Chapter 8
Caden
This is the longest month of my life.
“Pass the puck!” Shaw shouts over, and I fling it toward him, seeing the neat space beside the goalie that the Larch Peak team hasn’t clocked yet.
“Out of my way,” one of them hollers, and then I’m body-slammed against the boards, grunting loudly as he knees my nut-sack before I shove the fucker away from me.
I glance at Shaw and huff out a laugh as he aces the shot before the final buzzer. Then I grip my glove around my junk, just to make sure that everything’s still in order.
The buzzer sounds and Shaw jumps on my back as all of the Carter U guys fly toward us, Coach Benson in our peripheral vision, watching to make sure that we don’t start any fights post-win.
I give Shaw an elbow to the gut, grunting as Hughes joins the pile-up and spanks his ass.
“Hughes,” I laugh, shaking them off as I skate to the edge, my two teammates following behind me as I reach Austin and we slam a high-five.
“I love playing Larch Peak,” Austin says, smirking as our opposition starts skating past us. Then he pretends to jerk off on the side of the goal and winks at their captain as he gives us the finger.
Losing on home turf has got to suck, but Larch Peak’s college team is notorious for being a bunch of assholes – meaning that none of us try to tamper down Austin’s goading as the team slides past us, hollering obscenities.
“You kiss your mom with that mouth?” Austin calls back to them, his voice rasping after the intense game, before putting on a show of tossing his water all over the net.
“Jesus Christ,” I laugh, as I grab his water bottle and dodge his elbow. “You know that we need you for this season, right? Coach will bench your dick if he has to.”
“Did you see that save I did five minutes ago? Benson isn’t benching me for shit.”
I snicker and push him away from me because, yeah, he’s got a point. Larch Peak barely managed a single goal in this game and, as much as that’s due to our defencemen, it’s also because Austin owns the net.
This is our sixth NCAA game in three weeks, and we haven’t lost a single one.
We didn’t come into the season with the ‘we have to win this’ mentality.
After winning the Frozen Four earlier this year, Benson took the pressure off of us by saying that we should go into the competition season looking to enhance our individual skills, learning from the opposition rather than battling with a score sheet.
It can be intense for some of the guys if they think that they have to maintain an elite standard, but it seems to have worked just fine by thinking that we should take it easy and enjoy the ride.
It's a given that as a team we always want to win our games, but taking each one as they come, rather than being single-minded about reaching the final, has made the process so much simpler, not to mention more enjoyable.
So now we’re almost at the end of November, with the cleanest team record that we’ve ever seen, and, as we roll off the ice, we all glance back at the scoreboard, kind of stunned.
“I’m starting to think that we reverse-manifested this,” Shaw says warily, and Hughes slaps him on the back of the neck, before pulling back with a grimace.
“First of all, gross dude. Your neck’s sweaty as fuck.
And, second of all? Don’t tempt the Universe.
If it wants us to win, let’s keep it going.
No expectations, no pressure.” Hughes pulls off his helmet as we exit the rink, slapping Austin’s back as we head toward the showers.
“Let’s keep our energy high and our bodies strong. And you were fire tonight, Caden.”
I turn my head and meet his gaze, my brow rising because I didn’t expect a compliment from our captain. But after a moment I give him a nod, nudging his shoulder as we reach the changing room.
“He’s not wrong,” Shaw says, giving me a wink as I glance across at him.
“You scored that final goal,” I remind him, ripping off my gear as we head to the showers.
“Yeah, but you set it up like a pro. Couldn’t have scored any of my goals without you.”
I shake my head and hide my smile, avoiding eye contact with everyone. Because I genuinely have no idea why the guys are being so… nice to me.
We’re a good team and we all get on, but they’ve never been this vocal with their praise before.
I close myself up in one of the shower stalls, shutting off my brain as I soap up my muscles, and then I rest my palms against the steam-soaked tiles, letting the hot water scorch its way over my shoulders.
Of all the small pleasures in my life, a post-game shower is one of my favorites.
After a couple of minutes, I reach for my towel, blinking in confusion when I come up empty.
And then I stare in silence at the back of the door, to the empty hook where my towel should be.
I turn off the spray and huff out a laugh.
Guess which asshole forgot to bring his towel into the shower with him.
I shove my tongue in my cheek and push open the door, covering my junk with my hands as I walk back to the bench.
“Someone’s happy to see me,” Austin smirks, whipping his shirt against my ass.
I drop my hands and snicker, grabbing my gear-bag and pulling on my boxers.
