Chapter 6 - Mason
Mason
Los Angeles was hot. Not just warm or sticky, but that dry, full-throttle furnace heat that hit you straight in the lungs the second you stepped outside. I’d peeled off my hoodie by the time we reached the player dorms, and tossed it into the corner of the room.
“That’s your side now,” Hunter muttered. It was only a two-and-a-half hour flight, but his travel mood had already set in.
He sprawled on the single bed opposite mine, socks off, one foot up. Hanging off the edge like he’d grown up here. His earbuds were in, but he kept singing the wrong lyrics to whatever song he thought he was listening to.
I tossed a water bottle at his back. “You’re butchering that song.”
“You’re just mad I’m a man of many talents, while you’re a man of one.” He pulled out one of his buds and sat up, resting back against the pillows.
“You call that talent? My drunk uncle has better karaoke nights, and he’s a hundred and four.”
Hunter cackled with laughter. “What the hell is your uncle doing drunk at a hundred and four?”
“I asked him once, and he said that’s exactly how he got there,” I replied, joining him. We were both delirious with the early morning call and heat.
He popped the cap on my water and took a giant swig before tossing it back to me. “You better keep that cell phone far from the ice, unless you want Coach to chew you a new one.”
“Just checking for roster updates.” I slid my phone onto the shared bedside table.
“Uh huh. That’s what you were doing.” He rolled onto his stomach, chin in his hands, and batted his lashes at me. “Sure it had nothing to do with a certain Zamboni Girl?”
The smooching kissing sounds he made were absurd and immature, but I laughed anyway.
“Her name’s Cass.”
That got his attention. Hunter sat bolt upright, a wicked grin on his face. “You got a name? Alright, Calder!”
I got assaulted with a series of double high-fives and then, too exhausted to make it back to his bed, he just collapsed at the foot of mine.
“I’m proud of you man,” he said. “Wait til the others hear.”
“Can we— Can we just keep this between us?” My phone buzzed, but I was careful not to whip my head around. I didn’t want to give him more ammunition to tease me with.
“You like her.” He said it like a statement, not a question. And he wasn’t wrong.
“A lot.” I didn’t bother hiding it. No point. Not with him.
“Well, this team is like a family,” he said. “We know everything about each other. Works on the ice. You’ve seen it.”
I groaned out loud, letting my head drop back against the cool wall behind me. “I just don’t want to mess it up.”
“How are you going to mess it up when we all have your back?”
But where his words were meant to be sincere, I couldn’t ignore the hint of mischief in them. He was enjoying this way too much.
“Hunter, she’s smart, funny. Keeps me on my toes.” I grabbed my skates and inspected my blades out of habit. “And she can actually hold her own on the ice.”
He gave a low whistle. “You’ve got it bad.”
“Nothing wrong with that,” I came to my own defense, but with only half a heart. It was useless.
“Okay, Romeo,” he said, slapping my leg to get my attention. “What’s with the face?”
“I’ve had her number for almost a day, and I haven’t texted her.
I don’t know what to say. It’s so easy when she’s right in front of me, but now…
I don’t know. I don’t want to say something stupid and make her regret that she ever met me.
” It came out of me all in one go, making my chest feel a hundred times lighter.
I hadn’t even noticed I’d been walking around with that weight since last night.
“You’re overthinking it,” he said, easy as a breeze. As though he were some kind of relationship guru, even though none of his girlfriends ever lasted longer than a weekend.
He slid to the edge of my bed, one leg dangling over the side, and leaned forward. It was clear by his body language that he was about to impart some valuable ancient wisdom that I wouldn’t want to miss.
“You start off bold,” he said, deadly serious. “First text: Hey.”
He let it hang there, reading my face for I don’t know what. Was I supposed to fall at his feet and praise his genius?
“What else?” I pressed, knowing there had to be more.
“After the period? Nothing.” And he looked so pleased with himself too. “Hey, then period. Then you wait for her to reply.”
“But… there’s nothing to reply to?” My hopes were quickly sinking, and I was beginning to regret that I’d mentioned anything to him.
