behind the camera - fake dating sports romance (wlw)

Chapter Twenty-Seven

MILLIE

6 YEARS OLD

Mommy says I'm the fastest out there.

The lights are so bright they make the ice sparkle like a movie. I think this is the most beautiful place in the world.

My jersey's way too big on me, but at least it says "BENNETT" in big bold letters on the back, and that's the best part. Rory helped me tie my skates in double knots—she said real players always double knot—and Sunny picked my hair up into two tight little braids that made my scalp hurt a little, but she said that means they're good.

They both said I looked adorable, and I made a face because I don't want to look adorable.

I wanna look scary.
I wanna look like Mama when she's on the ice—fast and cool and kind of like a storm in a helmet. That's what people say about her at school. They say she used to play hockey and that she was really good and really mean. But she's not mean at all. Mama is the nicest person ever, and she makes pancakes shaped like animals and always lets me win at board games even when she's pretending she isn't letting me win.

But still... I wanna be like her. Big and brave and dangerous. Just a little.

Everyone's yelling and clapping from the stands, and I know Mommy is up there with Rory and Sunny. She made me take three pictures before I got on the ice, and I didn't smile in any of them on purpose because I wanted to look tough. She said I looked like a little boss. I am a boss.

The whistle blows and I take off. And oh, wow, I really am fast. The wind bites at my cheeks and my legs move without thinking and the puck is mine, mine, mine. My heart feels all fluttery and huge in my chest, and I hear someone yell, "Go, Bennett!" and I know it's for me.

People say our name like it's magic.

They talk about my mama like she's some kind of legend—like she's not the same person who helps me braid my doll's hair and makes weird voices during bedtime stories. But I like that they think she's a legend. Because she is. And I want to be one, too. Just like her.

So I skate harder.

I chase the puck like it's my best friend and my secret and my prize, and my heart's going thump-thump-thump so loud in my ears I almost can't hear the crowd anymore. I duck past a kid in blue, slide the blade of my stick right under the puck like Mama showed me, and zip it across the ice.

Goal. I know it goes in even before the buzzer sounds because I can feel it in my bones. I throw my arms up, fists tight in the air. I'm grinning so wide it hurts. Someone in the stands yells my name and I just know it's Rory because she always yells the loudest, even louder than the grown-ups.

I barely have time to turn before something slams into me.

I don't even see who it is. Just a blur of blue and a shoulder and then I'm off my feet. My helmet smacks the ice, and even though it doesn't hurt right away, my ears ring and the world goes fuzzy and I can't feel my elbow.

The ice isn't soft like snow right now.
It's mean when you hit it. It knocks the breath right out of me and burns my knee like it's on fire. My elbow smacks the ground too and everything goes kind of blurry for a second, like when you cry too fast and your eyes get all swimmy.

I lie there. I don't move.
And for the first time ever, I don't feel like a boss.
I feel little. And broken. And stupid.
I want to cry but my face won't work right.

"MILLIE!"

That voice. I know that voice.
Mama.

The ice shakes a little as she runs out. I don't even try to sit up because I just want her to get to me. My chest makes that hiccup-sob noise again. It's ugly. I don't care.