“You wish,” I rumble. “This is me flaccid, you prick.”
Brett’s jaw drops to the floor, his voice rasping. “This is you flaccid?”
He’s one of the new sophomores on the team, and according to Benson he has “untapped potential”.
“I’m in the locker room,” I tell him, laughing as I pull on my shirt. “Of course I’m flaccid.”
He shakes his head, blinking away from my crotch. “I didn’t mean it like that, I just meant, you know…”
I breathe out a laugh as I pull my pants up, tugging up the zipper, before grabbing my boots.
And Austin takes one look at Brett’s wary expression, before looking back at me and exploding with laughter.
“He’s huge!” Brett exclaims, shooting me a distressed look as I slip on my belt. “You’re flaccid and already six inches. What the fuck happens when you get hard, man?”
“Fucking hell,” Hughes chuckles. “Is your head just for decoration, Brett?”
“Seriously.” Austin winces. “You’ve got to engage your brain before you speak.”
Brett stares at them in disbelief, his jaw still unhinged.
“No way,” Brett says. “No way are you guys acting like I’m the crazy one, when Godzilla’s on the fucking team and no-one thought to mention it.”
A sly smirk plays on Austin’s mouth. “Why would we mention it?”
After almost three years on this team, I’m more than used to this conversation, because it’s an unspoken fact that I’ve got a lot going on in my jeans.
I roll my eyes in amusement before smacking my towel against Austin’s nape, and in the next second the door bangs open, with Benson folding his arms over his chest.
“Am I interrupting?” he asks slowly, furrowing his brow at Austin who still isn’t dressed.
Austin smirks as he grabs his hoodie. “Wasn’t me, Coach. You should look at Brett.”
Benson ignores him and moves his steady gaze to me, giving me a tilted nod of his head as if to say come into the corridor.
I blink at him in surprise, before slowly nodding my head.
But I swear if this talk is about the dick conversation, then I’m going to start showering with my boxers on.
I shove my gear into my bag, pull it onto my shoulder, and then I lumber toward the exit, following Benson out into the corridor.
Some of the Larch Peak guys are filtering into their coach’s office, so I get a couple of frosty glances as I lean back against the wall. But, surprisingly, when their team captain steps out, he stares at me for a moment before giving me a subtle nod of respect.
I tip my chin at him in response before looking back at Benson, who’s watching me like a hawk.
I push my hair back and clear my throat. “Everything okay, Coach?”
He nods his head slowly, dropping his arms from over his chest. “I wanted to say this out of earshot of the team, because some of your fellow players are in the running, but the way that you played on the ice this afternoon… the way that you handled your teammates after the game… especially with Shaw and Austin…” He exhales quietly. “Hart, I’m impressed.”
I rub the heat from my neck as I breathe out a laugh. “I don’t think that I handled anyone, Sir.”
“When the Larch Peak players were leaving the ice? When they tried to bait you during the game? Caden, I’ve been coaching this team for a long time, and it takes real self-discipline for a player to not indulge his ego.”
I swallow quietly. “Coach–”
He raises his palm. “Caden. I’m not telling you that I want you to be next year’s captain yet. But I am telling you that – if being a captain is something that you’re interested in – you will be undoubtedly really good at it.”
I blink at him in silence, feeling my biceps strain against my shirt.
And I can’t help but think about what Shaw said earlier.
Because it’s kind of starting to feel like I’ve reverse-manifested this.
I never thought about being a captain, but my team…
actually likes me. Even the captain of Larch Peak U just gave me some respect.
I shove my fingers through my hair, lowkey stressing out.
Because, seriously, how the fuck is this happening to me?
“Food for thought,” Benson rumbles, before heading toward the corridor’s exit, leaving me alone outside the changing room as I wait for the team to finish up.
The team that I could be the captain of by the end of this next summer.
I shake my head and grab my phone, opening up my photos so that I can look at Winter. I want to talk to her about this so bad, but I also don’t want to bother her with something until I’ve thought it through a little more.
I trace my thumb over one of our photos, my heart pounding faster as I remind myself of what we have scheduled tonight. A video-call, for just the two of us. A reminder of the amazing life I’ve got waiting back home.
I pull up the Messages app, wanting nothing more than to talk to her.
And I can’t help but smile when I see her watched your game on the stream, I’m so proud of you!!! message, and I punch out a series of pink hearts for her before typing my own reply.
Scored that hat-trick for you, baby. I love you so fucking much.