Page 37 of Frozen Hearts
Pulling off my gloves, I ignore everyone around me as I skate off the ice, so fucking done with this day.
“What the hell was that?!” Coach barks when we’re all back in the locker room, heads hanging, and the weight of our first loss of the season putting a damper on the mood. “What I saw out there tonight was not the team I have spent the last several months cultivating. Where was the communication? The coordination? Astor.” He barks my name, and I know he’s about to tear me a new asshole. “Where the hell was your head because it sure as fuck wasn’t in that game. A statue would have been more useful than you were out there tonight. You’re goddamn lucky there were no scouts here, but if you play like that tomorrow, you can say goodbye to your future in the NHL.”
The reality of what he’s saying hits directly in the chest, only darkening the ominous cloud hanging over my head. He isn’t saying anything that isn’t true. It just fucking sucks to hear. To know I could have thrown away my entire future, and for what, a girl? I need to sort my head out and get it back in the game before tomorrow. Since the Penguins scouts didn’t show tonight, you can bet your ass they’ll be there tomorrow—and there’s no way in hell I’m going to play like I did tonight.
* * *
I’m in a foul mood as I hit the ice on Saturday night for our game against the Boston Eagles, but I don’t dare so much as glance in the direction ofherseat. I keep my focus entirely on the game, and the second the puck drops, I take off down the ice, ready to purge my emotions.
Tonight is about the scouts. About making my dream a reality. The disappointment and hurt eating away at me for the last twenty-four hours need to be channeled into a productive outlet. I can practically feel it pouring out of me and into the stick in my hand as I tackle a player on the opposing team, driving my elbow into his side before I gain possession of the puck.
Coach yells something—probably telling me off—and I know I’m lucky the ref didn’t call a penalty as I pass the puck to Jonas and shoot down the ice, getting into position.
Jonas knocks the puck to Barnes, who manages to dodge an Eagles` defenseman before sending the puck in my direction. Smirking cockily at the goalie as the puck slides across the ice, I deftly whack it into the corner of the net, officially scoring the first goal of the game.
Now that’s what I’m fucking talking about!
“Hell, yes!” Jonas yells, skating over, and we bump fists as the rest of the team joins the celebration.
“Don’t think I didn’t see that elbowing,” Coach warns when I skate past, before calling Jonas and a couple of other players off the ice.
Whatever. I scored the goal, didn’t I?
Unfortunately, things go downhill for us over the next twenty minutes and my ire rises with every missed opportunity and goal the Eagles score.
“Astor! Penalty!” the ref yells when I cross-check an Eagles defenseman. “Two minutes.”
Fuck. We’re down by two, and who the fuck knows how much worse it will be by the time my two minutes is up.
For the next two minutes, I either check the clock or watch as my team fumbles the passes and fails to block. By the time I’m allowed out of the box, I’m full-on pissed off and ready to rip off some Eagles’ wings.
“Astor!” Coach bellows before I can join the fray. He indicates for me to get my ass on the bench, and I skate over, scowling.
“Coach. This is my game!”
“And you’re fucking it up. Sit your ass on that bench and when you’ve got that temper under control, you can go back out there.”
Cursing under my breath, I dutifully oblige, teeth grinding as I watch the game unfold.
At the start of the next period, Coach reluctantly agrees to let me rejoin, and determined to make up for lost time, I jump the half-board and dive right in.
In the first thirty seconds, I have an Eagle pressed against the boards as I steal the puck. I glance up, my eyes connecting with startling green ones, and the entire stadium disappears.
I’m faintly aware of a whistle blowing behind me, but it’s nothing more than white noise as I rake my eyes over her face, unsure if what I’m seeing is a mirage or reality.
Her smile is timid but encouraging, and time stops as I lose myself in her.
She’s here. She came.
Seeing her in the stands, knowing she’s been cheering for me hits like a bolt of lightning, and a feral grin splits my face as I take in her pink cheeks and the black and gold Huskies scarf protruding from her puffer jacket.
Her responding smile lights me up from within, and I’m shoving away from the boards with renewed energy when the ref bellows, “Astor! Two minutes in the box. One more penalty and you’ll be out for the rest of the game.”
Fuck.
No. She came to see me play, and she can’t do that if I’m stuck in the fucking box or riding the bench.
Reluctantly tearing my gaze from hers, I skate over to the box and sit my ass down. For the next two minutes, all I do is stare at her. I watch as her wide eyes dart around the rink, flicking every thirty seconds to where I’m sitting here twiddling my thumbs.
