Chapter 13 Lukas
thirteen
Lukas
Our home opener is finally here.
Not only is it my debut as captain, but it’s Ben’s debut as the mascot at a game. I’m not sure whether I’m more nervous for him or for me.
“Hey, Piney!” Youngblood plunks across from me in the dressing room, wearing nothing but his jock.
“How come you’re not dressed yet? We go on in fifteen minutes for warm-up.”
“Oh, yeah, I know. Nervous shits. That ever happen to you?”
Burnsy laughs under his breath next to me, and I try to find the right words to reply to the kid. “Well, if it did, I wouldn’t announce it. Just make sure you’re not late.”
“Really? I played with a guy in college who legit described his entire bathroom experience before each game.”
Youngblood opens his mouth to say more, but I cut him off.
“Please never do that.” Good god, what are young players doing these days? When I was younger, it was sex jokes and stories about games you played on the backyard rink. Now they talk about bowel movements? Maybe it’s a good thing I’m almost out of the game.
“Is Ben coming tonight?” Burnsy asks as I turn to my locker and pull my jersey on.
“Yeah, he should be here.”
“Is he sitting with the spouses? I’ll ask Sarah to watch for him.”
He might, but not as Ben.
“He didn’t say. I think he actually has his own ticket, but I told him about the section.”
Not a lie. For the past week, Ben has barely left my apartment. We’ve talked a lot about the first home game and how to handle it. I mentioned the WAG box—wives and girlfriends of players—and how Burnsy and Soupy would expect him to sit there if he came to a game.
Ben, of course, can’t sit there, but he knows he can go there in costume at least. At this level of play, the boxes aren’t that glamorous, but everyone sits together, and it has a semi-private bathroom, which seems to be the most popular reason to spend the game in those seats.
“Well, I hope he can greet you properly after the game at least.”
I just smile and slap my helmet on. I know Ben will greet me properly. Just not at the rink. That would be too risky for him.
“Get out there, boys! Let’s show Bloomburg we’re a different team this year and we’re here to win!”
A chorus of whoops and yells answers me as we all exit the dressing room down the hallway to the ice.
It’s only warm-ups, and the arena is half full.
Not exactly what I’d hoped, but we’re fighting to win the crowd over.
A sellout would be nice, and I know people are late to their seats all the time, but it’s the home opener. I was hoping for more early fans.
The cutting of skate blades and the clacking of pucks on sticks fill the ice surface as we do our pregame routine. Some of us stretch to the side, and some of us run drills, but all of us carry a nervous anticipation of what’s coming.
The first puck drop of a fresh season. A new page in this team’s history is about to start.
Even the loudmouthed Evans is unusually quiet. This is a big deal, and until now, I didn’t notice how much nervous energy I carried. I bet Ben is just as nervous.
“Piney…the warm-up is over, man.”
Burnsy elbows me as he skates by, and I’m still leaning on the boards looking for answers on the rubber-lined floors.
“Yeah, I was just waiting for you,” I lie, and we both laugh.
“We don’t need a huge speech, Lukas. Just enough to get us excited and instill your role.” He taps his stick on my shins, and I follow him down the hall.
We enter the dressing room; chatter sounds among the guys as they talk about literally everything. Random pieces of conversation float around, and I inhale before calling their attention.
“Hey, boys! It’s our first game, and this is a new season.
Not just any season. It’s our season!” A chorus of ‘hell-yeahs’ sounds, and I continue.
“We can do something that no player before us could do. We can bring home a title to the new ownership in its first year!” More resounding cheers and even Evans nods in affirmation.
“I believe in every single one of you here.” When Evans meets my gaze, I nod.
Even him. We’re a team, even if I don’t like him.
“Let’s play clean and smart. Their goalie is weak when you shoot high, so aim for that top shelf all night, boys! Let’s win game one!”
Feet thump and random calls of support sound as I sink into my stall next to Burnsy.
“Good job, Piney. I think they believe in you,” he whispers.
“Good. I hate this part. The waiting between periods or before a game is too much time to get in my head, you know?”
“Yeah, I know. Sometimes it gets to me, too. That’s why I like to read.”
Turning my head to him, he holds up a paperback. “Sarah made the cover for me. The first time I brought a book into the locker room, I was teased for days. This way I can cover up what’s on the front if it’s…too revealing.”
