All the Sauce (IceCats 4)
Are you kidding me?
“Paxy, let’s go.”
I go to the face-off where Shea and, of course, Owen wait. I love doing face-offs, but I have a feeling I’m about to hate this. I don’t know what it is about Owen, but he gets on my nerves. He is so full of himself. For two years, he spoke in the third person! He skates around like he is God’s gift to hockey, and then he has this dimple. Just one. Like, where is the other one? Did Evan steal it?
I come to the circle, and Owen snickers. I glare, but his blue eyes are just full of trouble. Shea says something, drops the puck, and without any effort on my part, the puck is sent back to Owen’s defensemen before he knocks me on my butt. Hard. I get up, with more effort, but before I can skate after them, Shea grabs my shoulder pad, stopping me.
“What was that, Pax!”
I blink up at him. He’s never raised his voice at me. “I don’t know.”
He comes close, his blue eyes blazing. “The next time you line up with him, you go through him. Right through him. And when he’s on his ass, you look down at him and let him know who the hell you are! You understand me?”
No. But I’m not going to admit that. “Yes, Coach.”
“Good. Now, go.”
He lets me go, and I skate down to catch up with my team. Owen’s shot is caught by the goalie, and once more, we line up. Shea pats my back, hard, and I nod when his eyes meet mine. I’m breathing heavily, my heart is pounding in my chest, and I feel as if I’m about to be sick. I line up, staring Owen down as his eyes tease me. He really thinks he’s better than me.
He isn’t.
When the puck is dropped, I almost black out. I throw my hip into his gut, my shoulder into his chest, pushing hard as I kick the puck back to my defensemen. Luckily—because let’s be honest, it’s Owen Adler, he’s had skates on since he was in his mom’s belly—he loses his footing and falls back onto the ice.
I look down at him, spit my mouth guard into my cage, and with a wide grin, I say, “I’m Angela Paxton, and don’t you forget it.”
The look on his face makes my day, and as I skate away, I tell myself who I am.
Angela Paxton.
The world will know that name one day.
* * *
Every time Evan Adler walks into my office, I’m reminded of that memory.
Oh, how things have changed.
My freshman year of high school, I shattered my left wrist during a game, and no matter how much physical therapy I did, I could never shoot the way I used to. I had a lethal wrister, which my uncle Jude had taught me, and just like that, I couldn’t do it any longer. It sent me into a nasty depression because I knew my dreams were gone. I would never get that gold medal for my dad, and the world would never know my name like they did my uncles’.
If it weren’t for gym class in school, I never would have picked up a volleyball. Despite my injury, I was actually really good at volleyball, and soon, I came out of my depression to enjoy my junior and senior years. I even got a scholarship to the University of Bellevue, which was surprising. While it wasn’t hockey, it was still a sport, and of course, my parents were at every home game.
Until I stopped playing.
I had every opportunity to play here at the university in South Carolina, but I really wanted to focus on my studies of anxiety in athletes. When I busted my wrist and my depression set in, my goals changed. I don’t know how many athletes I’ve met in my life who suffer from anxiety and/or depression. It’s scary but completely understandable. These kids put so much pressure on themselves to make it to higher levels of their sports, and when they fail, they don’t know how to cope. Or they come from really awful home lives, and they are trying to fight that trauma.
The newest area of study is ADHD. While having ADHD is essentially a superpower, its main side effect is anxiety. My goal is to do the research into finding out where the anxiety comes from, what meds help, and the patient’s overall progress. The best part? I’m still in the hockey world. My university’s program has linked up with the psychologists for the Carolina IceCats. When I was selected to be in the program, I knew I couldn’t turn it down. I knew I would help someone.
I just didn’t realize that someone would be Evan Adler.
While most of my memories are flooded with his twin brother, Evan is in them too. He’s that steady guy. The good one, the one who always looks cautious. He was kind and helpful but quiet. I never knew that, inside, he was battling his brain like no other. His anxiety jump-started in high school when things got real. He was being scouted; his dad was taking him and his brother to meet different owners and coaches. They’d go to camps for hockey all over the place, and their travel team was the best in the USA. When they were selected for the Olympics at sixteen, Evan faked a knee injury so he wouldn’t have to go. Owen went and brought home the silver, scoring two goals in the finals.