5. Ziggy
Chapter five
Ziggy
I hung back in the arena's locker room for a few extra minutes. The muffled sound of skates gliding across the ice drifted through the walls. I retied my laces and thought about nothing in particular. I knew what was waiting for me on the rink—Kade Langston, the summer invader of my turf.
Fleeing was an option, but if he opened his mouth in Whistleport, I'd never live that down. I'd agreed to the third face-off a few days back. Regardless of what anyone else would think, the idea of chickening out to Kade made me fume.
"Suck it up, Knickerbocker," I muttered to myself. "It's just another day on the ice."
As if. And lobsters fly.
I skated onto the rink, and the cool air hit me square in the face. Kade lazily skated from one end of the ice to the other. His moves were effortless. Nobody in Whistleport could match them, other than perhaps Brooks, but he'd had a career in the NHL.
"Look who just fell off the lobster boat," Kade called toward me as he skidded to a stop at center ice. He showed off a set of perfect white teeth with a wicked smile. "I worried you'd gotten lost on the way here."
I considered a response but then bit back my words. I didn't need to get drawn into a battle of putdowns. Instead, I repeated an internal mantra: I belong here. This is my ice, my town.
Watching Kade closely, I pulled up alongside him. "Aw, Ziggy, if you wanted to stare at me, why didn't you just ask for a selfie?"
That one loosened my tongue. "Are you always this chatty before you get your ass handed to you?"
He took off, and I followed, matching him stride for stride. After a lap around the rink, we returned to center ice and faced off so close that I could see flecks of gold sparkling in Kade's eyes.
He laid out his terms in a low voice. "First to five in each drill wins. Five drills and the best of three takes the crown. Think you can keep up?"
I answered with my legs, suddenly bolting toward the goal, accelerating until a last turn along the boards. Kade laughed and chased me.
We tore around the rink, our speed turning us into two barely controlled blurs. My thighs burned. I wanted—no—I needed to win. Kade caught up and matched me stride for stride as we moved close and then separated like we were executing some unholy hybrid of speed skating and ice dancing.
I made a last turn and bolted for the opposite goal. Kade pulled up, shoulder to shoulder, and we both pumped our arms until we hurtled over the line in a photo finish. Our momentum carried us into the boards with a mighty crash. For a moment, we just lay there, a tangle of limbs.
"Damn, get off me." I climbed to my feet.
Kade laughed as he stood. "Not bad… for a pond skater."
I shoved him away, ignoring a small impulse to hold on instead. "You can bet I've got plenty more moves to show, trust fund."
We swept through the first drills, both animated by fierce determination. Kade gave a master class in stickhandling. The puck acted like an extension of his body when he took it through a slalom course of cones. I countered with my expertise at slapshots. They made my palms sting, but I pulled even, winning drill number two.
Four drills in, we were still deadlocked. Sweat glued my jersey to my back, and the muscles in my legs quivered. We were both spent, but sheer grit pushed us both forward.
"Last one," Kade called to me. "Winner takes all."
I nodded and gasped for a breath. "Penalty shots. Five each."
As he skated up to me, Kade raised the stakes. "Loser buys coffee at that hipster joint downtown, and we talk, really talk."
My heart skipped a beat. Coffee? Talking? With Kade? My mind raced in at least three directions at once while I tried to process the meaning of the demand.
My first instinct was to scoff and brush it off with a snarky comment about him having a "thing" for me, but what if he did? I'd tried to ignore him as much as I could since he arrived, but then there was his perfect hair, smart clothes, and that apartment. I couldn't back away.
"Really talk, huh," I muttered. What did that even mean? Would we ramble on about training tips and trash-talk the other Hockey East teams? Or was he suggesting something else entirely? Goosebumps rose on my forearms.
"Is it a bet?" Kade tapped his stick on the ice. I glanced around, half-expecting Dottie Perkins to appear with her gossip radar pinging wildly. What would people say when they saw us at Tidal Grounds, leaning close over mugs of coffee?
Rory and Brooks would be proud—they loved all that building bridges and kumbaya crap. But everybody else? Eric?
