Chapter 23
OUR SHOW IS ON
Alex
Today’s game was a shit show of epic proportions, and I know that it was mostly my fault.
When the final buzzer sounded and Coach Hannigan pulled me by the back of my jersey, threatening my balls if I wasn’t showered and ready to defend myself in the press room as soon as possible, I probably should have been shaking in my skates.
Players have been benched for lesser offenses than fucking over entire games and starting fights with the opposing team’s goalies.
But as I stand in the locker room, ignoring the pissed off looks on my teammate’s faces while I pull on some camera-appropriate attire, I don’t feel anxious or fearful.
I’m not nervous to face the media and their scrutiny over why I sucked so fucking hard at the one job I had tonight.
I don’t even feel mad at my shithead father for messing with my head and getting under my skin just minutes before I hit the ice.
All I feel is…elation. I’m thrilled. Warm and shining from the inside out, like the sun herself made a new home in my stomach.
Because Elliot was there for me tonight.
When the chips were down, my focus was fucked, and all I could think about was how I should have kissed him longer this morning because it might have been our last kiss, Elliot didn’t leave me.
I spent the majority of the game in my head, unable to even look in the direction of Elliot’s seats behind my net, because I was sure that what we had was over.
I let my dad’s bullshit in, and I was too busy thinking about how unworthy I was of all this happiness to do my job.
And once the Bearcats started scoring and didn’t stop, I was too busy being depressed that the spell of Elliot’s and my hookup superstition had been broken to care that I was losing the game for my team.
But when he scribbled all over the fogged up glass, Elliot gave me the kick in the ass I needed to do what needs to be done.
Not win the game, that ship was already long sailed, and I’ll be carrying the weight of that loss for the rest of the season.
No, Elliot’s kiss to the glass reminded me of why I fell so damn hard for him. That I am worthy of his affections, because he doesn’t hand them out freely. That this has always been more than a stupid superstition for me.
Back in the press room, it’s difficult for me to keep the smile off my face. The reporters lob questions—
Where do you think the team started to fall apart tonight?
Were there stressors during practice that could have predicted this kind of performance?
Can you describe your thought process leading up to the fight with Price?
I do my best impression of a somber, humbled goalie who sees today as a learning opportunity and already has his focus on the next game.
I take the blame on my shoulders and I highlight where my teammates went right.
All of my answers are perfectly polished from years of media training, until my guy Robert from Boston raises his hand in the front row.
“Alex, we know that you’re a very cerebral player. Whatever is happening in your mind has a big impact on what happens on the ice. Can you tell us more about your mental game tonight? Was there something specific that caused you to choke up?”
“Choke up? Robert, you wound me. That was some of my best playing out there,” I joke, clutching a hand to my chest while the reporters chuckle.
I take off my backwards baseball cap and run a hand through my hair before continuing.
“No, honestly, I had a bit of a weird moment before the game tonight. I let something from my past get under my skin, and unfortunately, my team paid the price for that. But we’ve got a solid group of guys and a strong support system, and I have faith that we’ll come back next game playing better than ever. ”
I look to Coach for the signal that we’re finished, because I’m itching to get out of here, but Robert clears his throat, pulling my attention back to the wall of reporters.
“Speaking of a strong support system, the Thunder clearly has San Francisco at its back. It was a rare treat to see so many of our city’s other athletes showing their support tonight.
Breaker Lawson, Lennon Griffith and Elliot Baker from the Redwoods in particular were sitting right there on the ice.
How did it feel to have your…” Robert pauses, taking the time to choose his next word carefully.
“…colleagues watching and cheering you on from the stands?”
Every reporter in the room leans forward in an almost cartoon-like manner to hear my answer.
I’m almost surprised that it took so long for someone to mention Elliot after the whole ‘kissing the glass’ thing.
I don’t know if there were any TV cameras pointed at us at that moment, but I’m under no delusions that we had any sort of privacy in an arena full of twenty thousand people.
If Elliot’s heart hands aren’t already all over the internet, they will be soon.
