CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
By the time the day arrived when Nicky and the rest of the Rockets would play in Boston, Sebastian was as keyed up as any of the guys in the lineup.
He was looking forward to cheering for his friend and giving Crawford absolute hell every time he landed in the box.
He’d been disappointed to receive a text from Nicky a few days ago saying, Sorry, I don’t think we’ll be able to get together. We’re flying to Boston the morning of the game, then leaving for D.C. immediately after.
It’s okay, I understand, Sebastian sent back.
Although, as Sebastian stood in front of his closet trying to decide what to wear to the game tonight, he was honestly a little bit relieved that the plans had fallen through and Nicky had no free time to meet up.
He’d suggested that Sebastian swing by HCI where they were practicing today but the thought had made Sebastian uneasy.
The practices weren’t technically open to the public and although the Harriers had been nice enough to Sebastian on Harper’s day with the team, Sebastian didn’t want to push his luck.
And the thought of seeing Crawford and Nicky in the same space made his stomach flip with anxiety.
It was probably just as well he wouldn’t be seeing them at the same time, except during the game. On the ice.
Sebastian wondered if he could really look his friend in the eye and hear him talk about what a piece of shit Crawford was and not give himself away. Not blurt out that while he still didn’t always like the way Crawford played, he was a good person off the ice.
Was he coarse around the edges? Sure. But there was a good heart there. He was a caring person. And it was getting harder and harder for Sebastian to reconcile the two versions of him.
Damn Brie for her comments anyway. Everything had seemed much more straightforward before that.
Guiltily, Sebastian was looking forward to seeing Crawford tonight too.
They’d made plans for him to come over after the game. In fact … Sebastian pulled his phone out and typed out a text. You wanna fuck me tonight?
As much as Sebastian had enjoyed the other things they’d been doing lately, he’d missed the rough, desperate way Crawford had topped him that one time.
He was surprised when Crawford responded quickly. Hell yes. Your place?
Works for me. I’ll leave the back door unlocked. Just let yourself in and come upstairs.
Sounds good.
Have a good game, Sebastian typed.
??? Thought you’d be rooting for New York tonight?
Oh, I am. Sebastian hesitated, not sure how to explain what he meant. But uh, it’s way more fun when you’re playing. And getting lots of penalties so I can chirp you.
Sebastian smiled at the Fuck you he got back.
Later, he sent in response.
Can’t fucking wait, Crawford sent.
Sebastian shivered in anticipation, then tucked his phone away, frowning at the row of jerseys. With a sudden burst of inspiration, he remembered one he rarely wore. He rifled through his collection of vintage jerseys his father had given him after the accident.
He pulled out the newer style one that Nicky had given him when he’d been given the captaincy. It said Calhoun across the back and had a C on the chest, and as much as Sebastian loved the vintage jerseys from his dad, he thought it might be nice to support his friend tonight.
Both teams raced up and down the ice, the game remaining scoreless.
Luke’s legs burned as he took a seat in the penalty box. He took off his helmet and watched the replay of when he’d gotten his stick a little high on Leif Rasmussen.
Yeah, fair enough. He’d probably deserved that one.
He still thought Leif was being a whiny crybaby as he followed the ref around, showing off his rapidly swelling lip. No blood, so it had only been a two-minute minor instead of a double minor.
“Hey, Crawford!” a man called out from the crowd. “Getting real tired of your cheap shots on players. You’re not even a fucking good team if you assholes can’t win without head shots.”
Luke blinked because the chirp had come from where Sebastian usually sat, but it definitely hadn’t been him who said it. He glanced over to see an older guy glaring at him, sitting a few feet from Sebastian.
Crawford scoffed and called out, “Look, buddy, your chirps are as weak as your team. Why don’t you leave it to a guy who can deliver something good.” He nodded toward Sebastian.
Crawford caught a glimpse of a small smile crossing Sebastian’s face before he glanced back at the ice, his expression fading into something bland and neutral.
The older guy said something to Sebastian, who shrugged.
Luke squinted. Huh. Was Sebastian wearing a modern Rockets jersey tonight? Luke glared at the C on his chest. He was. And he was fucking wearing a Nicholas Calhoun jersey of all things.
Luke looked away. He polished his visor with a cloth, hating the way drops of salty sweat dried and left spots on the surface and impeded his vision.
He mopped at his face and squirted a little water in his mouth as he watched the Harriers bear down on the Rockets’ net, driving the puck toward Roman Poole’s net.
