Chapter 35
ASHER REYNOLDS
No one is expecting us to win tonight, and that makes it even more exciting. I’ve always loved being the underdog. Plus, even though my life hangs in the balance of a loser who’s not very good at his job, I had an incredible night with the man that I love.
Oh, and he knows that I love him. That knowledge means that I’ve been trying to keep the stupid smile off of my face all day.
I slept at Chase’s last night and left at the crack of dawn to sneak back into my own room. West, who’s not suiting up either, was still sleeping like a big, snoring baby. I even threw my pillow at him when I got into bed, just to check.
So, while I’m not counting my chickens yet, things could be way worse from where I’m sitting. And that’s on the bench, watching as my teammates circle the ice for warm-ups.
Michigan beat Bloomington in the consolation game earlier, so at least they didn’t finish dead last in the tournament that their team was sponsoring. The stands were about half-full, but that’s still an insane crowd for anyone at the college level.
Now, ahead of the championship match-up, the stadium–at least three times as big as Radford’s, since pro teams play here–is absolutely packed. I don’t think that Minnesota is going to clobber us like everyone expects, but we’re going to have to put in a hell of an effort to come close to winning.
Jason, who’s been making an effort since I came out to him, texted me this morning asking what the hell had happened to our odds.
I guess the team announced the news earlier today that Carter isn’t going to be able to play.
He’s been unstoppable the last month, and it’s going to be a hard-fought battle without him on the ice.
Our greatest offensive hope is Coop, who’s circling around the goal, staring at something in the distance. Coop’s one of the most talented players, much like Kellan, that I’ve ever stepped on the ice with.
But knowing him so well means that I can also tell that something is off about him. Usually, he’s nervous but loose, chatting with the other guys and always the first one to laugh at a joke.
At breakfast, his jaw was flexed so tightly that I thought he was going to pop a muscle.
I was going to ask him about it, but then I got distracted looking at Chase from across the room.
It didn’t matter that I’d only left his bed an hour ago.
He was focused on discussing the game plan with the coaches, probably since Carter won’t be playing.
Whatever the reason for his gorgeous mouth to be in motion, I couldn’t take my eyes off the way his lips were moving.
If he’s stressed that Zane knows about us, he’s doing a really good job of compartmentalizing it.
Or, he’s on the verge of doing something heroic and stupid.
I’m not sure, but even if I wasn’t watching him for purely indulgent reasons, I’ve been doing my best to gauge the temperature of the other staff.
Unfortunately, Zane is walking around with his chest puffed out like a goddamn pigeon. We haven’t spoken, but he gives me a smarmy smile whenever he sees me that makes my skin crawl.
Ugh.
I’m grateful when Coop skates by so that I have a distraction. “Yo, Coop,” I yell, standing up from the bench.
He spins fluidly and covers the few feet of distance between us. “What’s up?” he asks distractedly, his body facing me but his eyes looking toward the other side of the rink.
“I could ask you the same question.” Now that I’m far enough away from Chase that I can think straight, it’s really obvious that Coop is acting weird as hell.
“Just getting ready,” he lies. And I know it’s a lie because by this point in his warm-ups, he’s focused on practice shots. Always.
“You aren’t following your usual routine.” It’s a statement more than a question. I’ve played with him for two-and-a-half years now, and it’s clear that his head isn’t right. “Is this because Carter is out? I know it sucks, but we can still take this thing.”
He shakes his head. “I’m bummed about that, but no.” He looks over toward the opposing team. “I just wish that we weren’t against Minnesota.”
Honestly, I feel the same. They’re known for brutal, no holds barred playing that flirts with being illegal more often than not. But it packs stadiums and wins games, so it seems to be going largely unchecked by the collegiate hockey world.
At least we don’t have to play them during the regular season.
And if there’s anyone who can play through this, it’s Coop.
He’s fast as hell and only getting better.
Plus, he’s one of the Radford players who’s already been drafted by a pro team.
He just needs to remember that. “You’ve got this man.
You’ve been the heart of the team this season, no doubt about it.
And yeah, they’re assholes on the ice for sure.
