27 - Aiden
Aiden
It was a game, but Nashville didn’t come to play. Deep in the bowels of the arena, and I could still hear the crowd losing their shit while they waited for puck-drop.
I found Coach in the office allocated to visiting coaches with a few minutes to go before warmups.
That’s how long it had taken me to find my balls and just get it over with.
Ideally, this conversation would’ve happened long before I’d stepped on the plane to fly out here.
But I just couldn’t muster up the courage to do it.
“Coach?” He didn’t look up when I knocked. Just waved a hand, and I stepped inside, closing the door to the sounds of the locker room behind it.
“Quit wasting your teeth and talk to me, Santos.”
“I… uh—”
He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled over his chest. “You’ve got two minutes.”
A ticking clock never helped, and it especially didn’t do anything to calm my nerves now. This wasn’t just me pulling out of a game. This was me… pulling out for good.
“I’ve been thinking, Coach, and I want to swap my spot with Shawn. Permanently.”
“Permanently, huh?” His face gave nothing away.
“I’m letting the team down,” I said. “There’s too much on the line to gamble with me. I belong on the be— No. I don’t belong there either. I can’t fail the guys this deep into playoffs.”
“And you think this is how you don’t fail your team?”
I nodded.
“What do you think you’ve been doing for the past five years?”
All these questions were getting under my skin, but I worked to keep my frustration with him from bubbling over. It wasn’t the time or the place.
“I’ve been on the bench as a—”
“I’m gonna ask you again,” Coach said, leaning forward over the desk. “What do you think you’ve been doing these past five years?”
“I was a reserve for—”
He slammed his flat palm into the desk, and I jumped, all the words I had falling out of my head. “You think I put you on this team to warm a bench? Or maybe I kept you around for years because blue’s a good color on you. Maybe that’s it.”
His anger made me feel about two feet tall, and I just stood there, taking it. What else could I do?
“You’re the guy I call on when the team needs you,” he said, nostrils flaring. “Nobody else plays your game, Santos. Fuck the roster, or ice time, or any of it. I put you on when it’s your game we need. You calling me a clueless coach?”
“No, sir.”
“You saying I’m a dumbfuck who doesn’t know shit about hockey?”
“N— no, sir.”
“Because it sure as hell sounds like it from where I’m sitting.”
“No, sir, I don’t think you’re clueless.”
“Then what are you saying, then?” He screwed up his eyes, challenging me to go ahead and piss him off some more.
But this wasn’t some childish power struggle with authority. This was my life. I’d just realized I wasn’t cut out for pro hockey, something I’d been dreaming about my whole life, pretty much.
“If I play like I did the last game…” He didn’t immediately interrupt me, which was weird. I hadn’t thought out where to go with the rest of my sentence. Floundering on the spot, I continued with, “I just don’t want to let anyone down.”
“Pull yourself out of the game, and you’ll be letting everyone down, including yourself.”
I swallowed hard.
“Ride or die. That’s who you are to The Surge. And that’s tonight, Santos. That’s this game. So what are you gonna do about it? Whine some more? Cry about tabloids and opinions that don’t mean shit to your game?”
I wanted to argue my case, but the words wouldn’t come.
His stare pinned me in place, the kind of look that didn’t demand compliance so much as it demanded truth.
And the truth was… he was right. I’d been cowering in my own doubts, letting them fester while the team needed me to be the guy I was supposed to be.
Coach leaned back, his chair creaking, but his voice softened slightly. “Leave the last game behind you. That’s done. Tonight’s all that matters. You understand?”
I nodded, almost too quickly, heart pounding with what this now meant for me. I’d prepared myself to go back to the hotel and catch the game on TV. Instead, I stood here agreeing with him.
“Yes, Coach. I… I’ll do it.”
“Good.” He straightened, sharp and commanding again. “Go suit up and meet me out there. And, Santos— Don’t overthink it. Just play the fucking game.”
I left the office, the weight on my shoulders lighter, but the knot of doubt still lingering in my chest. Still nagging. I knew I had to shake it. Shake it or it’d ruin everything before it even started.
A few minutes later, we skated onto the ice as a unit, the roar of the Nashville crowd hitting me like a physical wall. Away game. No home crowd to lean on. Just thousands of strangers staring, jeering, expecting us to crash and burn. And me, wondering if I could even hold it together.
