Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
KELLAN
Ihave been edged by Wells so hard this entire week that when I finally come, it’s going to be so forceful that I’ll be able to use it like jet propulsion to fly.
I didn’t get the go-ahead from the team trainers until Friday afternoon that I’d be suiting up, which meant I headed off to our first match of the weekend, an away game at Ballard College, less than an hour away, without finding relief.
Tonight, to a raucous Saturday crowd, we’re playing them at Radford to split the home game advantage.
I’m skating like a madman, trying to find a way to release my pent up energy. We settled for a tie last night, even though I put up two goals. Tonight, we’re on our turf, and I don’t plan on leaving this ice without the win.
Especially because my mom and brothers are in the crowd.
They came to campus early, so I hung out with them for the day and then brought them to the arena for a tour before I started warm-ups.
Even though my mom’s seen me play, coming to my games and bringing my brothers was something else that Rick had never been interested in before he skipped town.
The only benefit to my mom’s reduced schedule at the restaurant–she usually works Friday and Saturday nights–is that they can see me skate. I spotted their matching Renegades jerseys during the first period, in a block of seats that players can reserve for their families.
I could see Joey and Sammy screaming their heads off, tugging on the sweaters of people around them, and I almost thought that I could hear Joey screaming, “that’s my brother,” in the sold-out arena.
I’d work every day of the week if it means that I get to see the excited smiles on my brothers’ faces more often.
We’re closing in on the last minute of regulation time, and we’re currently tied at 1-1.
Tonight’s been a slog, back-and-forth with a ton of defense.
We’re all exhausted, since Friday’s game was the same.
Grinding and constant possession switches with no end in sight have left everyone fatigued, and we’re switching out lines at close to thirty second intervals.
Even with my extra energy, it’s been difficult to create opportunities in the house so that I can score.
Coop and Dutch are doing everything they possibly can to feed me shots, but everyone’s been ground down to a pulp.
I depend on them like an extension of my own body to help make plays happen, but they haven’t materialized yet.
I catch Dutch’s eye as he passes the puck to where I’ll be in another second, after a perfectly executed pinch by Dane, one of our defenders.
We’re already moving into the offensive zone, and it hits my stick perfectly.
I see the ice laid out before me, Dane and then West, the other defender, pushing up with the offense as we give it one last burst to finish the game.
I hear the scraping of skates on ice, the crush of bodies in my peripheral as I haul ass up the center. Their only defender who isn’t being controlled right now squares up with me, but I feint quickly, giving him a low shoulder before spinning.
The crowd absolutely explodes as I find myself on the left side of the goalie. I play fast, and I play smart. I don’t give him time to adjust. Instead, I blast my shot to the top left, so close to the post that it ricochets against the inside metal of the goal and slams into the back of the net.
If the crowd had been going wild before, they're absolutely uncontrollable now. The sound of the buzzer signaling the end of the game is barely audible with the thousands of screams echoing through the arena.
My team piles on top of me as the bench is already clearing to celebrate on the ice. I’m so fucking happy that my brothers were here to see this, and I’m sure we’re going to be talking about it for the next few months. Probably longer.
When Dutch finally lets me go–I’ve been in a bear hug since scoring–and I can see the frenetic crowd again, I do a double take.
There’s a familiar face, but I must be imagining it. Wells would never be caught dead at a Radford Renegades hockey game.
I try to skate closer to the glass, but I’m engulfed in teammates again.
People are leaving the arena by the time my team finally releases me, and I give the now empty seat another look, just to make sure.
My mind must be playing tricks on me. That’s the only possible explanation.
Not that Wells, who hates hockey with a passion and seems to give zero fucks about me except that he likes hooking up with me, came to watch me play.
It definitely wouldn’t be to watch anyone else play.
Hell, he knows me, and he still doesn’t like me much.
I start to skate off the ice, shaking my head. I’m not even going to begin to unpack what it means that even with knowing the score between us, if I am hallucinating, Wells is still the vision I see.