He winked at me, and sauntered back to his side of the dorm. “Trust me, she’ll reply. That’s when you hit her with the next one.”
“I’m not sure I’ve hit her with anything just yet,” I muttered.
Hunter clapped his hands together a few times. “Pay attention, Calder. I’m giving you gold here.”
Just the look on his face was enough to get me laughing. He was caught halfway between love guru and class clown. It wasn’t long before he was laughing too, still trying to give me advice through it.
“Tell her— tell her…” He took a breath to stop laughing long enough to finish his thought. “Tell her, you’ll bring the country if she brings the rock ‘n roll.”
“I understand now why you’re single,” I said, pushing off the bed and grabbing my gym bag. “Come on. Time to hang up your Cupid’s bow and put some skates on instead.”
He was still trying to convince me as we left the dorm, ready to meet the others at the team bus.
“It’s poetic,” Hunter said. The laughter was done now, and he was back to being solemn. “Lass, sass, crevasse… all evocative words you can use to rhyme with her name. They love when guys use rhyming words.”
I groaned and sank lower in my seat, just as we rolled into the lot at the Los Angeles Kings arena, which was bigger than our arena back home. A whole lot fancier, too, since they shared the space with the Lakers.
“How about we quit the advice column and get our heads in the game?”
Now that we were actually here, it was easier to get him to drop it. He slapped me on the back and said, “Any time, bro. I’ve got your back.”
Hunter jogged ahead to catch up with Grayson and the others, and I lagged near the middle of our team as we marched into enemy territory. Everything felt sharper, like the season finally had teeth now.
The walk to the locker room was a mix of music, protein shakes, and pre-game rituals. I passed three guys doing a weird dance in the hallway and another who had earbuds in, mumbling zen affirmations like he was about to fight the Dalai Lama.
As soon as I stepped inside, Hunter’s voice rose above everything. Always the hype man.
Except this wasn’t what I thought it was.
“Listen up!” Heads turned to give him their full attention as he jumped onto the bench in front of his locker. “I’m proud to announce that Zamboni Girl finally has a name. It’s Cass, and our boy, Calder’s got it baaaaaad.”
I wanted to disappear inside my locker. There was a round of whoops and whistles, and someone cracked a towel on my thigh.
“Keep it down, would you? Coach is on his way.” I fielded a dirty pair of socks to the face, and two or three more cheers.
“Y’all are relentless,” I told Hunter once he came back down to solid ground again.
“We’re supportive,” he said, grinning wide. “This is a brotherhood.”
That’s when Grayson appeared, and pulled me aside. He never said much, so I knew I was in for it when that happened.
“You’re a good player, and you’ve been doing well,” he started, keeping his voice low enough so only I could hear.
“Don’t let anything distract you from your game.
Coach is always going on about it, so I know it probably sounds like repetitive bullshit by now.
But it isn’t. Bullshit, I mean. You’re skating like you belong on the top line. Play like it.”
His words landed with a weight that couldn’t be shaken off.
“Thanks, Grayson. I will.” And I meant it.
It wasn’t every day my captain acknowledged my ability, let alone gave me advice about it. Hell, I could count on one hand how many times he complimented me when we were living together during my rookie season.
Coach made it to the locker room, barked a command, and we started lining up in the tunnel. The bass of the warm-up music was already vibrating through the walls. I flexed my fingers inside my gloves, adrenaline starting to thrum in my chest.
“Wait!” Josie pushed through the crowd, phone in hand. “Just a quick one before you boys go on.”
Grayson groaned as though he didn’t see it coming. We all knew Josie couldn't resist a viral moment, though. And after everything we’d gone through last season, she felt like part of the team.
“You too, Mason,” she said, waving me over to where she’d cornered our captain. “I want you in this one too.”
Coach scowled as he walked to the front of our line, but let her have her moment. The silent warning worked to rush her along, though, and Josie hurriedly gave us our instructions.
“Either side of me, like that.” She nestled between Grayson and me, phone held up to get all three of us in frame.
