I stare out of the car window with my arms crossed. I know I’m pouting, but I can’t help it. Vancouver Wolves? Are you serious, Coach?

I know he was doing what he thought was best for me, but to get hit with two different changes of plans in one day was a lot to wrap my mind around. When I woke this morning, the bliss of sleep was ripped off of me the second my eyes opened.

“I’m sure it won’t be as bad as you think, honey.” My dad smiles eagerly at me through the rearview mirror. “There’s always a new opportunity when you least expect it.”

I huff in response. “I only have to train with them until Roman Henley is fully healed. Coach said it should only be a few weeks.” I’m praying on my lucky stars that Roman will heal as miraculously as he skated.

Technically, Coach said Roman would take about six weeks to fully recover, but I’m trying not to think about it too much.

“Well, just try to make the most of it.” My father was good at diffusing my inner tension, and maybe he was right that this could be a good opportunity. It just doesn't feel like it. It feels like a slap in the face. Training with hockey players? Yeah, right.

We pull up to the building where I have to meet the team, and I blow a kiss at my dad before closing the door. He snatches it in the air and gives me a supportive smile. I try to match it before turning on my heel and storming inside.

“Hey, Coach! Is this the princess we’re training with today?” I had barely walked through the doors of the rink. and Reggie’s voice was already targeting me.

Coach Myers is standing with a clipboard in hand, looking over his shoulder at me while I walk in. “Good morning, Shauna. How are you feeling?”

I stop at the benches and glance once at Reggie before answering Coach. “Fine.” My tone is sharp, telling them that I’m not happy about this.

Skating with the Vancouver Wolves was one thing, but having to deal with Reggie Walker was something far more irritating.

“Ah! She speaks. Let’s hope you can actually skate too.” Reggie is leaning over the side of the rink, his hazel eyes flashing with mischief. Just as I spare him another glance, he winks at me and skates away, toward his other teammates.

“Don’t worry about him, he’s just a boy,” Coach says as I sit and start lacing up my skates. There is a satisfying rhythm to putting my skates on, my fingers gliding over the familiar laces, pulling tight so there was no room for my ankles to slip.

“They’re all boys,” I grumble, getting annoyed with Coach too. He was the one who put me in this position after all.

“Exactly, so you should be able to handle them just fine.” The anger recedes just as fast as it came as I look up at my mentor. This man has faith in me. “Plus, I think you’ll give them a run for their money.”

Before I can ask what he means, he blows his whistle loudly, addressing the whole rink. “Line up near me! I want laps around the rink, twenty of them. Try not to trip over each other. Keep a good distance.”

He watches me and tilts his head toward the team on the ice, as if to say, go show them up. I get up without hesitation and step onto the ice.

The team gathers in a misshapen line near Coach, and I plant myself at the front. “Are you sure you want to start there? It’s not gonna feel good when you get lapped.”

A blond kid about four inches taller than me chuckles at his own joke and gets a pat on the back from his friend. “Yeah, princess, you better watch out.”

These hockey schmucks are going to eat ice. “Ready!” Coach’s voice booms, and I plant my feet in a starting position. “Twenty laps, no cheating! I’m keeping count!”

The whistle blows, and I’m off. With every glide forward, I pick up speed. I love the feeling of flying on the ice. The cool air on my cheeks, the blood rushing through my legs—it’s exhilarating.

Before I know it, I blaze around my first lap and start to catch up to the last of the hockey players. “Hey, woah!” The blond’s mouth is wide open as I pass him in front of Coach. “What the hell?”

A grin forms on my cheeks. That wasn’t even my fastest. I'm still picking up speed. “Doesn’t feel good to get lapped, huh?” I call over my shoulder.

I round the corner of lap two, causing two team members to fall into each other. Like dominoes, they fumble around. Sweat builds on my forehead. “Jesus, she’s fast!”

The next few laps are a blur. I’m in my element, the hockey players the least of my worries. On lap eight, I feel a presence behind me. I turn a corner and see in my peripheral that Reggie is on my tail.

“This isn’t tag, you don’t have to get so close, you know,” I say, kicking it up a notch.

“Oh, I know,” Reggie says, picking up speed behind me. I do like a challenge. I start to channel my inner Storm.

For the last twelve laps, I push myself to stay in front while Reggie is right behind me. We both scratch to a stop by Coach, my hands on my hips while the hockey player leans over, trying to catch his breath.

“You got speed,” Reggie coughs out, sweat building underneath his curls.

“She’s got more than that.” Coach Myers smiles, taking note of the times of the other players on his stopwatch and writing them on the clipboard. When everyone finishes, he sets the clipboard down. “Good work everyone. Get some water, then get right back on the ice.”

After the water break, the players set themselves up for a round of shooting drills, dribbling the puck between them and practicing scoring in the net. Coach has me sit and watch for a bit.

“Observe how skating can be used in other forms,” he says. “It’s helpful.”

I’m exhausted from such a big transition in my life, but I don’t show it. Storm doesn’t have time to get tired, and neither do I.

“So, what do you think?” Coach asks me after a while of watching.

I shrug, not wanting to say the entire truth. “I think most of them are clumsy.”

He laughs at that. “Anything else?”

I sigh. “Reggie has the most grace. He knows what he’s doing, as far as scoring goes.” My face warms admitting that.

As if he heard us from across the rink, Reggie skates over. “You think you can score?”

“What? Me?”

“Yeah, unless you think you can’t get the puck in the net.” He holds out his hockey stick as if to taunt me.

Without thinking twice, I snatch the stick from him and step back onto the ice, flying toward the net.

“Pass it,” I command, and Reggie hits the puck toward me like he’s been doing this his whole life. Maybe he has.

I eye the puck rushing toward me as I take the stance to receive it. Maybe Coach was right, after watching for a while, it feels easy to recall what to do.

In one swift movement, I catch and knock the puck into the net with a satisfying thwack. The look on Reggie’s face after I scored is all it takes to send a whirl of butterflies in my stomach.

His smile is charming. Dangerous.

“You’re not the only wolf on the ice.” I smirk.

“What can I say, Puck, you’ve earned my respect,” he says, retrieving the puck out of the net.

“Puck?” I ask.

“Yeah, Puck. You’re tiny, you’re fast. Blink too long and you’re out of sight. It’s a compliment.”

“Puck,” I say, trying to sound unimpressed. On the inside though, I secretly like that I had earned his respect. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Reggie pats my shoulder and skates away, leaving me to settle into my new nickname on the ice.

Once we're wrapping practice up, Coach pulls me aside.

“I’ve got some rocky news, brace yourself.” Oh no. Not again. “I got word on Roman’s condition. It looks like he’s out for good. The recovery time is a lot longer than six weeks at this point.”

I try to remain calm, breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth. “So where does that leave me?”

“Well, I’d say we find you a new partner, most likely one of the boys here. You said it yourself, Reggie has the most grace.” Coach shrugs in a way that lets me see just how exhausted he is too. The wrinkles around his eyes seem deeper when he isn’t smiling.

“So, it’s either Reggie or nothing?” My chest tightens—I could cry on the spot.

“So it’s either him or nothing. That’s just the way it is, Shauna. I’m sorry.”