Page 27 of Chasing The Goal
“Ladies and gentlemen, returning to the lineup tonight—number ninety-three, Jaymie Prescott!”
The announcer’s voice echoed through the rafters, and the crowd surged.
My name.
My team.
My home.
Skating out for warmups, I felt the familiar rhythm settle into my body like it had been waiting for this exact moment. Logan caught up to me near the blue line, bumping his shoulder against mine.
“Look who decided to grace us with his presence,” he said, smirking.
“I heard you missed me,” I replied, rolling my shoulders.
“I missed having someone slower than me in drills,” he said. “Also, your dumb jokes.”
I laughed and took a quick wrist shot toward the net, the puck sailing clean into the top right corner. It felt good. Damn good.
Coach gave me the nod from the bench, and the team gathered around the circle for a last huddle before heading back to the locker room. As I was peeling off my helmet and reaching for a towel, a familiar voice cut through the buzz.
“Prescott.”
I turned and found Mallory standing just outside the bench area, arms crossed, lips tugging into a faint smile.
“Well, look who couldn’t stay away,” I said, toweling off.
She cocked a brow. “Just checking your brace, making sure it’s still tight.”
“You sure that’s all you’re checking?”
Her smile deepened. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
I stepped a little closer, voice dropping. “You nervous for me?”
She looked me dead in the eye. “Terrified. But only because if you tear that hamstring again, I’ll have to deal with your whining all over again.”
“Can’t wait,” I said, and for a split second, our eyes held.
The smile she gave me then wasn’t teasing. It was soft. Real. Then she turned and disappeared down the tunnel, her ponytail bouncing with each step.
Logan appeared beside me like a damn ghost. “So... our girl’s here.”
I groaned. “She’s not our girl.”
He grinned. “That’s what makes it so cute.”
“Shut up.”
He just clapped me on the shoulder. “Let’s go light it up, Romeo.”
Puck drop came fast.
The Carolina Cats were scrappy, fast, and chippy as hell—but we were faster. Stronger. Sharper. First period, Logan sniped one past their goalie five minutes in and skated by our bench like he was on fire.
“That one was for Mallory,” he chirped as he coasted past.
I flipped him off with my glove and jumped over the boards for my shift.
