Chapter Five #2
He and Phil plan to retire after this season, and I’m not sure what the team will be like without them.
They’re veteran players and leaders that supply a needed voice and steadying presence on our team, but they’re in their early thirties and ready to look at the next phase of their life.
Though making the Metros or another NAPH team is my dream, if I’m still part of the Slash next season, I can’t imagine the team without them.
After taking a minute to fully stretch out, I follow him up the stairs and grab one of my strawberry-flavored sports drinks from the refrigerator.
Gio picks up two wrapped subs from the counter. “Phil and I are going to eat and watch a movie until it’s time to head to the arena.”
“See you there.” I get started on cooking the spaghetti and heating up the sauce and meatballs, enough for two people, and text Tyler that food is on the way.
The rest of the house is quiet. Sage is at Rhys’s apartment. Remy and Morgan are out with some of their Metros teammates for a night of playing pool.
As I’m draining the spaghetti, Tyler wanders into the kitchen wearing one of my sweatshirts and a pair of plaid pajama bottoms I lent him on our road trip last weekend. He has Benny on his shoulder, his phone in his hand, and a frown on his face. “Hey.”
“What’s wrong?” I set the spaghetti aside and wave at Benny, a habit we picked up from Remy. The yellow bearded dragon is cute and we’ve all sort of adopted him.
“I’m looking at moving companies. Having them pack everything costs a lot more than I thought.
But never mind that now.” He tosses his phone on the table then gently places Benny in the small terrarium we keep by the laundry room, mostly for his visits downstairs or when Remy is cleaning the big terrarium in his apartment.
“Dinner smells good. Can I do anything?”
“Grab a drink and sit.” I tip my chin to the cabinet that houses the glasses. “We should talk.”
“About…?” Lines forming between his brows, he washes his hands then fills a glass with water from the dispenser in the refrigerator door.
I divide the spaghetti into two bowls then top them off with the sauce and meatballs, giving Tyler the best ones.
“What we’re telling the team, or not telling them, about us.
Someone said something to Gio today, so we need to decide how we’re handling things.
I know we’re taking things slow. But I guess we have to at least acknowledge it with the coach and HR. ”
“I wanted the chance to adjust to the team and the house and everything first, but I don’t want to lie to anyone. Let’s talk to Coach Nivens tonight, then go from there.” He grabs forks from the drawer before returning to the table. “You said people are noticing… Who was it?”
“Stephens.”
Tyler grimaces. “He hogs the puck too much. And Morgan said he was a dick to Sage last season. He doesn’t need to know anything about us. If he asks, he gets minimal information and then we change the subject.”
I set his bowl in front of him then claim the chair by his side. “I’m sorry I didn’t think about this part earlier. When people learned about Sage and Rhys last season, no one really cared. It wasn’t a big deal with the teammates, and I forgot they told Coach.”
His features softening, he lays his hand on my knee. “Hey, I haven’t dated a teammate before either. We’ll figure this out.” Keeping his hold on me, he rolls spaghetti onto his fork with his other hand.
“Is that what we doing? Dating?”
“I thought that’s where you, Bax, and I were headed.”
The pressure of his hand grounds me. Leaning into him, I scoop up some food.
Nerves over talking to our coach and of teammates possibly scrutinizing us because they are the biggest bunch of gossips even if they don’t personally feel invested in something, messes with my appetite.
But a ritual is a ritual, and fuel is fuel, so I swallow a bite and then another, listening to Tyler talk about moving companies and how he might have to leave everything in Canada until after the season so he can handle it all himself.
If he has to do that, I’ll make sure I’m there to help him.
He’s animated and brightens up our kitchen. With his hand now in mine, I’m struck by how lucky I am that he’s here. And how I’ll do my best to make sure he doesn’t regret it.
Yellow Slash jerseys fill our arena, dotted with pops of purple from the occasional Metros jersey and the handful of Grand Rapids jerseys from fans who journeyed here to support their team.
Set up between the pipes, I’m ready to defend my territory. Most of the time, I love being back here myself, but I’m cutoff from the chirping on the bench and the things that happen outside my zone.
Tyler’s line is on the ice with Phil and Gio on defense. He wins the face-off, and knocks the puck to Gordy and he sends it up the ice to Cal. They work well together, having been linemates only a week.
The slap of the sticks on the pucks, they move in closer to the goalie.
Attack mode, and the Grand Rapids defense can’t keep up.