“Cross your sticks behind me, like swords, and look menacing.” We did as we were told, and Josie hit record: “Los Angeles, you’re about to feel the Surge! Don’t say we didn’t warn you.”
We smacked our sticks together, and growled into her phone before she ended it. Josie turned and kissed Grayson quick, sweet and clean.
“Good luck out there.”
The squeeze on my chest hit out of nowhere. Like a sideline tackle that went unchecked, and I looked away, almost embarrassed for having watched. She was his girlfriend. She was allowed to wish him luck before the game.
We started down the hall, the guys hyping each other up, and me wondering what it would feel like to have what Grayson did.
Warmups should’ve been routine, just a blur of pucks, blades, and laser focus. But the second we skated out and the music blared through the speakers—I Love Rock ‘n Roll—I felt it like a jab to the ribs. I whipped my head toward the sound booth, scanning for the culprit, and sure enough…
Cass.
She stood at her seat, that smug little smile playing on her mouth like she’d already won the Stanley. My whole chest lit up, and before I could stop myself, I was grinning like a moron.
“The poem worked. I told you!” Hunter skated by while giving me the most ridiculous heart eyes.
“I never texted her,” I replied.
“She could sense my charm through the phone!” he shot back.
I shook my head and laughed, but the adrenaline was already flooding in, and mixing with something else entirely. Surprise that she flew out to an away game; excitement that she’d get to see me play; and wanting to take her some place nice to celebrate the win after.
She didn’t say she was coming. How was she here?
And why the hell did seeing her make me want to play the shit out of this game?
*
The crowd roared as the puck dropped, and Los Angeles came out like they were shot from a cannon. They were fast, mean, and absolutely relentless. Their top line wasn’t just aggressive, they were strategic. No wasted motion. No mercy.
But I had fire in my blood, and Cass watching from up in the stands only threw fuel on it.
I tore down the wing in the first, burning past their left D like he was skating through molasses. Shawn caught my pass and swung it right back. Clean, hard, right on my tape. I faked glove side, dropped my shoulder, and roofed it over their goalie’s blocker.
Goal horn.
My head was still catching up with the early goal when my team slammed me into the glass, whooping, helmets knocking. I looked up and found her again. She gave me a polite little golf clap. Sarcastic. But proud, I could tell. Maybe. I wasn’t sure. But fuck it. She’d seen what I had wanted her to.
Second period was chaos. Hits rained down like hailstones. Grayson shouted orders from the top line. I’d been riding that high from the goal for the last ten minutes and didn’t realize I was about half a beat late on a defensive rotation.
I saw the opening too late.
The Kings’ right wing caught our D pinched high and threaded a pass through the crease. Empty slot.
Tie game.
Trey cried out to the heavens, beating his pads over and over in frustration. Coach signaled him off and Hunter jumped over the board to take his place. He was quality on the line or in the posts, but tonight we needed him to block like his life depended on it.
Grayson skated over while we were regrouping and shoved my chest hard enough that I staggered. “Get your damn head in the game, Calder! I’m not telling you again.”
I didn’t say anything, just nodded and skated to the bench so Tucker could take my spot.
Coach didn’t yell. He didn’t need to. Disappointment hung off him like a wet coat. The rest of the third was a stalemate. Nothing worked whenever I was on the ice. The other guys felt it too. Every play we tried either fell flat or rammed into the Kings’ brick wall.
We held them off. Barely. Both teams throwing bodies and icing passes, trying to make something happen.
Overtime was a blur.
One bad bounce. One missed check.
And it was over.
I sat in the locker room for a long time after, just staring at the floor.
Helmet still on. Glove half-off. Sweat drying cold on my back.
Someone clapped my shoulder as they walked past, told me not to freak out, it was only the first game, but I didn’t look up.
That could’ve been several minutes ago, but I could still feel their veiled disappointment on my back.
I pulled out my phone and brought up the empty message thread between Cass and me.
Me: Congratulations on your 2-0 lead in the music playoff.
Me: Let me buy you a coffee when we’re back home to celebrate.
I hit send, and tugged my helmet from my head. Three dots. They blinked, disappeared, then came back again…