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  Although I missed who was responsible, the goal is credited to EJ Bertuzzi. The crowd is awake and very much alive after that, cheering on their team to a four-to-one win. Carol and William head on back to Noah’s apartment with my key. I, however, was told to stay put. Players slowly start to appear to meet the family members who stayed behind to wait for them.

  Noah appears alone, and two thoughts occur to me. It’s kind of odd to see him without Marc, and why is Noah frowning?

  “Where’s my jersey?” he asks once he’s close enough. He smells clean and his hair is still sopping wet, droplets of water falling onto his shoulders. My hand lifts as my fingers weave through his wet hair.

  “You couldn’t dry your hair even a little?” I counter.

  “I wanted to see my girlfriend, who I thought was wearing my jersey,” he replies.

  “I thought I’d have time to go home, but some girls kept me late at practice and I had to come straight here.”

  “You’re forgiven, but never again.”

  I roll my eyes. Surprisingly, to me at least, no one else in the box was wearing a jersey, so I would’ve stuck out if I did. Noah wraps an arm around my waist and begins to lead me out. “Why’d you want me to stay behind?” I ask, curiously.

  “Just wanted to see you sooner.” He pulls me closer to his side and I can’t help but grin.

  IT’S NOT AS easy to communicate with Meredith as I thought it would be. We keep missing each other when I call and hours can pass between texting due to the time difference and our schedules. It’s been a week since I’ve been gone with a week left to go, having won two of the three games we’ve played. Some of them, we probably shouldn’t have won, but Liam Irving, our goalie, stood on his head and pulled us through with the W.

  Tonight, we’re playing the Portland Vikings. There really isn’t any team I like or dislike to play against; I just like to play. Sure, there are some teams you aren’t exactly thrilled to be playing, but I’m happy as long as I get to lace up and skate out onto the ice.

  So far, we’re doing well. Third period, we’re up three to nothing. If we manage to keep the puck out of our net, it’ll be Liam’s first shutout of the season. We definitely want to give that to him. I’m positioned near the net, hoping to help Liam out and block the shots that are surely coming, thanks to Brayden, or Captain Hook, going and earning himself a hooking penalty to put the Vikings on a power play.

  All they’ve done so far is pass the puck to one another. At some point, they’re going to take a shot. A few fans in the crowd are taking turns shouting, “SHOOT!” If I wasn’t focused, I’d roll my eyes. Instead, my gaze follows the puck as it returns to the guy a few feet away. He lifts his stick for the swing seconds before it reaches him. He’s hoping it’ll get past me and then past my goalie. The puck hits my leg and goes to the left of me, away from the net where not a Viking stands at the moment. That’s all the opportunity I need to send it to Scotty, who takes off like a rocket to the other end of the ice.

  He scores and we’re up four to zero.

  The rest of the game is spent doing our best to control our zone. No more goals are scored and Liam gets his shutout. Upbeat music is playing in the locker room as we come in and start shedding gear.

  Coach Mike is grinning. He’s been with the team for the past two years, starting his third, and the only time the man smiles is after a hard-fought, well-deserved win. If he feels like we didn’t truly earn a win, he’ll be grimacing with his lips pressed together until they look like one thin lip.

  “First, we have to congratulate Sav on his first shutout of the season,” he says, referring to Liam, whose nickname is Savage, or Sav for short. The guys clap and hoot, those closest to our goalie give him a few good slaps on the shoulder. Once some of the noise has died down, Coach continues, “Y’all played great tonight. The energy was high, we kept the momentum, and we improved compared to the last game. Can’t get better than that.”

  He’s always about improving. As long as there’s improvement from the prior game, he’s happy. He heads out of the room and Scotty stands, holding the pair of boxing gloves up. He earned that in the last game for being the best man on the ice, for being the one who fought the most to help us win. Tonight, he’s going to give it to someone else.