But we’re solid. You’re solid. Don’t let them get in your head. ”
I can see that he’s wrestling with his words before he finally says, “I used to play with one of the guys. Let’s just say that we have some bad blood.”
I can feel one of my eyebrows ticking upward. “You never mentioned that.”
One of the things about Coop is that he keeps his life in the moment–or he’s focusing on the future. He doesn’t sit around and talk about his glory days of high school hockey because that life was only a stepping stone into the greatness I know that he’ll achieve.
Kellan, for example, is an incredible guy and all-around great center, but it really didn’t come together for him until his last couple of years at Radford.
He was a good player on a great team, especially his freshman and sophomore years, but he didn’t uplevel his play until his senior year, unlocking potential that I don’t even know that he knew he possessed.
It’s why he was able to actually make it to the pros.
Coop, conversely, is one of those guys that was identified early on in his playing.
He came straight to a D1 college without hitting the junior leagues first, and he already has his offer in hand from the Milwaukee Freeze.
Honestly, with the way his personal play is going this season–regardless of the team having a poor run overall–I wouldn’t be surprised if they wanted to call him up instead of having him finish out all four years.
I catch him staring at the opposing players again as they weave in and out of drills. Whoever the guy is, they must have played in high school together on their Minnesota team. “High school nemesis?” I chance, trying to drag his attention back to me.
It’s kind of nice to focus on something else other than the possibility that my perfect love bubble with Chase is going to explode soon.
He takes off his helmet and wipes sweat off his brow. “What’s that song? ‘A long time ago, we used to be friends,’” he says, sadness mingled with something like anger in his voice.
“‘But I haven’t thought of you lately at all,’” I finish the lyrics before adding, “Then I guess you’ll just have to get out there and show him what he’s been missing all these years. I know that you’re a hell of a teammate, so joke’s on him.”
That softens something in Coop, and he gives me a half-smile. “Thanks, Dutch. I can’t wait til you’re back for the rest of the season.”
His words make me antsy because I don’t know if that’s something that I can promise him.
Especially with Zane lurking about in his race to become the world’s worst human.
But Coop doesn’t need to hear that right now.
He needs confidence that he can do this.
That he can lead the team to victory. “Focus on leaving it all out there tonight, and we’ll be back on the ice together soon. ”
Coop nods slowly, like he’s psyching himself up. “Yeah. Focus on tonight. I can do that.”
When he puts his helmet back on, I tap it down.
“You’ve got this. No one more I’d trust out there than you.
” And it’s true. Coop has always been solid as hell on the ice, especially in stressful situations.
He’s one of those guys who just loves every single thing about hockey.
The ritual. The team camaraderie. The effort.
“I’ve got this,” he echoes, taking one last look across the ice.
I grab his sweater and jerk him back toward me. “You’ve got this. They don’t matter. That guy doesn’t matter.”
“They don’t matter. That guy doesn’t matter,” he repeats like I’m giving him a mantra.
I hit his helmet again, bummed that I don’t have my own so that I can tap them together. “And I’ll tell you that as many times as you need to hear it tonight.”
He’s taking deep inhales now, psyching himself up. “I needed this. Thank you.”
The team’s huddling up near our goal. He skates over toward them, so fast that he’s gliding to a stop before they even notice that he was missing.
I’m watching the team whip themselves into a frenzy, so I don’t notice when Chase walks up next to me, having come from the tunnels that lead to the locker rooms. “You’re good with the other guys,” he says while settling his medical bag on the long bench that will soon be swarming with the team.
I level him with a look. “So are you.”
In the light of everything that’s on the line–when we’re not wrapped up in our bubble of safety–the stakes are more glaring. Last night, I could get lost in his body and pretend that having to choose between him and hockey didn’t matter to me. And I’m sure it was the same for him.
But I meant what I said. I’ll give it all up if it means that we can really be together.
Chase is too self-sacrificing though, and when it comes down to it, I’m not sure that he’ll let me.
Winning the Blizzard Cup doesn’t change our league standings, but it’s a moral victory. Which is why, even though we’re supposed to practice on Tuesday, Coach decides to cancel it.