9. Colin
COLIN
T he locker room before our first home game feels like a fucking pressure cooker.
Everyone's trying to act normal, but you can feel the tension. Guys are taping their sticks with way more precision than necessary, checking their gear for the tenth time, or just sitting in their stalls staring at nothing.
"First game jitters are normal," Ezra says, dropping down next to me. "Even for upperclassmen."
"I'm not nervous."
"Dude, you've been lacing and unlacing the same skate for five minutes."
I look down and realize he's right. "Shit."
"See? Nervous."
"Okay, maybe a little nervous."
"A little? Your parents are here, the stands are packed, and you're finally getting real ice time. You should be nervous."
Thanks, Ezra. Really helpful.
"Grant!" Coach Hoyt calls from across the room. "You're starting on the fourth line tonight."
My heart basically stops. Starting. I'm actually starting.
"Holy shit," I whisper.
"Holy shit is right," Ezra grins. "Told you it would happen."
"Fourth line isn't exactly first line."
"Fourth line is still starting, dumbass."
He's right, but I can't help thinking about Dad sitting in the stands, probably expecting me to dominate. Fourth line minutes aren't exactly domination.
My phone buzzes with a text. I'm not supposed to check it this close to game time, but I can't help myself.
Dad:
Ready to show them what Florida hockey looks like?
My stomach clenches. No pressure at all.
Savannah:
You've got this. I'll be watching.
That heart emoji makes me smile despite my nerves. We've been texting non-stop since last night, and I still can't believe she actually likes me back.
"Grant, phone away," Coach barks.
"Sorry, Coach."
"Save the texting for after we win."
Right. Focus on hockey. Focus on not embarrassing myself in front of my parents and the girl I just kissed twelve hours ago.
No pressure.
Jake Morrison comes over while I'm finally getting my skates properly laced.
"Nervous?" he asks.
"Terrified."
"Good. Means you care."
"Does the terror ever go away?"
"Nah. You just get better at dealing with it."
"How?"
"Pretend you belong here until you actually do."
"Fake it till you make it?"
"Basically, yeah."
That's not the most reassuring advice, but it's something.
The warm-up is a blur. I can see my parents in the stands—Mom's wearing a Mid-Florida jersey with my number, and Dad's got his serious hockey face on. Three rows behind them, I spot Savannah in her trainer gear, and she gives me a little wave that makes my chest feel tight.
Focus, Colin. Focus on hockey.
But every time I skate past the stands, I can't help looking for her. Which is probably not the best strategy for staying focused.
"Hey, rookie," Tommy, one of the seniors, skates up next to me during line rushes. "Your girlfriend's watching."
"She's not my—" I start, then realize I don't actually know what she is. "How did you know?"
"Dude, you've been staring at the trainer section every time you come around. Plus, Jake saw you two last night."
"Jake saw us?"
"Relax, he's not gonna say anything. But you might want to focus on the actual game instead of your love life."
"Right. Focus on the game."
"Unless you want to explain to Coach why you're distracted."
Shit. Tommy's right. I need to get my head in the game.
Back in the locker room before the start, Coach gives his usual pre-game speech about playing our system and supporting each other. I try to listen, but my brain keeps jumping between different worries.
What if I mess up? What if I don't get enough ice time? What if Dad's disappointed? What if Savannah sees me play badly?
"Grant."
I look up and realize Coach is looking directly at me.
"Yes, sir?"
"You with us?"
"Yes, sir. Absolutely."
"Good. Because I need you to play smart tonight. Don't try to do too much."
"Understood."
"Just play your game."
The problem is, I'm not sure what my game is anymore.
We take the ice for the start of the first period, and the noise is incredible. Way louder than high school games, way more intense. The energy in the arena is electric.
I'm on the fourth line, so I won't be out for the opening faceoff, but I'm still buzzing with adrenaline just being here.
My first shift comes about five minutes into the period. Forty-five seconds of ice time to prove I belong.
No pressure.
The puck comes to me behind our net, and for a second, everything slows down. I can see my options, see the play developing, see exactly where I need to go.
Then some defenseman comes flying at me from nowhere, and suddenly I'm on my ass and the puck is going the other way.
"Get up, Grant!" Coach yells from the bench.
