Puck Me, I’m Yours (Hawthorne University Hockey #1)

27. Breck

27

Breck

The stale air of the locker room presses against my skin as I slump onto the bench, my gear bag hitting the floor with a dull thud. We beat Riverton in the semis. We're in the finals. I should be riding high, but my stomach's twisted in knots that have nothing to do with hockey.

"Monroe, you look like someone pissed in your Cheerios," Axel calls out, stripping off his shirt. "We just crushed those Riverton bastards. Cheer up, princess."

I force a weak smile. "Yeah, man. It's awesome."

But Del's face flashes through my mind—the hurt in her eyes after the clusterfuck with Rafe. We've been texting, but it's not the same. The distance feels like a chasm I can't bridge.

"Seriously, what's eating you?" Jett asks, plopping down beside me with a slap on my shoulder. "You've been moping around like a kicked puppy for days."

I run a hand through my hair, tugging at the ends. "It's... it's Del. Things have been weird since—"

"Since the asshole ex showed up," Jett finishes, his voice dark. "Yeah, we noticed."

"I'm scared I'm losing her," I admit, the words tasting sour on my tongue. "And her final program is today. Right before our game. I can't miss it, man."

Jett's eyebrows shoot up. "Dude, Coach will have your ass if you're not here for prep."

"I know, I know. But…" I trail off, an idea forming. "What if we streamed it? Here in the locker room?"

Axel barks out a laugh. "Good luck getting Coach to agree to that."

Micah, who’s been sitting quietly across the room, looks up. "Why not just ask him? If we all back you up, he’s more likely to say yes."

I blink at him. "You think so?"

Micah shrugs. "Coach isn’t a total hardass. He’s big on team unity, right? And this is important to you. If we make it clear it’s important to us too, he might go for it."

The room falls silent for a beat, and then Jett nods. "Yeah, I’m in. Let’s do it."

Axel smirks. "I’m in. Not gonna lie, I’m kind of into figure skating now. What the hell happened to us, dude?"

I glance around the room, my chest tightening as one by one, the guys nod their agreement. My team. My brothers.

"Alright, Monroe," Tyson says, clapping me on the shoulder. "Let's go sweet-talk the old man."

We file into Coach's office, and I take a deep breath. "Coach, we have a favor to ask..."

Twenty minutes and a lot of back-and-forth later, Coach throws up his hands. "Fine! You can stream the damn competition. But I swear to God, Monroe, if this interferes with game prep—"

"It won't," I promise, relief surging through me. "Thank you, Coach."

As we file out, Micah nudges me. "You owe us, man. Big time."

I nod, a genuine smile finally breaking through. "Yeah, I do. Thanks, guys."

“I’ll take a Breck Baking Special for the Stanley Cup again,” Jett says, hip-checking me as we walk.

Axel snorts. "Nah, he owes us way more than cookies. I’m thinking steak dinners all around."

"At the very least," Micah agrees, grinning.

"Fine," I laugh, shaking my head. "Whatever you guys want. I won’t forget this.”

"Don’t worry, Monroe," Jett calls as he heads toward the locker room. "We’ll remind you. Repeatedly."

The teasing continues, but the knot in my stomach loosens for the first time in days. These guys have my back, and for now, that’s enough.

The next day arrives in a blur of nerves and anticipation. This game will determine if we go to the Final Four or not. But, this competition will also determine whether Del—and her naysayers—consider this season a success. She needs this win.

She won’t know I’m watching, but the thought of seeing her live, even from miles away, steadies me. It feels like a lifeline—like I’m bridging the distance, even if she doesn’t realize it.

I balance my laptop precariously on a stack of binders I grabbed from the corner of the room, fingers trembling slightly as I pull up the livestream. The guys crowd around, their excitement palpable in the air.

"How much longer?" Micah asks, craning his neck to see the screen.

"Patience," Axel chimes in, smirking. "It's not like you’re the one about to watch your girl perform."

I shoot him a glare, but there’s no malice in it. The banter is keeping me grounded, and for that, I’m grateful.