And then there was me. Did I want to know more about Kade? Did I want to hear about what made him tick and the real reasons why he was in town?
"Fine," I responded to the challenge. "I hope you brought your wallet."
We squared off, finally catching our breaths. I channeled every last scrap of my focus into each shot. The puck was part of me, seeking its goal, when it sailed past Kade and his outstretched glove.
He retaliated with a trick, backhanded shot that somehow found the one-inch gap between my foot and the post. We reached the final shots with the score tied. My arms had little strength left, but I did my best to bolster them with adrenaline. I couldn't give in.
Kade called out, "Last shot, Knickerbocker. Make it count."
I nodded and lined up, thinking it all through. The ice suddenly seemed to stretch for miles before me, with the goal a tiny target in the far distance. I closed my eyes momentarily to visualize the puck hitting the net.
My eyes snapped open, and I approached the puck. Crouching down low, Kade locked his eyes on mine, trying to read my plan. His thoughts were apparent when he shifted his weight slightly to his right.
At the last second, I changed my grip on my stick. The slight opening of my blade lifted the puck. It slowly, steadily rose as it sped through the air toward the goal.
Kade's eyes opened wide. He pushed off from the right and launched his body to the left. His gloved hand shot out, and for a split second, I thought he had it.
Then, the puck sailed just beyond his reach and landed in the net. I'd done it. I pumped a fist into the air and hissed, "Yes!" All I had to do was save one more shot, and I had the victory in my pocket.
That's all…
Kade took the puck and lined up. "Nice shot, but don't celebrate just yet."
I skated forward and took my position in the goal. Shaking out my arms, I did my best to stay loose.
Kade backed up a few strides after he placed the puck. He twirled his stick once before settling into a stance. Our eyes met, and the rest of the world disappeared—just me, him, the ice, and the puck.
I forced myself to breathe as he barreled forward. Patience. Read the shot. Trust your instincts.
Someone could have written a textbook based on his moves. He turned his wrists slightly at the last second and shifted his weight.
Backhand. He's going for backhand again.
I pushed off with my left skate just as Kade's stick connected with the puck. It was a beautiful shot—fast, hard, and with a gentle rise toward the top right corner of the goal. I launched myself in that direction.
I felt the impact of the puck against my arm, but then I lost sight of it. A second later, I heard a thunk as the rubber disc hit the boards behind me. I'd done it. I'd managed to deflect the shot.
I scrambled to my feet and busted out a massive smile. "Looks like you're buying, pretty boy!"
Gliding forward, I headed toward Kade. Victory was mine, and then the earth shifted. My right skate hit a groove in the ice and unexpectedly twisted sideways. Suddenly, I was airborne, suspended in one of those terrifying moments when knowing how I would land was impossible.
I hit the ice hard; my helmet landed with a sickening cracking sound that rattled my skull. Darkness around the edges and bursts of color behind my eyes threatened my consciousness.
"Ziggy!"
I heard Kade's voice and blinked, trying to keep myself from blacking out. He was suddenly there for me, on his knees, one hand tenderly cradling the back of my head.
"Hey, look at me," he ordered as his face wobbled and then came into focus. "You okay?"
I tried to nod, but my attempt to move sent daggers of pain into my skull. "M'fine." My words slurred when I struggled to sit up.
"Sure you are, tough guy."
Next, I tried to climb to my feet. I was a little dizzy, but at least the throbbing pain had faded.
"Need some help there?" Kade slipped an arm around my shoulders, providing support.
As I drew upright, I stumbled slightly and grabbed onto him for support. He held on tight.
"I've got you." His breath was warm against my ear.
I was suddenly aware of how close we were. His body pushed up against mine, and he splayed his fingers out against my lower back. I inhaled the distinct scent of sandalwood—his shampoo?
For a moment, I considered a snarky comment about not needing Kade's help, but then I gazed into his eyes, and the words died in my throat. Up close, I saw the light stubble along his jaw. He glanced down at my lips, and my breath caught.
Kade dipped his head slightly, and I leaned in like a magnet drawn to its target. Our lips were only inches apart when a loud crack echoed through the arena. It was likely the ice settling after my tumble. I'd heard similar things before, and it was enough to cause us to pull apart, breaking the spell.
