attention at the same time the truth of his last thought hit him. His blade slipped and he went down, not stopping until he crashed into the boards, his right shoulder hitting it with enough force to cause pain to shoot down his arm.
Shit. Even now she was trying to ruin his career.
He wiped the back of his hand across his forehead then got to his feet to the sound of a slow clap, courtesy of the half-dozen boys gathered on the home team’s bench.
“Smooth,” one of them called out, which set the rest guffawing.
Neil slowly rotated his shoulder back then forth. A slight twinge. Nothing more. Not enough to sideline him.
He pushed off, ignoring his audience. You didn’t make it in professional sports without being able to block out any and all distractions. He’d made a loop, was considering doing some shooting drills when one of the boys stepped out of the box.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” the kid called as Neil approached. “The ice is closed.”
Neil swerved and kept right on skating.
His second trip around, the kid joined him. “Dude, didn’t you hear me? I said the ice is closed.”
“Then why are you on it?” Neil asked.
“My granddad runs the place.”
Neil glanced at him, pegged him to be sixteen, maybe seventeen, and the obvious leader of the floppy-haired gang.
“You’re Merilee’s kid?” he asked, stopping.
“Yeah,” the kid said slowly, his expression cocky and suspicious. “Who are you?”
Neil almost laughed. He couldn’t go anywhere in Shady Grove without people stopping him, wanting to talk to him, shake his hand, get their picture taken with him. He removed his ball cap and ran his fingers through his sweat-dampened hair. “Neil Pettit.”
The kid’s eyes rounded but then he went back to acting as cool as the ice beneath their feet. “You look bigger on TV.”
Seeing as how he still had two inches on the kid, Neil didn’t take offense. “You don’t have to be big to play in the NHL,” he said casually. “Just really good.” He inclined his head toward the other kids. “You guys here for practice?”
“A pickup game.”
Neil scanned the group of kids. Six. And his skating partner here made for uneven numbers. “You interested in adding another man to your roster?”
“You want to play with us?”
“If you’ve got room for one more guy.”
“I guess we could fit you in. If, you know, you stay upright. And can keep up with us.”
Yeah, this one here, definitely leader of the pack. He was quick on his feet and if his puck-handling skills equaled his skating, he was the man to beat.
So to speak.
And there was nothing Neil liked more than winning.
The boy was overly confident and cocky. Add in rampant hormones and an overwhelming influx of testosterone and he was practically begging to be taken down a peg or two. For his own sake.
He’d be doing him a favor, Neil assured himself. Never let it be said he didn’t give back to the community.
He checked out the other boys, now all on the ice, and quickly summed up their skill level. From what he could tell, his skating partner here had the most talent on skates.
“How about this,” Neil said easily. “You and I race four lengths of the rink. I win, I play and I get to captain one team.”
“What about if I win?”
If this snot-nosed kid won, Neil would fill the Stanley Cup with water and drown himself in it. “Name it.”
“Dude, get the car,” one of his buddies called.
“That your ’Vette in the parking lot?” the kid asked.
“For the next few days.”
“Good enough. If I win, I get it. For twenty-four hours.”
Neil shrugged then held out his hand. “Deal.”
They shook, the kid’s grin wide and confident.
They lined up at the boards, one hand touching the wood, their body weight on the front of their skates. One of the boys counted down and they were off.
Neil let the kid set the pace for the first lap, one he easily matched. At the other side of the rink, they stopped with a spray of ice, touched the wall at the same time, then pushed off for lap two. By the time they touched the starting wall, the kid was breathing hard. For lap three, Neil put on a burst of speed, leaving the kid in his wake. He skated the fourth lap backward, did a quick half loop around the kid as he skated, then sailed on to victory.
“Good job,” Neil said when the kid finally touched the