Page 2 of Stick It
I nod.
He smiles. “Then that meansno oneknows what it’ll look like when someone does.”
I shake my head. “But, Dad…it’sneverhappened.”
“Not yet.” His voice is steady. Unshakable. “But that doesn’t mean it can’t. And if anyone could be the first…” He cups my chin. “It’s you.”
My lip wobbles. “But what if I’m not good enough?”
His thumb brushes my cheek. “Then you work until you are. You show up earlier. Stay later. Train harder. Youbleedfor it, Princess. Because that dream?” He taps the center of my chest. “It’s already yours.”
I blink at him, tears spilling over again. But this time, they don’t sting.
They burn.
Hot. Fierce.
I nod. “Okay.”
“Say it.”
“I’m going to play in the NHL.”
1
DYLAN
The soundof footsteps echoes off the concrete tunnel, sounding like the entire team is marching toward the rink and not a lone girl with her heart lodged in her throat. The faint glow of the emergency lights guides me forward until the vacuous arena unfolds before me. Cold, biting air stings my nostrils and fills my lungs, bringing me to life with every inhale. Inadvertently, a smile twists at the corners of my lips.
Stale popcorn.
Zamboni fumes.
And a hint of metallic copper…
The smells of my childhood.
Of the most important thing in my life.
Hockey.
Hockey is all that I have now. It iseverything. It’s what gets me out of bed in the morning. What keeps the dark thoughts at bay. It gives me a future to work toward—something to strive for.
Without it…well, I don’t want to think about where I’d be without this sport.
Thankfully, I don’t have to.
Feet rooted to the ground, my gaze roams over the batteredand scuffed boards, carrying stories of a thousand games. Over the vacant plastic chairs that seat the asses of hundreds of supporters as they scream on their team.
This place has seen more blood, sweat, and tears than most churches, and God knows, it’s far more sacred.
As though walking through the Sistine Chapel, I hold my breath as I steadily make my way toward the edge of the rink, taking all of it in, barely daring to believe I’mhere. My fingers brush the top of the board with the same tenderness a Van Gogh fanatic would showThe Starry Night,tracing the lines of peeled paint with reverence.
This is where I watched my first-ever hockey game. Where my love of the sport began. It’s been years since I was back here. Truthfully, I never thought I would step foot in this arena again.
Yet, here I stand on the precipice of change.
Hopefully, things will go better this time around…