To his credit, Robert gave me an out with his choice of words, calling out all three Redwoods players by name and referring to them as my colleagues instead of singling Elliot out.
But I don’t intend on dancing around the subject.
I find the biggest camera and look straight down the lens, ready to give the press something more interesting than a five-two loss to talk about.
“You know, I probably shouldn’t admit this.
I meant everything I said about regretting my actions and the way I played tonight, and I hate that I lost this one for my team.
But that being said, tonight was the greatest night of my life.
Elliot Baker is someone that I care for deeply, and it was an honor to play for him tonight.
It was an honor to see him in Thunder black and gold with my name on his back.
It was an honor to know that even if every single one of my teammates and every single one of the fans hates me after how I played tonight, when I leave this room, Elliot is still going to hold me close and tell me that he’s proud of me.
That I did enough, that I am enough. And Elliot, I promise to win the next one for you. I love you, babe.”
I bring my hands to my chest, forming a heart with my fingers as I blow a kiss to the camera.
The room erupts in chaos, reporters practically diving over each other and themselves to shove microphones in my direction, but I don’t wait for the okay from Coach or PR.
With a quick wave, I kick back from the table and hightail it out of the room, ready to go get my man.
I jog down the hall, wishing I’d had the foresight to grab my shit from the locker room before I came down here.
My heart is telling me to fuck my duffel bag and just run around the arena until I find Elliot, like we’re two star-crossed lovers in a nineties romantic comedy about to have our big third-act revelation in an airport.
But my brain is telling me that if I have my phone, I’ll be able to find Elliot faster, and that will make the twenty second detour to the locker room worth it.
When I turn the corner that leads down to the locker room, I’m not expecting to see anyone, especially not Charlotte Gagnon.
In her sky high stilettos and “take no shit” power suit, the Thunder team owner looks like she wants to shove one of those shiny black pumps straight into my eye socket.
Either the stunt I just pulled in the press room is already online and I’m getting fired, or she’s disappointed with my inability to keep the puck out of the net and I’m getting fired.
Next to her, James Adler is waggling his eyebrows, holding the hand of a curvy woman that I recognize from the internet as his wife. Unlike Charlotte, James and Mrs. Adler’s demeanors are all smiles and excited energy.
“Sorry, hockey boy,” James says, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “I was going to drop him and leave, but my wife and I didn’t want to miss this.”
“Hi, I’m Georgie. Nice to meet you, Alex. I love hockey. It’s the best sport for romance fodder.”
The small woman—Georgie Adler, I guess—holds her hand for me to shake and I take it, meekly.
“You…didn’t want to miss me getting fired?” I ask, brows drawn together in confusion. Why the hell do the football team owner and his wife care what happens behind the scenes at a hockey game?
I know I’m not the brightest bulb in the box, but I truly have no idea what the fuck is going on back here.
“You think you’re getting fired?” Charlotte asks, her perfectly manicured brow arching. I rub at the back of my neck.
“I mean…you look like you’re in a firing kind of mood.”
Her shoulders slump and she throws her hands up in the air.
“Fucking men. A woman doesn’t walk around with a smile plastered on her face and suddenly she’s the ice queen who wants to fire everyone. Did it occur to you that maybe I didn’t want to miss this either?”
“Miss what?” I ask, exasperated. I should have never come down to find my phone. If I’d just gone running through the arena, rom-com style, Elliot and I might be making out by now.
And then, as if I summoned him through sheer force of will, Elliot appears from the other side of the locker room door, Franny still strapped to his chest.
“They didn’t want to miss us, Goat.”
He walks right up to me until we’re standing toe-to-toe and takes my hands in his.
His scent envelops me, that fresh, soapy scent filling my lungs and calming my heart rate for the first time since pregame.
There’s so much I want to do, so much I want to say.
I want to scream that I love him right into his face.
I want to kiss him. I want to bury my face in his neck and never come up for air.
But the adrenaline is slowly leaking out of my body, taking my brain with it, and all I can muster is two simple words.
“You stayed.”