"Move your big head, Axel," Tanner grumbles, shoving our captain's shoulder.

"Easy there, dude," Axel retorts, but he shifts anyway.

I can't help the surge of pride as I see the familiar logo of the competition splash across the screen. They’re showing her group’s warmup. "That's her," I murmur, more to myself than anyone else.

"We know, lover boy," Jett teases, but there's no real bite to it.

My stomach's doing more flips than Del during her routine. What if she falls? What if Lachlan drops her? What if—

"Dude, breathe," Tyson says, clapping me on the back. "You look like you're about to hurl."

I force a laugh, trying to shake off the nerves. "Just, uh, pre-game jitters."

"Sure, for which game?" Micah winks, and the guys chuckle.

I'm only half-listening, my eyes glued to the screen as the announcers begin their introductions. My hands fumble with my shin pad, struggling to focus on both dressing and watching.

"And now, taking the ice, Delaney Quinn and Lachlan Vale..."

Everything else fades away. There she is, gliding onto the ice in that emerald green outfit that makes her eyes pop even through the pixelated stream. My heart does a little stutter-step, and I freeze, one arm tangled in my jersey.

"Damn, Monroe," Cross whistles low.

I can't even bring myself to respond, transfixed by Del's graceful form as she and Lachlan take their starting positions. The music hasn't even started yet, but I swear I can already feel the tension building in my chest.

"You good, Breck?" Kade asks, concern lacing his voice.

I nod mutely, not trusting myself to speak. Because how do I explain that watching Del skate feels more nerve-wracking than any championship game I've ever played?

As the first haunting notes of their music fill the air, I find myself on my feet, hands clasped on top of my head. My stomach's doing more twists than Del out there on the ice. I can't remember the last time I felt this anxious, and I've got a freaking regional championship game in less than an hour.

"Holy shit," Jett murmurs as Del and Lachlan launch into their first synchronized spin. "That's... actually pretty impressive."

I nod, a surge of pride mixing with my nerves. "Yeah, they've been working on that combination for months."

My eyes track Del's every movement, drinking in the fluid grace of her arms, the power in her legs as she prepares for a jump. I hold my breath, silently willing her to nail it.

She does. Of course she does. It's Del.

"Nice!" Axel exclaims, followed by a chorus of impressed murmurs from the guys.

I can't help but grin, my chest swelling with a mix of pride and something softer, warmer. "That's my girl," I whisper, too low for anyone else to hear.

As the program builds, I find myself leaning in closer to the screen, completely forgetting about my half-donned uniform. Del and Lachlan move as one, every gesture precise, every movement fluid. It's like watching poetry in motion, and I'm not even the poetic type.

"Yo, Breck," Tanner nudges me. "You might want to finish gearing up before Coach comes back."

"Huh? Oh, right." I fumble with my jersey, trying to pull it on without taking my eyes off the screen. It's a losing battle.

"Need a hand there, Romeo?" Micah teases, reaching over to help me.

I barely notice, too caught up in the building crescendo of Del's routine. My heart's racing faster than if I were out there on the ice myself.

"Shh!" I hiss, waving my hand frantically as Del and Lachlan prepare for their final combination. The guys fall silent, the tension in the locker room palpable.

My heart's pounding so hard I swear it's trying to break free from my chest. I can't tear my eyes away from the screen, my palms sweating as I watch Del take that deep breath she always does before a big move.

"Come on, Del," I whisper, my fingers unconsciously gripping the edge of my jersey. "You've got this."

As they nail the combination—a perfect triple axel before they transition into a death spiral—I let out a breath I didn't even realize I was holding. The guys erupt into cheers, but I barely hear them. All I can see is Del's face, that mix of exhilaration and relief I've come to know so well.

"Damn, Monroe," Axel chuckles, clapping me on the back. "You look like you're the one who just finished a routine."

I manage a weak laugh, running a hand through my hair. "Yeah, well, you try watching your girlfriend pull off moves like that without having a heart attack."

