Chapter 6 #2
But hockey players were hockey players the world over. We communicated in chirps, and even if we didn’t know each other personally, we knew of each other, especially if we were close to the same age. When all else failed, we knew the life, so the conversation never got too stagnant.
Aiden waved his badge on the security pad to unlock the door to the player entrance, then led us out of the Nashville sunny spring day into a darkened, at least at first, arena.
I toured the Bridgestone one year ago. Donnie Malachek made sure he and his party were offered the behind-the-scenes VIP treatment no matter what arena we were at, so I hung back.
Falling between Shane and Gavin while the boys mobbed Aiden with questions, I asked, pointing my chin toward Aiden, “How’s he doing?”
At first, neither Gavin nor Shane spoke. Then Gavin piped up, “Spectacularly. Bauer and Asher are thrilled with how well they’ve stepped into the spots the team called them up for.”
“Yeah. Aiden’s solid,” Shane added, then continued. “Even when he’s not solid, you’d never know it once Aiden steps out on the ice. He locks his shit down, tunnels his vision until all he can see is the puck and the lanes, and tunes out all the other chaos.”
I nodded. I noticed that about him when he first got to The U. I said as much. “Good,” I said. “I worried a little, with how quickly it happened for him. It’s a lot. But I noticed the same laser focus last fall.”
Waiting at the doors to the locker room with his arms folded over his chest stood Egor Ilkovitch, the Nashville Nighthawks head coach. “Guys, this is Coach Ilkovitch. Coach, this is…”
Ilkovitch waved his hand, and Aiden’s mouth snapped shut. The former defenseman turned hockey coach was freaking humongous. He towered over us all and looked as if he could kit up for tonight’s game without an issue.
“The starting unit for the Manchester Maulers,” he said.
“They’re a great bunch, Coach. No doubt,” Aiden said, leading the way into the locker room with Gavin and Shane going with him.
Coach Ilkovitch stood to the side, and Ryan moved to walk past him only for the coach to extend his hand to Riordy. “Ryan Riordan—starting goalie with a nine-fifty-three save percentage. Best in the nation. But that’s no shocker considering what your numbers looked like in Boston.”
He patted Riordy’s shoulder, then turned to Zane next. “Zane Tyler, thirteen goals and nineteen assists across forty games. Good job, son.”
He continued shaking the hands of the guys quoting stats for the twins and Ethan when it was their turn. With every interaction, my nerves ramped up, and my palms grew increasingly damp, and then he got to me. I swallowed several times to dislodge the lump in my throat.
“Captain Malachek, son, you are one of the most beautiful players to set foot on the ice. To switch from center to wing back to center back to wing back to center in a single season is damn impressive. And according to Aiden and Storm, to do so completely voluntarily? You don’t see that every day.
You are the kind of player coaches dream of. ”
“Um,” I stopped, cleared my throat, and tried again, “Thank you, Coach.”
His big, meaty palm planted itself between my shoulder blades, guiding me into the locker room where Aiden, Gavin, and Shane were showing the boys their gear and cubbies.
“Alright, boys, I gotta go get ready for the game. It’s been a pleasure to meet such an impressive group of players, gentlemen. You had an impressive season, and that doesn’t account for the upheaval you guys faced. You should be very proud of yourselves.”
Umm… What…the actual…fuck…was that?
He disappeared from sight, not realizing he’d dropped a fucking atomic bomb in my fucking lap.
Aiden and his boys moved us through the rest of the Nighthawks locker room, introducing us to everyone we passed. It didn’t matter whether they were the janitorial staff or the team doctor.
And they all had something nice to say about us.
“Nice to meet you, Trey,” Jason Evans, one of the stats guys, said.
“I’m a huge fan. Been following you since juniors.
That game against Michigan in December when you moved back to center while Aiden was out?
A fucking beaut, man. You blocked five shots on goal, all while scoring a hat-trick and getting two assists.
All thirty-two teams in the league are gonna be bawling when you get on the ice in New York. ”
Then there was the trainer, Eddie Lukowich, who shook my hand and said, “I could praise you for days, kid. It’s always a pleasure to watch you skate.
You also rarely see a player at your level who so easily plays both ways—the explosiveness of a winger, the physicality of a defender, and the playmaker skills of a center.
If someone said they were trying you out as a goalie, it wouldn’t shock me.
You seem to excel no matter where you are on the ice. ”
By the time we left the rink, the ‘What the fuck?’ that struck me after Coach Ilkovitch greeted me had grown into a monster of ‘Holy fucking shitballs!’ and ‘Where’s this been all my life?’