Tyler sets up a screen in front of the goalie and Gordy swoops in, poking the puck past two defensemen who couldn’t get around Tyler.
He tucks a backhand through the Grand Rapids’ goalie’s five-hole.
The goal light flashes red and the siren wails. The crowd erupts and our teammates leap to their skates. I clap my stick on the ice, my version of applause because I’m too far away for them to hear me cheer.
Play resumes and our team still dominates.
Shift changes come on and off the bench, and Tyler’s line heads back out, joining the play on the fly.
Tyler gets his stick on the puck and flies deep into Grand Rapids’ zone.
He passes it to Cal, and Cal redirects the pass off the boards right in front of the goalie.
There’s a lucky bounce and it rolls into the net.
The red goal light flashes again and the siren wails.
Laughing in disbelief, I watch the replay. A totally lucky bounce. Cal gets the goal, and Tyler picks up his second assist of the night. When we file off the ice at the end of the first period, I murmur how proud I am of him, and he blushes the color of my strawberry sports drink.
The second period flies by. Grand Rapids has found some energy, and I’m much busier than I was in the first period. I hold our lead, stopping the first fifteen shots of the period.
The Grand Rapids third line center trips Cal and gets a penalty. We go on the power play, and Rasmus, our second line center, takes a shot from Gordy at the point made to the crease for the tap in. The puck sails through a gap between the pipe and the goalie’s skate blade.
The red light flashes, the siren wails, and the crowd cheers. It’s as exciting as the first goal of the game.
As soon as Grand Rapids comes out of the sin bin, Stephens goes in—twice. Once for tripping, and five minutes later, for too many men on the ice.
When we arrived at the arena and saw that Coach wasn’t in the best mood, Tyler and I decided we’d wait and talk to him while were on the road trip.
Stephens is a shit-stirrer, and I wouldn’t put it past him to casually drop the information in front of Coach, hoping to cause problems like a morally gray movie villain, so I don’t want to leave it for too long.
The period ends, we file off the ice, and I do my best to chat with everyone and not look over at Tyler. I can look again after we’ve told Coach and HR.
Most of the third period passes by with little action for me. I catch the little ways Gio and Phil communicate on the ice without words. How Tyler climbs over the boards. And that more than a few people in the crowd have my jersey. That never fails to amaze me.
On a sharp-angle shot from the bottom of the left circle, Tyler send the puck flying past the goalie’s shoulder and into the back of the net.
“Yes!” I come close to throwing my glove I the air. He did it, the scoring slump is over.
The red light flashes, the siren wails, and Tyler’s smile is as big as I’ve ever seen it. I can’t wait to congratulate him.
We play the last few minutes and before I know it, the game clock has his zero and my teammates flood onto the ice to tap their helmets with mine.
Once we finish up here, we’re getting on the bus to go to Chicago. We play one game there tomorrow night, then come home.
Phil taps his helmet to mine. “Way to step up tonight, Soren. You made some big saves.”
“We took some stupid penalties,” Gio adds, hugging me. “But you held strong and didn’t let them get any momentum going. Nice work.”
“Thanks.”
Tyler waits to the end of the line to greet me. His dark eyes sparkling, he throws his arms around me. “You got a shutout. That’s really something.”
I squeeze him tight. “And you, you’re scoring slump is over.”
His smile beams with relief. “I just kept trying to shoot the puck, and finally, finally, one went in. Feels good.”
A buzz from the win fills the locker room. Rasmus laughs as Cal bats away the empty water bottle Rasmus tosses at him. Phil claps Gordy’s shoulder, and Gio fist bumps Tyler as he returns from the showers.
As if he can feel my gaze on him, Tyler turns his attention to me and gives me an up-nod. And damn, but that one simple gesture is like turning the heat up to ninety degrees. Maybe Gio is right about my eyes, because I can’t seem to keep them off Tyler.
“You didn’t suck out there,” Stephens drops his towel and pulls on a pair of boxers. “I was surprised you could stay focused on the puck long enough.” He glances over his shoulder at Tyler, his insinuation clear.
I fist my knuckles. But instead of clocking the asshole, which would feel so, so good, I choose the higher road and ignore him as I finish dressing.
Tyler crosses the locker room, bag over his shoulder, looking fine as fuck in his black sweatshirt and joggers and my coat wrapped around him, his hair still damp from his shower. “Ready?”