  “I don’t think this could go to anyone except Savage. Congrats, man.” More hoots and hollers as he hands them over to Liam.

  He grins and places the string tying the gloves together around the back of his neck so they hang down his chest. “Thanks for helping me out,” he says with a nod to us. He’s always about giving credit to someone. He earned his shutout, but he thanks us for playing well and making it a little easier for him. He made some sick saves, but if we don’t play like shit where he has to stand on his head, then he feels as if he has a reason to thank us for helping him out.

  Soon, we’re loaded up onto the bus for the ride to the hotel. We have another game tomorrow, but we’re getting a few hours of sleep before we head to the airport bright and fucking early tomorrow. When I get to my room, I quickly shed some clothes and climb into bed. But sleep isn’t in the cards for me just yet.

  I try to call Meredith so we can video-chat, but she doesn’t answer. Two seconds later it seems, I get a text.

  Meredith: No video-chat. I look horrible. Just call me.

  Me: I don’t care. Calling again and you better answer, Mere.

  Damn it, I just want to see her. I don’t give a fuck what she looks like. I open the app and try again. She answers.

  “You do look rough,” I tease, causing her to groan.

  “I set an alarm to wake me up because it’s been a long, rough day and I knew if I laid down, I’d fall asleep. Tell me I’m pretty or I’m hanging up.” She sounds like she’s joking, but she looks serious, too.

  “You look beautiful, Mere,” I quickly but softly say. “I mean it, too.” And I do. Her hair is a bit wild because it looks like she went to sleep while it was still wet. Her eyes are glassy and tired looking. They almost look red and puffy, like she’s been crying. Maybe it’s just from her being tired. It’s three in the morning there.

  “I miss you, Noah.” She says it so quietly with such sad eyes, that I know she’s been crying over something.

  “Miss you too. What happened today?”

  “Nothing; just been thinking too much.”

  “About what?”

  She takes a deep breath. “About what happened with Vance and me and the thing I don’t want to talk about.”

  This is when a piece of my heart chips away and I want to beg, demand, plead, and throw a fit to make her tell me the full story.

  “Noah, I...it...” she struggles with her words before sighing.

  “What is it?” I gently probe.

  “Nothing. Once you get home and we have our welcome home party for two, I’ll tell you. It’s time for me to tell you. Probably past due,” she mutters, glancing down at Leo, if I had to guess.

  It takes a minute for her words to process. The remaining road trip is going to pass too quickly while dragging things out at the same time. I’m suddenly scared to find out what took the spark out of Mere’s eyes. What if it’s really bad? How can I prepare myself when I don’t know what to expect?

  “Noah?” she says when I don’t respond.

  “If you’re ready, I’ll be ready, too.” God, I hope I’m prepared for whatever she says and that I handle it in the way she needs me to handle it.

  She gives me a soft smile. “How was the game? I missed the last period.”

  “Won four-oh. Erica still treating you okay?”

  “Yeah, she’s fine. Got into an argument with her, though, because I want Kira to play tomorrow and she thinks I’m overstepping or overestimating Kira’s ability. We’ll see if she lets her play. I’m hoping for Kira’s sake, she does. I told Erica she could be fifth seed, easy. If she keeps working as hard as she is now, she could be in the top three next season. She’s such a quick learner. And, hopef
ully, her friend, Ginny, will play next year too since the girl who is the reason she doesn’t play will be graduating in the spring.”

  God, I love hearing her talk about what she loves. Maybe she wasn’t meant to play tennis forever, because I swear, I never heard her go on and on about tennis, or have such passion in her voice, as she does when she talks about helping Kira. What I actually think she should be doing is private lessons because that’s where she’s getting her high, not on the assistant coach aspect of it.

  So I tell her that.

  “Maybe after retirement. I’ve started training again to try to get my shoulder back into shape.”

  “Your physical therapist thinks you’re ready for that?” I don’t know, since she never mentions how it goes.

