Chapter 1
Chapter One
JASPER
“Hey old man. You think you’re gonna get any more ice time tonight?”
“Or are you benched because of that pass?”
“I’d bench him.”
I grind my teeth as the game carries on around me, doing my best to ignore the fans heckling me from behind the glass.
One bad pass and they won’t shut up.
Fans. They all have opinions about everything. One good game and you’re their favorite player. One bad game and you’ll never hear the end of it.
Grabbing my water bottle, I take a swig before the whistle blows. Hopping over the boards, I’m ready to get back out on the ice.
“You ready?” Noah elbows me from where he’s standing on the ice.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
He throws his gloved fists up in defense. “Hey, don’t come after me. I’m not giving you shit about it.”
“Sorry. They’re just getting in my head.”
“We’ve got this,” he says. “We’ll bring it home.”
Glancing up at the scoreboard, I know we’re doing fine. We’re beating Minnesota 5-3 and it’s late in the third.
“Damn right, we will.”
Our center goes to take the face-off and immediately wins the puck. He sends it to me, and I head down the ice, pushing all earlier thoughts out of my head. Our winger is with me and I shoot the puck his way. He’s one of the newer guys on the team, but watching him play is a thing of beauty.
I wonder if that’s what I looked like playing at his age. Pretty sure I was playing hockey before he was born, but that’s not something I need to get into right now. He’s showing off his puck handling skills and before I know it, the puck is in the back of the net.
“Hell, yeah!” I clap him on the helmet, celebrating his goal.
“Nice pass, Jasper,” Noah says.
The fans are ecstatic as we extend our lead. Music blares throughout the arena. With only three minutes left and a solid lead, Coach Andrews keeps our line in.
The music stops when the puck drops. For a quick couple of seconds, I watch the guys play before I join the fray because it’s hard not to admire their skills.
I used to be that good. Keywords used to be.
I know I don’t have much more in me. Between getting old and the fans heckling me more often than not, I’m kind of over this shit.
But I can’t hang up my helmet yet. Not when I don’t have anything to show for it. I’ve played with Nashville since I was drafted. Hell, I’ve been in the league for about twenty years, having been drafted when I was nineteen.
I love this town and this team, and I want to win it all. We’ve started out strong this season, but that doesn’t mean anything come postseason.
As my shift ends, I head back to the bench.
“Nice work out there, Hayes.” Coach claps me on the helmet.
“Well, it looks like you can play hockey,” one of the fans behind me chirps.
“Ignore them,” Noah says.
“They make it hard some days.”
“Well, you are ninety and still playing hockey,” Noah says with a shit-eating grin.
“Really? Fuck you, dude.”
As the final horn sounds, we beat Minnesota 6-3. It might not have been my best game ever, but getting the W felt good.
After shaking hands with the other team, we skate back toward the tunnel for postgame interviews.
Something I’m not looking forward to.
I know the local press well, but the national media won’t be so kind. My suspicions are confirmed when I stop at the first reporter calling my name.
“Jasper, that was a pretty easy pass you missed earlier tonight. Do you think that contributed to Minnesota scoring?”
One deep breath in, hold for four, and let it out. No need to snap and go off on this guy.
“Our goalie did a good job stopping them, so no, I don’t think it contributed to them scoring.”
If this guy was watching the game, he would know this. They didn’t score for another few minutes.
“Do you think it’s contributed to a decrease in ice time this season?”
“I leave those decisions up to the coaching staff. I’ll always do what’s best for the team.”
He clears his throat. “The rest of the team looked good. Do you think you’ll be able to carry the momentum going forward?”
I don’t miss his dig—the rest of the team.
“I hope so. You never know what’s going to happen, but we’re playing well together and have a lot of great new talent.”
“Thanks, Jasper.”
No “good game” after that. Seriously, one bad play and it’s like I’ve become persona non grata.
Heading to my locker, I throw my gloves and stick down in a huff.
“Don’t let them get to you,” Marcus says. “We’ve all been there.”
“Difference is I’m the only one that is constantly asked about it.”
Dropping down onto my seat, it feels like my entire body creaks. God, I can’t remember the last time I didn’t have aches and pains. Usually in the offseason they start to fade, but now they’re constant.
It fucking sucks.
“I wouldn’t listen to them,” Bode says.
“Easy for you to say. You had the game of your life. Four goals? That’s badass,” I say.
“Yeah, it was pretty badass,” he says, a grin spreading across his face. “I don’t think I’ve ever scored that many in a game.”
“You haven’t,” Dax comments.
“How do you know? Are you keeping track of my stats?” Bode asks.
“No,” he says. “I had to answer the question about you having the best game of your career.”
“Why’d they ask you that?” Bode looks confused by this.
“Beats me.” Dax shrugs. “But I answered nicely and gave you a glowing review.”
Bode ruffles his hair. “Aww, it’s like you do love me.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He pushes him off. “I’m going to go get cleaned up so I can head out.”
“Anyone up for a drink?” I ask.
I know the answer before anyone can respond.
“Sorry, can’t tonight. I have to relieve the grandmas,” Bode says.
“Chloe is waiting for me,” Dax confirms.
“My mom has the girls, so Harper and I are having a date night,” Marcus says.
“Yeah, yeah,” I whine. “You all are going home to the people you love.”
“You know, we could set you up,” Bode tells me. “I’m sure Stevie or Harper has friends.”
“Yeah, doesn’t Chloe have a friend that’s single?” Marcus asks.
Dax shakes his head. “Her friend Erica is dating someone.”
“Do we really not know anyone?” Marcus whispers to Bode out of the corner of his mouth.
“You know you suck at whispering,” I say.
“Well, there’s usually a lot more noise and I don’t have to worry about being heard.”
“I’ll be fine. You guys go home.”
“Need help getting to the showers, old man?”
I flip him off. “Get out of here.”
We all go through our postgame routines and I shuck off the rest of my gear, grab a towel, and hit the showers.
It’s hard to think that there are more playing days behind me than ahead of me.
The good old days are behind me—or at least what I consider the good old days to be.
Having played for Nashville my entire career, there haven’t been a lot of good days until recently.
With shitty coach after shitty coach, we were always the laughingstock of the league until Coach Andrews came in.
He’s helped turn around this team more in the last few years than any coach before him. I’m still holding out to see if we might make another run for the Cup.
To see if I have it in me to make another playoff run. I don’t know how much longer I can put my body through this, but I’ll be trying my damndest.
Because I don’t have anything else going for me.
After the water starts to run cold, I head back toward my locker. Only a few people are left. Grabbing my phone, the notification that greets me pulls a rare smile from my face. One that only this person seems to be able to bring out in me now.
CatsRCool
I think you need a cat