CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX #2
“Hey, where’s your guy?” Rafe asked as he fired a puck toward Mickey behind the net during warmups.
Graham glanced up from where he’d been stickhandling, batting the puck back and forth in figure eights, the same way he had before every game since he’d started doing it in college. “I dunno. Look for the guy with the big camera?”
Rafe laughed. “No. Not him. Crawford’s guy.”
He nodded toward Luke who had playfully crushed Tanner against the boards, then skated toward them. The same way he did every game.
They were a superstitious bunch, Graham had to admit.
Both Graham and Luke gave Rafe a confused look though. “What the fuck are you talking about? I don’t have a guy,” Crawford said.
Rafe rolled his eyes. “No, not like that. Not that you’re dating. The chirper guy. Vintage jersey.” The puck landed on his tape again and he fired it back to Mickey without even looking.
“Oh, him.” Crawford’s expression turned sour. “I dunno. Why?”
“Well, he’s been at a bunch of home games in Boston lately, right?”
Crawford shrugged. “I guess? All I fucking know about him is that he was always at the New York games wearing a vintage Rockets jersey and chirping my ass. I assumed he traveled here or whatever when New York was playing here in Boston, but I don’t know anything else about him.”
“Right,” Rafe said. “But he’s been here at a bunch of game against other teams lately, yeah?”
“Uhh, I suppose? I mean that sounds right, but I never really thought about it that closely.”
“And he always sits near the penalty box.”
“Yeah. Can’t fuckin’ resist being a dick.” Crawford scowled.
Graham chuckled.
“So, he’s not there tonight.” Rafe looked pointedly toward the seats near the penalty box, then shot the puck back to Mickey where it landed square on his tape.
They were getting damn good at the blind passes. It was kinda spooky.
“And?” Crawford said blankly.
“And he’s usually here by now. Isn’t it weird if he has season tickets, or whatever? Where do you think he is tonight?”
Crawford looked increasingly baffled. “I don’t fuckin’ know. Maybe he’s sick? Maybe he was in town for a couple of months for work, then left? How the fuck should I know?”
Rafe shrugged, good-natured as always. “I just thought it was weird.”
“Yeah.” Crawford eyed Rafe. “Something sure is.”
He skated away to continue his warmup and Rafe shrugged at Graham, who laughed and went back to stickhandling.
Chirping fans or not, they had a game to get ready for.
When they paused for the first TV time-out, Graham skated around, deftly avoiding the ice crew who had come out with shovels to clean up the loose snow created by their blades.
The first period had started hard and fast, and now Graham’s hip throbbed a little from the hit he’d taken a few minutes ago.
After a hit like that, he didn’t like to sit too much, felt like his muscles tightened up unless he kept the blood flowing, so he skated around near the Harriers’ bench, looking idly around.
It had been a good start to the game. High energy, and Crawford had managed to get the puck off to Tanner earlier and Tanner had set up Connor in a pretty little give-and-go play that ended up with the puck buried in Dallas’ net, putting the Harriers up 1-0.
Now, as Graham cruised around, trying to keep his blood flowing, he glanced up at the seats right near the tunnel and saw a girl—maybe five or six years old—wearing a medical mask and carrying a sign that said, Hey, Crawford, I’m a fighter like you.
You’re my favorite player … can I have a pic or a puck?
Graham smiled, a little surprised she’d picked Crawford as her favorite and not Connor or Jesse or Tanner like most kids. Graham would have to let Luke know once he got back to the bench though.
She gave him a cheery little wave, and his smile widened as he waved back. His gaze slid sideways as the guy with her—her dad maybe?—held up a sign saying, Don’t blame me for her liking Crawford—I’m just the guncle.
It took a second for “guncle” to translate to “gay uncle” in Graham’s head, but he laughed when it hit. He grinned at the guy, only to realize he was wearing a vintage New York jersey.
To a Boston vs. Dallas game.
