helping others doesn’t have to be your only priority. You can do things foryourself too. You can go after what you want. You can shine. You deserve to.”

I’m quiet for a long moment, blown away by the thoughtfulness of Dakota’s words.

“That was a ten-out-of-ten analysis, Richards.”

She bumps my arm as she laughs.

“I never made that connection before,” I say.

She aims that beautiful smile at me. “Go after what you want, Sam. On and off the ice.”

“That goes for you too,” I say. “You wanna be a runner? You can. You’re doing it. And you’re kicking ass at it.”

A pretty pink blush paints her cheeks. “I just wish I hadn’t let other people’s comments over the years get in my head. I should have been stronger than that.”

“It’s impossible not to let people’s criticism faze you. That’s why I don’t read the comments on my social media anymore. It used to mess me up so much. One mean comment about my ability as a player would be enough to throw off my performance for a whole game.”

She looks up at me, surprised. “Really?”

I nod. “Even professional athletes let other people’s opinions get the best of them. You’re not alone in experiencing that.”

“That makes me feel better.” She shakes her head. “Sorry, I didn’t mean that I’m happy you go through all that.”

I chuckle. “It’s okay. I knew what you meant.”

“I figured pro athletes like you and my brother are so strong mentally that nothing could throw you off.”

“Definitely not true. We can be sensitive little flowers sometimes.”

Her head falls back as she laughs.

“It’s kind of wild when you think about it,” Dakota says. “Like, some fans are so critical of professional athletes. They insult them or say they suck. But they couldn’t do what you guys do. They couldn’t play as well as you do. Even on your worst day and their best day, they’d never be as good as you.”

I smile. “I try to remind myself that when I accidentally skim a mean comment on my Instagram.”

When I look over at Dakota, she’s smiling to herself. “I guess I should do the same when it comes to me. I mean, the people who made fun of my lack of athletic ability weren’t exactly elite athletes themselves. I shouldn’t give their words much weight at all.”

I gently bump her shoulder with mine. “Atta girl. Screw the haters.”

She beams. “Screw the haters.”

When we walk back inside my townhouse, I kick off my running shoes and head to the kitchen for a glass of water. The second I set the empty glass on the countertop, Dakota struts over to me.

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