As Del and Lachlan make their way to the kiss and cry, I start pacing. My legs have a mind of their own, carrying me back and forth across the locker room floor.

"Dude, you're gonna wear a hole in the floor," Tyson quips, but I can hear the tension in his voice too. They're all invested now, even if they won't admit it.

"Can't help it," I mutter, eyes darting between the screen and the floor. "This is it. This is everything she's worked for."

Jett tosses a roll of tape at me, which I catch reflexively. "Here, fidget with this instead of making us all dizzy."

I nod gratefully, my fingers immediately starting to play with the tape. It's not much, but it gives me something to focus on besides the agonizing wait for Del's scores.

"So," Cross pipes up, a mischievous glint in his eye. "When's the wedding?"

I nearly choke on air. "What? We're not—I mean, we haven't even—"

The guys burst into laughter, and I feel my face heating up. "Very funny," I grumble, but I can't help the small smile tugging at my lips. Leave it to these idiots to lighten the mood when I'm about to combust from nerves.

As we wait for the scores, I can't help but think about how far Del and I have come. From that first electric meeting at the Glissade to now, watching her chase her dreams while I chase mine. It's terrifying and exhilarating all at once, kind of like love itself.

God, I hope she knows how proud I am of her, no matter what those scores say.

The numbers finally flash across the screen, and the locker room erupts into chaos. My heart leaps into my throat as I process what I'm seeing.

"Holy shit!" I yell, jumping to my feet. "She did it! Personal best!"

The guys are on their feet too, whooping and hollering like we just won the Stanley Cup. Micah's got me in a headlock, ruffling my hair, while Axel and Jett are doing some ridiculous victory dance.

"Your girl's a fucking champion, Monroe!" Jett shouts over the din, clapping me on the back.

I can't wipe the grin off my face. My heart is soaring, and I feel like I could take on the world right now. Del's joy radiates through the screen, and even though I'm not there with her, I swear I can feel it.

"Alright, alright!" A sharp clap cuts through our celebration. Coach stands in the doorway, his expression a mix of amusement and exasperation. "As touching as this little viewing party has been, gentlemen, need I remind you we have our own championship to focus on?"

Reality comes crashing back. Right. Our game. The reason we're actually here in this locker room.

"Sorry, Coach," I mumble, reaching to shut the laptop. My hand lingers for a moment on the screen, where Del's beaming face is frozen in a moment of pure triumph. I take a deep breath, trying to shift gears.

"Monroe," Coach's voice softens slightly. "She did good. Now it's your turn."

I nod, determination settling over me. "Yes, sir."

As I turn back to my gear, the energy in the room shifts. There's a new intensity, a focused buzz as everyone gets into game mode. But underneath it all, I can still feel the lingering excitement of Del's victory.

I lace up my skates, my mind racing. Maybe it's selfish, but I can't help thinking: if Del can achieve her dreams today, why can't I achieve mine?

I glance around, making sure Coach isn't looking, and pull out my phone. My fingers hover over the screen for a moment before I start typing:

Del, that was... fucking incredible. You were a goddamn supernova out there. I'm so proud of you I could burst. Can't wait to see you and celebrate properly. We've got some stuff to work through, but we'll get there. I know it.

I love you, baby

I hit send before I can overthink it, my heart pounding. It's more vulnerable than I usually let myself be, but after everything that's happened with Rafe, I need her to know where I stand.

"Yo, Breck!" Axel calls out. "You proposing or something? Let's go!"

I feel my cheeks heat up as I shove my phone away. "Just congratulating my girl, asshole," I shoot back, but there's no real heat in it.

As I grab my stick, a mix of nerves and excitement swirls in my gut. This is it. Our shot at glory, just like Del's. And maybe, just maybe, a chance to prove to her that I'm worth taking a risk on.

I take a deep breath, the familiar scent of hockey gear and nervous sweat filling my lungs. "Alright, boys," I say, my voice steadier than I feel. "Let's go make some history."