That was a little weird … it hit Graham that this was, in fact, Vintage Jersey Guy who Rafe had been talking about earlier.
He was cute, Graham decided as he headed back to the bench to tell everyone about what he’d seen. A little older than Graham, but not by much, with dark curly hair and heavy stubble.
When he reached the bench, Crawford was leaning against the boards and staring blankly across the ice at nothing.
Graham nudged him. “Hey. I found your guy.”
“Huh?” Crawford looked up.
“Your vintage jersey guy. He’s here. Just in a different seat.”
“Oh good.” Crawford said with a roll of his eyes.
Graham laughed. “And get this. He’s here with a kid tonight.”
Crawford shrugged. “Assholes have kids too. Who grow up to be even bigger assholes. What else is new?”
“No. It’s not his kid. Look,” Graham said. “You have to see it for yourself.”
“I’m not fucking going over there,” Crawford said. “It’s bad enough when I can’t get away from him.”
“Why, you scared of a few mean words?” Graham teased.
Crawford gave him a withering look. “No, I just don’t give a shit about him or his family.”
“Dude,” Graham said. “He’s here with his niece. He’s gay, apparently, and she’s sick. Or, at least she’s wearing a medical mask, like the kids in the children’s hospital.”
Crawford winced. “Fuck, I hate seeing sick kids.”
“I know. Me too. Anyway, her sign says you’re her favorite and that she’s a fighter like you. You’ll make her day if you go over there and at least take a pic with her.”
“Fuck. Yeah, okay,” he said with a sigh. “Fine.”
But the time-out was winding down, and they needed to set up for the next faceoff.
The remainder of the first period passed with nothing but a beautiful goal from Anker that got called back due to being offsides, and, by the end, Graham had completely forgotten about the whole exchange with Crawford.
But as he and Graham got ready to leave the ice, he spotted Luke standing near the boards, posing for a picture with the sick kid.
“Hey. That was good of you,” Graham said a few minutes later, tapping Crawford on the arm when they passed in the locker room. “Stopping to take the pic.”
“I guess,” Crawford said, swiping a hand through his sweat-damp hair. “Her uncle’s still a fucking dick though.”
Thad laughed, wondering what the guy had said.
Despite some light-out saves by Jesse, Dallas managed to even the score up in the second period, notching a goal against the Harriers.
The Harriers tried to push back, spending extended time in Dallas’ zone but despite their best efforts, Dallas pulled ahead to 2-1 with eight seconds left in the period.
Graham left the ice keyed up and a little frustrated.
Dallas’ defense had been all over him the entire game and he hadn’t gotten so much as a single assist yet tonight.
He mopped the sweat off, hydrated, crammed down an energy bar, then went back out for the third.
After his first shift out, he sat beside Tanner, who was bouncing in his seat like an over-caffeinated toddler. On his other side, their equipment guy, Rusty, tapped Crawford’s outstretched fist, then handed over a small packet.
Crawford crushed it against the top of the boards, then bent his head and waved the packet under his nose a few times, shaking his head and letting out a “woo!” after.
Plenty of hockey players used smelling salts, claiming it gave their nervous system a jolt and woke them up, making them more focused and alert. They also claimed the increased oxygen gave them a competitive edge.
Science didn’t seem to back that up, but it stood no chance against hockey rituals and superstition.
Crawford used them all the time and had offered them to Graham once.
He’d recoiled at the sharp ammonia smell burning his eyes and nose. He’d tried not to gag and had spent the next few minutes dry heaving and trying to get the awful sensation out of his nose and throat.
He hadn’t done them since.
Crawford was a fan though and used them regularly.
“Want some?” he asked Graham now with a glint in his eye, because he’d found Graham’s reaction hilarious the first time and was always trying to goad him into doing it again.
“I’m good,” Graham said drily. “Thanks.”