He batted it away and Luke gritted his teeth in frustration. They were already nine minutes into the second period and the game was still fucking scoreless.
Both teams had gotten good chances but with Jesse Webber in the Harriers’ net and Roman Poole in the Rockets’, there wasn’t a chance in hell of either team scoring easily.
The goalies were too damn good.
Luke settled his helmet back on his head and gripped his stick, watching as Rafe absolutely bodied a New York player and Mickey swooped in to retrieve the puck. He fired it to Eric Wyatt, who deftly skated between two of New York’s D-men, then chipped it toward the net.
This time, Poole batted it out of the air and smothered it.
Luke ground his teeth together again as they set up the next faceoff. Goddamn this was going to be a frustrating game the whole way through.
“Hey, Crawford,” Luke heard a moment later and he had to hide a small smile at the sound of Sebastian’s familiar voice. “I wouldn’t get too cocky about your chances. Nicky Calhoun is on a revenge tour tonight.”
Luke cursed as he watched Calhoun tear up the ice on a breakaway, decimating any attempts by the Harriers to backcheck. He fired it toward the net but Jesse poked it away with his stick, the play continuing.
Luke glanced over at the bench where Coach Rasmussen tapped Tanner on the shoulder and a moment later when Luke came out of the box, Tanner’s skates landed on the ice too.
They swept in, Tanner hustling behind the Harrier’s net and firing the puck to Luke.
Luke passed it to Connor, who was hanging out near the blue line.
He drove hard into the neutral zone, Anker and Graham swooping in as well and Luke watched intently as Connor passed to Anker, who fired it at the goal.
But Poole was right there, blocking the puck, and deflecting it toward Leif Rasmussen who was on the ice again.
Luke skated backwards, trying to keep pace with Rasmussen, trying to take away his shooting lane but Rasmussen deftly slipped around him and took another shot at Jesse’s net.
Once again, Jesse blocked it and their opponents regained possession of the puck.
Luke was left to chew on his mouthguard and curse the New York Rockets.
He fucking hated those guys.
The game was still scoreless as the second period wound down. The mood on the Harriers bench was one of frustration and Luke cursed when Graham got a great opportunity, only to be thwarted by another great save from Poole.
“I fucking hate this team,” Tanner muttered beside him as the team trooped off the bench to go to the locker room.
“Seriously,” Luke said with a sigh. “Fuck them all.”
“Didn’t think you were into that,” Tanner said, elbowing him in the ribs.
Luke shoved him back. “I’ll leave the man-whoring to you, thanks.”
The third period wasn’t much better. The minutes ticked down and it wasn’t until there were less than five minutes on the clock when Calhoun tore up the ice toward Jesse’s net.
Luke put on a burst of speed, reaching out with his stick, trying to disrupt his shot but the puck went in, slipping between Jesse’s pads and the ice.
New York had gotten the first goal of the game.
Calhoun let out a whoop, looking Luke right in the face as he raised his arms and stick high, his teammates on the ice piling on to celebrate.
“You thought you’d gotten rid of me for good, huh?” he taunted as he skated by Luke a moment later. “Too fucking bad. I’m back, baby.”
Luke stifled a groan as he headed back to the bench.
New York had been bad enough with Rasmussen’s offense. With Calhoun back and feeling it? Oh yeah, it was about to get so much worse.
But with less than a moment left in regulation, Luke stripped the puck off Calhoun near the boards and got it free to Connor, who took a few steps toward the center of the ice and fired. The puck banked off the post with a satisfying ping and landed in the net behind Roman Poole.
Luke hollered his appreciation and slammed into his captain as the home crowd roared.
“Fuck yeah!” Luke shouted as he wrapped his arms around Connor’s waist and shook him. “Fuck yeah, that’s how we do it in Boston.”
But their happiness was short-lived.
Despite great chances by Graham, Anker and Eric Wyatt, New York kept the pressure up in overtime, forcing Boston to defend heavily in their own zone.
With thirty seconds to go, Calhoun got another breakaway and although Jesse flung his body sideways in his crease, the puck skipped over him and landed in the back of the net.
New York had won it in overtime.
Out of the corner of his eye, Luke saw Sebastian celebrating with the older Rockets fan nearby.
“Fucking New York,” Connor muttered as they skated toward Jesse to give him his helmet bumps and thank him for getting them to overtime and grabbing them a single point, even if it wasn’t the two they’d hoped for.
Luke agreed.
Fuck the New York Rockets.