He cleared his throat. "I, uh… let's get you over to the bench. It would be best if you sat for a few minutes. That was a nasty fall."
With an arm around my waist, he helped guide me. We sat side by side, and I reached down to gather a few ice shavings to press against the goose egg forming on my forehead. What the hell was going on? Did the summer just shift on me again?
"Are you sure you're alright?" Kade held up three fingers in front of my face. "I can call someone—your dad?"
I grunted. "I'm fine, and that's three. Just… give me a minute to catch my breath."
Kate stood and skated out toward the center of the rink to gather our scattered gear. I did my best to will my racing heart to slow. The ghost of his gentle touch remained, and it left me more rattled than any fall ever could.
***
The fluorescent lights overhead produced a soft but constant annoying whine. Their harsh glare gave me another headache and made it throb in time with my heartbeat. Mom sat next to me, thumbing through an ancient issue of People while she tapped her foot.
I spoke up. "I told you I'm fine. This is completely unnecessary."
She lowered the magazine and stared at me. "Ziggy, you took a fall hard enough to rattle that thick skull of yours. We're having the doctor check everything out to make sure, end of discussion."
I sighed, knowing it made no sense to argue with her. Olive Knickerbocker would not back down when it came to the well-being of her children. The best strategy was to ride it all out and humor her.
A nurse appeared. "Zachary Knickerbocker?"
Mom bolted from her seat and ushered me forward like I was a five-year-old kid again. As we passed a mirror, I glanced at us—me, slouching and surly, and Mom, worry eased slightly by determination. It was the small-town hockey mom with her reckless player son.
Doc Patel greeted us warmly. "And what brings you here today, Ziggy?"
Mom jumped in before I could say anything. "He fell and hit his head on the ice. Could he have a concussion?"
I sighed heavily. "It's nothing. I tripped. It could happen to anybody."
The good doc raised one of her eyebrows. "How about we take a look?"
We spent the next twenty minutes rolling through a flurry of tests. I had to follow a penlight with my eyes and touch my nose with my eyes closed. She asked me to recite the months of the year backward. That was harder than I thought it would be. Through it all, Mom hovered close.
Finally, Doc Patel put her clipboard down. "I think I've got some good news. There are no signs of a concussion. You will have some major swelling on your forehead for a few days, but otherwise, things look good. You're a tough young man."
Mom wrung her hands. "Are you sure? Could there be delayed symptoms?"
"It's always good to err on the side of caution, Mrs. Knickerbocker. I suggest that Ziggy relax for the next few days, and you can return if he experiences any unusual symptoms. For now, all is normal."
As we left the clinic, Mom linked her arm through mine. When I was still in high school, I would have seen it as embarrassing. Now, as a college man, it felt comforting.
"Thanks, Mom… for keeping an eye on me."
She squeezed my arm. "I'm always here for you. It's what moms do. So, were you skating alone? Or did this have something to do with that UNH player who's been turning all the heads?"
I groaned. "Please, Mom… don't start."
She laughed. "Okay, but if you ever want to talk or blow off steam…"
"I know."
While I climbed into the car, my thoughts drifted back to Kade and my head resting against his arm. We had a date—no, not a date—just the fulfillment of a stupid bet, and I shivered, wondering what it held in store for me.
The idea of sitting across from Kade at Tidal Grounds made my stomach do a weird flip. What would we talk about? Hockey was safe territory, sure, but "really talk" implied something different and deeper. We could rattle on about poets, but would he ask about my family and my dreams beyond the rink? And what if I actually enjoyed his company off the ice?
I groaned softly, earning a concerned glance from Mom. How was I supposed to face Kade after that near-miss by the bench? The memory of his breath on my skin and the intensity in his eyes—how was I supposed to hang on to our rivalry after this?
Part of me wanted to text Kade and call the whole thing off. I could claim a concussion and hide in my room for the rest of the summer—sweltering in the heat. A smaller, increasingly insistent part of me was... excited? Curious? What would I learn if I got to see Kade in a different light?