When Crawford turned back to say something to Rusty, Graham glanced to his other side to see Coach Rassmussen with his head bent, talking to Connor and Rafe about something.
“Hey, so you know the play we practiced the other day?” Mickey asked Graham. “I think we should try it out against Dallas if we have a power play.”
Graham frowned. “Which one?”
Mickey grabbed an iPad and showed him. Graham nodded, thinking about how far Mickey had come in the past year. How sure and confident he seemed now.
He was no mouse, even if the team still called him that.
“Let’s do this, boys!” Tanner shouted, smacking his fists against Graham and Crawford’s thighs. Graham jostled him with his shoulder and kept talking to Mickey.
He fucking loved this team. Loved the way they were all coming together as a group.
It was Graham’s line up next, and he was over the boards, flying as he raced toward the Dallas end, looking for an opportunity to score.
Unfortunately, the third period quickly turned scrappy, with Dallas taking exception to a hit Crawford laid on one of their guys.
Their penalty kill unit went out, and thanks to Rafe and Mickey’s best efforts, they kept Dallas from scoring.
Unfortunately, they were still leading by a goal.
The mood was a little grim on the bench until Crawford got back from the penalty box and grinned. “Well, that was nice and quiet, for once.”
Graham laughed and glanced to his right, spying Vintage Jersey Guy with his niece curled up on his lap. He pressed an absent kiss to the top of her head and Graham smiled.
Despite the things Crawford said about him, he seemed like a nice guy. Then again, Graham had never been the focus of his ire either.
It wasn’t long before Graham was back out on the ice, his focus and attention squarely on getting pucks to the net. They had to get one in.
He had a good breakaway chance but as he was about to get a shot off, one of Dallas’ defensemen skidded into view, making Graham pull up short.
He whiffed his shot and it went wide, bouncing harmlessly off the boards where another Dallas player scooped it up.
Graham let out a groan of frustration and pivoted, already digging in to race down the ice after him.
The minutes ticked away on the clock and Graham gritted his teeth and dug deep. Every shift out felt like grind, with too many hard checks against the boards and too few shots on goal.
They were approaching the final five minutes, still down 2-1, when Coach Hoyt called out to them on the bench. “Guys, you need to tighten up the defense. I want more pressure in their zone, more bodies around the net.”
He went on to call out a few more instructions and Graham nodded as he listened intently.
He got a lucky break on his next shift out, a Dallas forward fumbling a shot and allowing Graham to capture it. He wheeled around the net, calling to Connor, who was down low in the slot.
He fired the puck to Connor who snapped it up in a beautiful little backhand shot that sailed over the goalie’s shoulder before he had time to react.
Relieved, Graham collided with him, and they joyously spun for a moment in a little circle before several more guys slammed into them.
“Nice one, Captain!” Tanner hollered as they broke apart and Connor grinned, punching him in the arm before skating off to get his fist taps from the bench.
Graham watched intently through the next few shifts as Mickey and Erik both got a couple of good chances but were denied by Dallas’ goaltender.
When Graham was on the ice again, he pushed hard, shouldering aside a Dallas player who kept trying to swipe the puck from him.
Graham fired it to Anker, who passed to Tanner, who sent it back to Graham as Crawford got up close to the goaltender, providing an effective screen.
Graham shot the puck, holding his breath as it slipped past Crawford’s skates, through the five-hole of Dallas’ goalie, and into the net.
Graham let out a whoop, suddenly surrounded by Harriers players. Crawford collided with him hard enough to knock the breath from his lungs and Tanner hollered something so loud in his ear he dizzily wondered if he’d ever hear again.
He was beaming as he skated up to the bench and caught a glimpse of Thad’s video camera trained on him.
He smiled, hoping Thad could see the love he felt. With one hand steadying the camera, Thad pressed the other fist to his chest.
Graham felt a wave of emotion go through him, the heady joy of playing great hockey and being in love swirling through him until he couldn’t stop the wide grin spreading across his face.