Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 97767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Coach is yapping away.
As he does, my mind drifts back to those empty seats.
I trust Austin to show—she said she was coming—but the nagging thought that something might have held them up eats at me. It’s not like her to miss the start of a game, not when she’s been so consistent about showing up, screaming her lungs out every time I make a save.
The buzzer sounds, signaling the end of the timeout.
We’re back on the ice, the energy electric as we take our positions; gloves are secure, mask snug.
I block out the noise of the crowd, everything except the puck and the players surrounding it…
My heart pounds as I track the puck—left, right, left. The forward winds up, and I know what’s coming.
The slap shot is hard and fast, but I’m faster. I drop low, my pads taking the brunt of the hit as the puck bounces off and ricochets into the corner. The crowd roars, and I hear my teammates shouting through the thunder.
And then I see them.
My sister and Austin, sidestepping people as they make their way to their seats, bright blue and yellow jerseys on—I couldn’t miss them if I tried.
I grin. “It’s about fucking time.”
I’m fighting for my life here!
Zing!
A puck nearly flies past me, snapping me out of my daydream.
Another forward barrels toward me, stick angled, looking for a rebound shot.
“Not today, motherfucker.”
My mind clears in an instant, instincts taking over. I crouch low, scanning every movement like a hawk, ready for the next play.
My eyes dart, tracking the puck like a pinball machine.
Twenty feet…
Ten…
Two.
I slide into position just as the puck ricochets off my blocker, bouncing harmlessly into the corner. My teammates swarm it, battling to clear the zone. The crowd roars, but all I hear is my own heartbeat thundering in my ears.
Another period goes by.
Then the beginning of the third.
Austin stands, clapping, and from here I can see her face lighting up; her fingers go in her mouth, whistling. Next to her, my sister’s holding up a ridiculous sign that reads, GIO = BRICK WALL! in giant letters.
“Brick wall?” Goddamn right I am.
My chest puffs out with importance.
The opposing team pulls their goalie for the extra attacker, desperation dripping from every move they make. My defense holds strong, throwing their bodies in front of shots, clearing the puck every chance they get. But it always comes back. Always.
Thirty seconds.
A scramble in front of the net sends the puck flying toward me. I drop low, my pads sealing off the bottom of the net as the shot deflects off my leg and bounces out. My stick lashes out, sending it toward the boards.
Ten seconds.
The puck clears the zone, and time seems to slow as it slides, untouched, toward their empty net. The buzzer blares before it even crosses the line.
We’ve won.
Fuck yeah, we did—my good luck charm is here.
As the team rushes toward me in celebration, sticks clattering against the ice, helmets knocking into mine, I glance up at the stands, starting my skate over to my sister and Austin and two things happen at once:
She’s holding a sign, but it’s not the sign Nova had.
She is not smiling.
My momentum slows, the elation of the win crashing into confusion as I focus on her. The bright yellow poster in her hands has big, blocky letters that I can just make out as she lowers it slightly.
GIO.
I AM PREGNANT.
The words hit me like a slap shot straight to the chest. My skates falter for a moment, and I nearly lose my balance. My stick drops to the ice, forgotten, as my eyes dart from the sign to Austin's face.
She isn't smiling.
Not even a little.
The team is still swarming around me, celebrating, shouting, patting my back, but it all feels distant, muffled, like I’m underwater. I can’t look away from her. From the sign. From the sheer seriousness etched across her face.
“Gio, you good?” one of my teammates asks, smacking me on the back of the helmet.
“Yeah, I…” My voice trails off as I glance at him, then back at the stands. “I need a second.”
I skate toward the boards, my legs heavy, my heart pounding in my chest. Austin doesn’t move. She stands there, gripping the sign like it’s the only thing keeping her grounded. Nova looks as if she’s trying not to laugh, arms crossed as she stands next to Austin like a mama bear.
Daring me to skate away.
Clearly, she knew about this.
When I reach them, Austin’s eyes meet mine—I can see the fear hidden behind her usual self-assurance.
I unhook my helmet, pulling it up so she can see my face. “Austin,” I breathe. “Is this for real?”
I know she can’t hear the words coming out of my mouth, but I’m certain she can understand me.
She nods.
Yes.
The air feels like it’s been knocked out of me. My grip tightens on the boards as I try to steady myself, my heart pounding so hard it feels like it might explode. She doesn’t break eye contact, her usual confidence flickering just beneath the surface of her fear.