Page 54 of Tough Score

Reeve: That's great, Keely! You've got this. Show them what you're made of.

Then a feeling comes over me that maybe she needs a little more reinforcement if it took me encouraging her to get out there.

Reeve: I'm proud of you for doing this.

My phone buzzes again.

Keke: Thanks, Reeve. I'll let you know how it goes.

Reeve: Looking forward to hearing all about it. Kick some grass out there, Doc.

I can already imagine her eye roll when I see that she read the message, and I audibly laugh to myself.

Keke: Wow, that was terrible. Stick to hockey, Aisa.

Reeve: I've got a million of them. I'll tell you all of them tonight over dinner. Good luck out there, superstar.

The sound of Coach Bex's whistle blows again and pulls me from Keely and our texts. The team skates over almost lazily as if a little annoyed at Coach Bex's redirection, but he's the best at what he does and we're a better team for having him, though it's easy to say that on sitting on the bench than having a whistle blown at you every few seconds.

I get it.

I shake my head at the thought of actually missing being barked at my Coach Bex. Perspective is a funny thing, and right now I'm getting more of it than I can handle.

And right down the street, Keely's taking steps forward, and I'm glad that I get to be a part of that journey, even if it's just from the sidelines.

The team runs the play again and nails it this time.

A loud clapping sounds beside me.

I got so lost in thought and practice that I didn't notice Sam coming up to stand next to me.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, taking a seat next to me.

I turn to see him in his black Hawkeyes shell jacket.

"Better every day. I think I'm going to make my deadline happen."

Sam's brow furrowed slightly. "Don't overdo it, Reeve. The last thing we want is for you to re-injure yourself. Come back when you're truly ready."

I nod, knowing Sam's right but we wouldn't be athletes playing at this level of the game, earning the size paychecks we get if we didn't push ourselves past the norm to get here.

Let's be honest, Phil Carlson doesn't pay millions for my contract, for me to pussyfoot around.

As Sam walks away, Rowan appears and slides into the seat next to me, taking Sam's spot. "Got time for a few more questions?" she asked with a smile.

"Sure," I say. "What do you want to know?"

"Tell me about your history as a hockey player. When did you first fall in love with the sport?"

Damn, that's a long history lesson. But we'll start with the basics.

"I've been skating since before I could walk. But I really fell in love with hockey in Alaska. Then when my mom died and I moved to Texas my sophomore year. It's no exaggeration that hockey saved me."

Rowan's expression softened. " I think I do remember hearing about your mother in old interviews you've had. You were young when it happened, right? Would you mind telling me more about—"

"I'd rather not discuss that," I cut in. " She was an amazing person who believed in my dreams of making it to a hockey championship. Let's keep things on the lighter side. I'm partial to puff pieces myself," I add with a smile.

Rowan nods, respecting his boundaries Though I think I saw her wince when I said "puff pieces."