  Meredith sidesteps my question. “I’ve been rallying with the girls at practice. I think it’s a good time to start back into my routine.”

  “Mere,” I start softly. “Are you listening to your physical therapist or are you jumping into things before it’s time?”

  That spark in her eyes turns into a fire. “I’m not giving up on my career.”

  “I’m not asking you to give up. I’m asking if it’s a realistic expectation for you to return, and I’m assuming no since you refuse to answer my question.”

  “If it wasn’t realistic, I wouldn’t be trying.”

  I decide to let it go, not wanting to get into an argument with her, especially while on the road. “Anyway, I still think you could do private lessons. You’re essentially giving Kira lessons. You don’t need to go back to school or be able to train as if you’re in the pros; you need to teach, and you can. Think about it. You can do all ages, you can still do what you’re doing now, too, and you’d be happy.”

  She groans. “I’m too tired to think about all of that.”

  “Leo keeping you company?” I ask.

  She smiles and turns the phone so I can see him. The damned dog is lying with his back to her chest, stretched out on his side, and snoring a little. I really need to stop getting jealous over a dog. “I’m glad I got him,” she tells me, turning the phone back on her. “I’d definitely be going crazy if he wasn’t here.”

  “Well, turn off the light and get some sleep. We’ll talk later. I love you.”

  “Too soon to be over already, but I’m getting sleepier by the minute. I love you, too.”

  We hang up and I get some sleep, hoping Mere’s getting some too.

  It’s Sunday, and we have the day off. It’s our last day in California. We’re spending time together as a team by dividing up and playing volleyball on the beach. Brayden and Scotty are in charge. Brayden’s too competitive to let this be too much of a fun game, so we’re lined up like we’re in gym class, about to play dodgeball.

  “Tommy Boy,” Brayden calls, picking Tommy Alderson to be on his team.

  “Marco,” Scott says next.

  Back and forth until we’re all on a team, me being on Brayden’s. A game finally gets underway. Days like these are good to have. It allows us to bond while we have fun and get a break from the everyday duties our career gives us. Our team is in the lead, for those counting, so Brayden has let loose a little. He’s just so serious and wound up, it’s hard to get him to relax or smile every now and then.

  However, things are a little odd. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to being taped for some sort of promo. It’s not that I dislike it, but it’s just weird. With the organization wanting to get fans more interested and involved, their social media campaigns are always doing something.

  We’re taking a small water break when the volleyball hits me in the back of the head, spilling water down my chest and onto my shorts. It’s not a hard hit, but it’s not a soft one either. I don’t even have to look or hear his snickering to know who’s responsible.

  Fucking Marc. He can be a real pain in the ass.

  I turn, surveying the beach to find him with a shit-eating grin on his face even though he’s pretending to be interested in whatever Scott is saying, and pick up the ball. In one smooth motion, I hurl the ball at his chest. A satisfying hmmph comes from Marc.

  “Keep the ball to yourself, yeah?”

  “Whatever you say, Rams. Captain Hook, aren’t you finished resting? We’re ready to kick your ass.”

  Brayden shakes his head, but we get back to the game. Despite what Marc said, we kick their asses. It’s been a good fun day. We return to the hotel, shower, and then head out for dinner. Ian Rhett, a defenseman a little younger than me with the nickname of Bruiser, is heading to the elevator as well as Marc. Ian is texting, flicking his eyes up every so often to make sure he doesn’t run into anything. The guy always has his phone in his hands if he can. He was traded to the team last February, but he always seems preoccupied with his phone or in a rush to leave after the games.

  Marc pushes the button for the elevator and it dings as the doors slide open. We all step in.

  “Who are you texting?” Marc asks, sounding annoyed. Probably because Bruiser has it in his settings where you can hear a noise from the keys as he types. Marc can’t stand to hear any noise from a cell phone.

  Ian doesn’t even lift his head. “My woman,” he answers.

