Page 73 of Cross Check Christmas
I run until my lungs burn and my mascara leaves black trails down my cheeks. Until I'm far enough away that no one can see me fall apart.
22
HENDRIX
First thing Christmas Eve morning, I slouch in the leather chair across from Malcolm Chase's mahogany desk, my agent Derek beside me rattling off contract terms. The words blur together - signing bonus, performance incentives, no-trade clause. I should care more. This is what I've been fighting for all these months.
The Toronto skyline stretches beyond the window to my left, all steel and glass, nothing like the warm twinkle lights of Brookking Sound.
"This is a fantastic offer, Hendrix," Derek says, sliding the contract toward me. "Better than we hoped for."
Chase leans back, steepling his fingers. "We want you on the ice tonight. Christmas Eve game against Montreal. Show the fans what they've been missing."
I stare at the contract, but all I see is Colette's face that night at the faculty party. The hurt in her eyes when she found out about the bet. The way her voice cracked during that ridiculous dueling Christmas carol. Everything between us had been real for me - the snowball fight, the dance, that kiss in the snow. But she'd been trying to drive me out of town the whole time.
"Hendrix?" Derek prompts. "This is what we've been working for."
But what am I even working for anymore? Hockey used to be everything. Now all I can think about is how Colette's eyes light up when she talks about literature, how she fights for her students, how she makes me want to be better.
I love her. The realization hits me like a cross-check to the chest. I'm completely, stupidly in love with her.
And maybe that means giving her what she wanted all along - staying away from Brookking Sound.
I grab the pen and scrawl my signature across the dotted line, feeling something crack inside my chest.
"Welcome back to the Titans," Chase says with a satisfied smile. "Hit the ice at 6 for warm-ups."
I nod numbly, barely registering the terms I just agreed to.
23
COLETTE
Ipace backstage, watching my students fidget with their costumes and scripts. The nervous energy is palpable, like static electricity before a storm.
"I can't remember my lines." Lily's face pales. She's playing Mary, and I picked her specifically because she has such natural grace. Right now though, she looks ready to bolt. "What if I mess up in front of everyone?"
"I think I'm gonna be sick," Peter mumbles, but I think he might be faking it.
I gather them in a circle, their young faces turned up to mine. "You know what? Before my first teaching job interview, I was so nervous I put my sweater on backwards and didn't notice until I got home."
A few snickers ripple through the group.
"But you know what else? Nobody remembers the tiny mistakes. They remember the feeling, the magic of the moment." I squeeze Lily's shoulder. "And you all have worked so hard. You know these lines better than you think."
"But what if we forget?" Tommy's voice cracks.
I pull out my emergency candy cane stash. "Then you improvise. The audience doesn't know your exact lines. Just speak from your heart about what this story means to you."
Sarah raises her hand. "Ms. McAllister? Can we do our good luck ritual?"
"Of course." I lead them in our silly pre-show hand stack and cheer, something we came up with during rehearsals. Their energy shifts, shoulders straightening, smiles emerging.
"Alright everyone, costume time!" I clap my hands. "And remember - you're all stars tonight."
They scatter to their designated areas, chattering with renewed confidence.
Two parents graciously volunteered to help get the students get dressed, buy when I rush to the costume closet, ready to deal with the usual chaos of missing buttons and torn seams, I freeze. These aren't our old costumes.