He peels off the plain black leather covering the paperback to reveal an image of a man in hockey gear kissing a woman.
“You’re reading romance?”
“Yeah. I like it. She gives me all these sports romances to read, and it’s refreshing to read about hockey players who aren’t toxic assholes.” He shrugs. "The sex scenes don't hurt either."
Burnsy returns his attention to the book in hand with the fake cover he slips over it.
Honestly, I’m impressed he can read in this environment, but I hate that he has to hide what he’s reading.
With some of the intimate details shared in locker rooms, I’d think a romance novel would be a solid manual for some of these men on how to treat their partners better.
“I’m going to check on the bench,” I say, standing.
“Is it going somewhere?”
“Haha. I just…I’ll be back.”
Without another word, I exit and walk the rubber walkway to the team bench. The Zamboni is just finishing the resurfacing, and there are more people in the seats, an excited thrum in the air.
Then I see him.
Slappy, aka Ben, is working the crowd across the rink and playing with a few kids. A smile forms on my lips without thought as I watch him slap his tail around with the children. The adults laugh, and he looks like he’s comfortable. Like he’s made to entertain, just like he said.
Ben had nerves before he left this afternoon for lunch with his friend James and because we couldn’t show up at the rink together.
I want this to go smoothly for him, just like I want us to win.
Lingering for longer than I should, I watch him a little longer before walking back down the hallway to the dressing room.
When I enter the room, everyone is on their feet, ready to get to the ice and play. They’re just waiting for their cue.
After slapping my helmet on, I glance at my teammates. Everyone stills, except for the few who have to fidget while in their zone. “Let’s kick some ass!” I shout.
We march down the tunnel and, once spotted, the voice of the rink takes over.
“Please welcome your Bloomburg Aspens!” The lights dim, and our team’s music sounds as we all step onto the ice. A spotlight highlights us as we skate laps, and the crowd cheers. It’s louder than I expected, but I won’t allow myself to scan the crowd just yet.
Since it’s the home opener, we all stand at the blue line in order of our numbers, and they introduce us. I’m the exception, though, along with my two assistant captains. We’re announced last, and when it’s my turn, my skin breaks out with little goosebumps.
“Your captain for the season, wearing number thirty-three in your programs but number one in your hearts, Lukkkkaaasss Piiiiinnnne!” The announcer draws out my name, and I skate forward with a wave to the crowd.
My gaze catches on the little girl from our signing at the mall, and I give her an extra wave before standing back in my space.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please rise if you are able for the national anthems.”
One of my favourite parts of the pregame is standing in the quiet song of national anthems. Playing hockey is something I never take for granted. I may not be a big-league pro, but I’m only a step away, and it sure beats sitting at a desk every day.
After the anthem, they don’t immediately remove the carpet and instead coach points for me to skate over.
“Hi, Lukas.” The man who runs the game off the ice motions towards the carpet. “We’re doing a special puck drop with the mascot tonight.”
I’m aware of Ben’s presence and smell the soap he uses before I see him. It’s a distinct smell, like honey and lilacs, and when he steps on the carpet, the announcer introduces him to a chorus of cheers and laughter.
When he reaches me and the opposing captain, he shakes the visitor’s hand and pretends to eat his stick, which gets him some laughs, and I’m one of those laughing.
He turns to me and shakes my hand in the most formal way.
He then turns his tail my way, and we do a high-five with it, this time with me not smacking his ass.
Slappy drops the puck, and I scoop it up and shake the other captain’s hand before he skates off.
“You’re a natural, Slappy. Great job earlier.”
I speak low and don’t want him to say anything, but softly I hear, “Thanks, Lukas. Kick ass tonight. I’m watching.”
After skating back to the bench, our starting lineup is on the ice, and the game begins. It’s a hard-hitting game, and checks are flying immediately, rattling boards and glass in the first three minutes.
We battle hard, and just before the first period ends, Youngblood scores our first goal with a lucky bounce off his ass, off the goalie, and into the net. But a goal is a goal, and it’s what we needed to come alive in our home barn.
The second period is fast. We’re mostly penalty free, and I’ve slammed a few rookies hard into the corners.
They need to learn to watch their surroundings better.
I might be slow, but I still have the strength to squash them.
We’re still only up 1-0 after two periods, but we head to the locker room on a high.