Grayson clapped a hand on my shoulder as we lined up for the faceoff. “What do you say, partner? Are we gonna crush them or what?”
I wanted to tell him to shut up. His confidence in me felt wasted. Instead, I nodded, trying to swallow the tight lump in my throat.
“Yeah. Let’s do this,” I muttered, even though the words felt hollow.
The puck dropped, and immediately I felt the weight of every mistake from the last game pressing down. The Predators were fast and aggressive, circling like beasts closing in on their prey. Tucker and Cash tried to stabilize the defense, but I was second-guessing every move, every pass.
“Push it up! Aiden, shift left!” Grayson barked, his voice cutting through the noise.
I tried skating the angle he called for, but my timing was way off. Landon streaked past me, opened up for the shot, and I misread it, leaving the lane just a fraction too late. The Predators pounced, and just like that, they countered and scored.
I felt my stomach drop. Great. Just fucking great.
“Shake it off!” Grayson yelled. “Next shift, you’re with me. We’ll fix it.”
I nodded again, forcing the motion, trying to push past the fog in my head.
We cycled the puck up the ice, Landon cutting sharp angles, Tucker covering our back, Cash pinching at the boards.
I got a pass and made to feed Grayson, but my push was weak and trailed away from him, bouncing off the boards.
Nashville recovered immediately, and the crowd ate it up.
Grayson skated past to hear the way I cursed under my breath. He stopped dead and grabbed the grill of my helmet. “I won’t stand for shit-talk on my team. You hear me?” I just stared at him. “Eyes up, Aiden. You know how to work a fucking puck.”
Game on, and Landon flashed by, yanking the puck free from a Nashville defenseman. I followed, trying to anticipate the pass, to move like we’d practiced a hundred times. A thousand, even. My skates felt lighter, and that hesitation tripping me up didn’t feel as consuming.
Second period rolled around, and my confidence hadn’t improved but I was loose.
That was something. I showed up where they needed me, but I kept overthinking every play, every chance I took.
We managed a goal early in the period thanks to a slick wrist-shot from Landon that somehow slipped past their goalie. But it wasn’t enough.
We were still trailing 2-1.
“Get it in! Keep pushing!” Grayson called as I awkwardly took a pass, skating wide. I forced a slap shot that barely made it to the boards. Nashville countered with a quick one-two pass through the neutral zone, and they scored again. 3-1.
I skated back to the bench, chest heaving, feeling judgment from every set of eyes on me. I wanted to disappear.
Coach yelled something from the box, words lost in the chaos of the crowd, and I pushed again. Reset. Landon faked out the guy covering him, distracting me enough to make me fumble it from the go.
“Come on, man!” he yelled as he skated past. “Don’t let them read you.”
“Sorry, I’m on it.”
We cycled through plays—Tucker with the boards, Cash with a back check—but every time I got the puck, I hesitated.
I’d thought I was coming out of it, but it just wasn’t falling into place for me.
A misstep here, a half-hearted pass there.
I could feel the crowd sensing it before it even happened.
They weren’t shy. Every scrape of skate on ice, every miscue of mine, met with a chorus of boos and jeers.
Right at the end of the second period, Grayson rose up like a beacon of hope with the perfect tip-in, and brought us 3–2.
As we skated off for the intermission, I scanned the crowd, hunting for the camera to give Sage the wink she would’ve been expecting. My pulse thundered in my ears and I felt like total shit, but just the thought of having that little piece of her made it all bearable.
But I didn’t find any camera. Mostly because I stopped looking for one.
Because—
“Sage?!” Her name fell out of my mouth even though there was no need to call her. She was staring right at me, cheering like a maniac for what was technically the losing team.
She winked, then did the same salute I’d given her at my last away game.
And my heart just about exploded.
The movement of the team carried my stunned ass down the tunnel and into the locker room. The haze of seeing Sage out here in Nashville only lifted once I spotted Coach standing in front of us, sleeves rolled up.
Everything and everyone went quiet. Some of us were too afraid to sit down.
“They think they’ve got us,” Coach started, looking at each of us in turn. “They think they’ve pushed us into a corner we can’t get out of. Are they right?”