  Marc and I exchanges glances. We didn’t know he had a woman, but it makes sense. Ian sighs as he puts the phone in sleep mode, checking to see how close we are to the floor of the lobby.

  “Trouble in paradise?” Marc asks.

  Ian huffs. “Gotta have paradise to have trouble in first.”

  Marc glances at me, utterly confused. The doors part and Ian’s the first to step out. He hasn’t made many friends since he’s been here, but that’s mostly because he’s been so wrapped up in whomever that girl is on the other side. Or, at least, that’s what we think. Who knows for sure?

  ERICA IS JUST now bumping Kira up to the seed she deserves. The smile on Kira’s face when Erica told her made all the arguing I’ve done on her behalf worth it. There’s five minutes until the match starts and the nerves have hit Kira. She’s looking at me with wide, panicked eyes. I grab her shoulders and give them a gentle squeeze.

  “You got this. You’re good enough to play. If you make a mistake, stash it away and focus on the next shot. You’ll be fine,” I reassure her.

  “You got this, Kira!” we hear Ginny shout from somewhere behind us.

  She laughs softly and nods before making her way to the court she’ll be playing on. I do the same, only I’m on the other side of the fence now. Ginny stands next to me as we watch the match begin. I’m hoping Kira will win, but ultimately, I hope she plays well even if she loses.

  “Excuse me.”

  I turn around at the sound of a woman’s voice. She holds out her hand.

  “My name is Holly; I’m Kira’s mother.”

  “Oh! It’s nice to meet you,” I say, shaking her hand.

  Holly comes to stand next to me. Her eyes are on her daughter as she serves. “Thank you for what you’ve done for Kira.”

  “She deserves all the credit.” All I did was make sure she was playing with the correct hand.

  “So do you,” her mother insists. “She was happy on the team before, but now? She’s over the moon. She and Ginny both love working with you.”

  “Yes, we do,” Ginny agrees.

  “Thanks,” I mutter, unsure how to handle the praise.

  This is a different kind of accomplishment, one that I’ve never experienced before. I’ve won matches, tournaments, and championships by playing them. I had a coach, a personal trainer, and plenty of people around to support me. I worked hard and selfishly sacrificed the love of my then-young life to have a shot at being one of the best female tennis players. Being the best wasn’t my goal. I only wanted to be among the greats, to consider myself similar to them.

  I made that accomplishment, however brief it was. I went from doing something every single day to floundering around like a fish out of water with nothing to do and a load of heartache I wanted to avoid. With No
ah gone and too much free time on my hands, even with my job, I’ve made good use of the gym in the complex. My life is vastly different than it was this time last year.

  The love I have for my current job is overwhelming sometimes. Not to say I don’t miss playing, I do, but I’ve found a replacement for it that’s mostly giving me what I need. And watching a girl I’ve helped play her first match and kick ass? More than I could’ve imagined. It’s the icing on the cake. However, I just can’t give up on the idea of returning to the game. The thought saddens me every time I think about it. Not to mention that now, I hear Noah in the back of my head, questioning my ability to do so.

  It hurts, even if he has the right to question me. Everyone keeps telling me I can’t do it. I desperately want to be one of those people who powers through the obstacles and proves to everyone who said they couldn’t that they can. I want to prove to myself that I’m not damaged. I want to prove to Vance that I’m not pathetic, even if he never sees it. I want to make sure I have no regrets, that I do my damnedest to try.

  I’ve played through pain before, and I’m most likely crazy to want to continue doing so. So far, it’s not working out the way I want, but I haven’t given up yet, especially since my shoulder has gotten better the more I rally with the girls.

  “I need you to take notes on everyone,” Erica orders. Her voice gets more and more annoying the more I hear it.

  I nod and tell Holly and Ginny I’ll see them later and begin making my rounds. I don’t know why she wants me to take notes. She rarely does anything with the suggestions I give her. She’s bumped Kira up, but we’ll see if she listens to my other piece of advice.