Picks & Pucks (33 page)

“Oh my God,” I mumbled. CJ grabbed my elbow and dragged me up the stairs, tossing me over his shoulder before the last step. I squealed. Eli scolded us before he started laughing loudly and discussing soundproof walls and ceilings.

I swear I tried to be quiet.

“I’m not going to be able to sit down tomorrow,” I said, snuggling into his warmth.

“Don’t fall out of your jumps,” he said.

“And how am I supposed to ride in the car? I don’t think my dad would let me hitch a ride on the bumper.”

“I love you,” CJ whispered before he fell asleep.

I was a little achy in the morning, but it was a good feeling. My dad eyed me when I gingerly slid into the car. I managed not to squeak.

“Thanks, Dad,” I said.

“For what?”

“For being here for me and CJ.”

“I should have never shut you out. You know you can talk to me about anything.”

I nodded, and we walked through the parking lot, talking about small things. My mother would have loved to hear us talking about paint chips and new coaches.

The familiar sounds of an ice arena greeted us when Dad opened the door. The hockey team was obnoxiously loud today.

He smirked and patted me on the back. “Have a nice practice, Justin.”

“You too. Don’t be too hard on the guys,” I said. “They did it for me.”

He laughed all the way down the tunnel. I almost felt sorry for the hockey boys.

I’d found out later they weren’t supposed to come see me at Nationals. The school had nixed the idea, so the team took matters into their own hands and sort of commandeered the charter bus. They made sure the driver took a wrong turn. The wrong turn lasted all night, but they made it to the arena an hour before my skate. My dad tried to act pissed, but he was proud of his boys for standing behind a teammate and for standing behind me.

I needed to reevaluate my thoughts about hockey boys. Not all of them were awful.

Janae and Eli were in her office, discussing programs and music. I waved at them and headed to the open ice. I took a deep breath of the chilled air and smiled. I’d made the correct choice to come home and face my demons.

I fiddled with some music, but as I stepped on the ice, movement at the far end of the rink caught my attention. One lone demon sat near the edge of the ice. It looked at me and bowed, making a gesture like it was tipping its hat to me. I acknowledged the demon with a small nod, and at that moment, I realized I had actually forgiven myself for everything. A warm breeze blew through the arena, and the demon scattered, leaving only the chill of the newly surfaced ice and the scratch of my blades.

F
REEDOM
.

T
EEGAN
L
OY
began writing a long time ago. Notebooks filled with ideas were stacked around the house. One day, she sat down with renewed ambition, and something fantastic happened: she completed a story. Now most of her time is spent writing, but she takes an occasional break to go to the movies, where she imagines her stories on the big screen. She also enjoys watching hockey, filling her iPod with music, and driving her daughter around town to various activities.