His throat makes a sound as he swallows. “Yeah, maybe.”
“You’re part of the team, Penn. As much a part as Jaxon and any of the other guys are. I know you’re new and?—”
“What if I get sent back down?”
There it is. One of the biggest reasons he’s afraid to bond with the guys.
“You’re good at what you do. Dad wouldn’t have sent you up if you weren’t.”
“He said something weird to me last night.”
“Oh?”
“He said something about believing I can do more…believing in myself.” He struggles, like he’s trying to find Dad’s exact words.
“Maybe he just means you could be more…on the ice?”
“I do my job,” he shoots back almost defensively. “I do what I’m supposed to. If I…” He lets his words fall off again, like we’re broaching a subject that’s just too painful to voice.
“Have you tried doing more?” I ask very carefully, not wanting to upset him. “What was that Jaxon said about you playing winger with him? Have you ever thought about what else you can do on the ice?”
“He only meant for this game,” he says.
I think about what he said about his mom. That he thought she’d come back if he did everything right, became what people wanted. Then maybe she’d see his value—keep him. He’s afraid to put himself out there. To try something different. Because if he’s not good enough, he won’t be valued, and he’ll be sent down…left behind.
My heart aches for the little boy who was dropped on his aunt’s doorstep. “What if he didn’t?” I ask, knowing his fears of trying and failing. “What if Jaxon sees something else in you?”
12
Penn
The pond gleams beneath the low winter sun, its edges banked with freshly shoveled snow. A dozen kids wobble across the ice, sticks flailing, cheeks flushed with excitement. Jaxon and I were supposed to be on opposite lines, but the kids had other plans. Twelve against two, no goalie—Dylan didn’t show up. Totally fair.
Coach blows his whistle. “All right, let’s play by the rules I taught you.”
I glance at Jaxon and grin. “There are rules?”
He gives me a shove and laughs, the sound carrying across the ice.
“Remember, it doesn’t matter who wins or loses, it’s about having fun,” Coach reminds us.
Fun. Jeez. When’s the last time I played hockey just for fun?
At center ice, Jaxon squares off against a girl half his size. Coach drops the puck, and she whacks it straight to me. A cheer rises as the entire team swarms. Kids fly at me from every direction, and I want to skate, but hesitate. What if I knock one over?
“Go, Penn!” Jaylynn’s voice rings from the sidelines. She bounces with the others, one mittened hand raised, the other wrapped around a steaming cup of hot chocolate. That smile, that wave, yeah, it distracts me. One second is all it takes for a kid—Jeremy, I think—to steal the puck and pass it off. Another kid buries it in our empty net.
Not legal. But whatever.
The crowd erupts. Jaxon shakes his head at me. “Dude!”
I just grin. “We’ll get the next one.” Their laughter and stick-banging is infectious. When I was a kid I was too serious on the ice, but right now? This is pure Christmas magic.
The puck drops again. A five-year-old shoots straight through Jaxon’s legs, cackling as he goes. Jaxon makes a half-hearted chase, but I intercept before he can catch up. Another wild stick clatters against my shins. I glance at Jaxon, send him the puck, and it lands tape-to-tape—perfect.
The kids scatter like bowling pins. Jaxon dangles the puck with ease until a pint-sized defender plows right into him. He gives up the puck, and the little guy spins in gleeful circles, snow spraying everywhere. I lunge for the puck at the same time Jaxon does, and we collide mid-slide, tumbling into a spray of cold white.
The onlookers roar as tiny Emily snatches the puck. Her name echoes in a chorus of cheers as she carries it down the ice and passes it off—goal.