A few mumbled ‘nos’ rippled through the room. Not very convincing.
“We’re the goddamn defending champions!” His face shook with it, redness creeping onto his cheeks.
“We didn’t get there on blown-out budgets and built-in superstars.
We fucking clawed from the bottom. CLAWED.
Injuries, losing streaks, our own fucking fans counting us out before we hit the ice.
Some of you have been here long enough to remember that. ”
Coach looked right at me when he said that. Then his eyes fixed on Hunter. When he looked away, Hunter and I found each other across the room. We’d been with The Surge the longest. We were the ones who remembered. The ones expected to lift the guys out of this.
“Hunter!” All of us jumped to attention at the sound of Coach’s voice. He glared at the goalie. “Is there a corner we can’t get out of?”
“No, Coach!”
Fuck. That gave me goosebumps.
“What about you, Aiden?” Coach stared me down. “You think they’ve got us?”
This wasn’t me standing in his office before the game, ready to puke with how low I felt. Doubting everything I knew about the game that had lived in my veins since I was a kid.
I squared my shoulders and met his gaze head-on. “No, Coach!”
Everyone was wide awake after that, applauding, amping each other up as we got ready for the final showdown. By the time we strapped on our helmets for the third period, I felt like the old me again. The guy who could actually rise to the occasion.
Coach’s speech was exactly what we’d needed, but I knew this feeling was because of Sage. Having one person in a sea of thousands who had unwavering faith in me was like a magic salve over the cracks in my form.
My skates dug into the ice, the puck under my stick, my mind sharp, focused, ready.
It was my turn to stoke Grayson’s fire. “What do you say we crush these fuckers?”
“In twenty minutes? I thought you’d never ask.”
We went for it.
From the opening faceoff, we played with a force that Nashville couldn’t answer.
Grayson cut through the middle, puck on his stick, me flanking him on the wing.
I intercepted a backhand pass, spun, and fed it back to him in stride.
He ripped a shot at the net that forced the goalie to scramble, and I was right there waiting to pick up the rebound.
One touch snapped it past him. First goal of the period. 3-3.
The small faction of Surge fans made enough noise to make it seem like we were in Frost Bank, but I barely heard it over the engine of my own adrenaline.
We kept the pressure, forcing turnovers, cycling the puck with Tucker and Cash holding the blue line.
My confidence grew with each successful pass, each quick read.
We fired on all pistons and it was fucking glorious.
Midway through the period, I stole a cross-ice pass, skated wide, cut into the slot, and wristed a shot over the goalie’s shoulder. 3-4. Surge finally in the lead.
The guys swarmed me, helmets bumping, sticks clattering, grins everywhere. Grayson’s eyes met mine across the ice, a quick nod, and we were back in sync like we always had been. The partnership that had made headlines, now electrifying the final period of a game we were set to lose.
In the dying minutes, the puck pinged off the boards and bounced free.
I intercepted, head up, and saw Landon breaking toward the net.
A crisp pass, and he buried it to seal the deal.
The arena erupted, our bench exploded, and I found Sage again in the crowd, cheering, waving, a grin on her face that made the world narrow down to just her and that single moment of sweetest victory.
*
I wanted to celebrate with the team, really I did, but the adrenaline and chaos made me want one thing more: get out of the locker room and find her.
I ducked out through the back, letting the team’s shouts fade behind me, skates clattering against the concrete hallway as I headed straight for my hotel. Once inside, I tossed my gear onto the floor and collapsed onto the bed. My fingers were shaking as I grabbed my phone and dialed her number.
My jaw tightened after the third ring and I killed it right before her voicemail got me. I almost tried again, but a soft knock at the door stopped me.
“Hey, slugger.” Sage gave me a cheeky grin.
It was real. I hadn’t imagined her out there in the stands.
“I don’t play baseball,” I said, still a little dumbfounded that she was standing right in front of me.
There was no smartass comeback. Just, “Shut up and kiss me,” as she flung her arms around my neck.
Our lips met, and everything that had been eating away at me the past few weeks melted into oblivion. Her hands tangled in my hair, and I caught her waist, pulling her closer. The heat of her pressed into me, and I realized how much I’d needed this, needed her.