I scramble to my feet and chase the play, but it's too late. Their forward is already taking a shot that our goalie barely saves.
Fuck.
"Shake it off," Ezra says when I get back to the bench. "First shift jitters."
"I looked like an idiot."
"You looked like a freshman. There's a difference."
"Not a good difference."
"Colin, relax. You've got like thirty more shifts to figure it out."
Maybe not thirty more shifts. If I keep playing like that, I might not get ten more shifts.
My second shift goes better. I don't fall down, and I actually touch the puck a few times. But I'm still playing scared, still thinking too much instead of just reacting.
During the first intermission, I sneak a look up at the stands. Mom looks encouraging, Dad looks... intense. Like he's analyzing every move I make.
Savannah catches my eye and gives me a thumbs up, which helps a little.
"How you feeling?" Coach asks as we're getting ready for the second period.
"Good, Coach. Ready to contribute more."
"Just keep playing simple. The game will come to you."
Easier said than done.
The second period is when everything starts clicking. Maybe because I stop thinking so much, or maybe because I'm finally settling into the pace of the game.
My linemates start talking to me more, calling out plays, helping me see opportunities I'm missing. And slowly, I start feeling like I belong out there.
"Nice pass, Grant," my center says after I set him up for a shot.
"Thanks."
"You're starting to look like a hockey player."
"Starting to?"
"Previous shifts, you looked like a deer in headlights."
"Gee, thanks."
"I'm just saying, this is better."
He's right, though. I am feeling better. More confident, more like myself.
Then, with about five minutes left in the second period, it happens.
I'm forechecking in their zone when their defenseman makes a weak pass up the boards. I intercept it, spin around, and suddenly I'm alone in front of their goalie.
Time slows down. I can see the goalie's five-hole, can see exactly where I need to put the puck. All the pressure, all the nerves, all the thinking just... disappears.
I shoot.
Top shelf, glove side.
Goal.
The red light goes on, the crowd erupts, and my teammates mob me along the boards. I can't stop grinning as I skate back to the bench, pumping my fist at the crowd.
I scored. I actually fucking scored.
"THERE WE GO!" Ezra screams, jumping over the boards to celebrate with me.
"That was beautiful!" Jake yells.
"Nice shot, rookie!" Tommy grins.
I look up at the stands and see Mom jumping up and down, Dad pumping his fist, and Savannah clapping with the biggest smile on her face.
This is why I play hockey. This feeling right here.
The rest of the game flies by. We end up winning 4-1, and I finish with a goal and an assist. Not bad for my first real college game.
In the locker room afterward, everyone's celebrating. Music's playing, guys are chirping each other, and Coach actually looks happy.
"Good game, Grant," he says, stopping by my stall. "That's the kind of hockey I recruited you to play."
"Thank you, Coach."
"Keep it up and you'll be moving up in the lineup."
After I shower and change, I find my parents waiting in the hallway. Mom immediately pulls me into a hug that's a little too tight.
"We're so proud of you!" she says.
"Thanks, Mom."
"That goal was gorgeous," Dad says, and I can hear the pride in his voice. "Pure instinct."
"It felt good."
"You looked confident out there. Especially after the first period."
"First period was rough."
"First periods are always rough. But you adjusted, and that's what good players do."
Coming from Dad, that's basically the highest compliment I could get.
"There's someone else who wants to congratulate you," Mom says with a knowing smile.
I turn around and see Savannah walking toward us, still in her trainer gear but grinning like she just won the lottery.
"Hey," she says.
"Hey yourself."
"Nice goal."
"Thanks. You see it?"
"I saw it. Everyone saw it. You lit up like a Christmas tree."
"Did I?"
"You did. It was..." She pauses, suddenly seeming aware that my parents are watching this conversation with great interest.
"It was beautiful," she finishes.
"Thanks."
We're just standing there smiling at each other like idiots, and I realize my parents are definitely picking up on whatever this is between us.
"Mom, Dad, this is Savannah," I say. "She's the trainer I told you about."
"Nice to meet you properly," Mom says, shaking Savannah's hand. "Colin talks about you constantly."
"Mom," I protest, but Savannah just laughs.
"It's nice to meet you too. Colin played amazingly tonight."
"He did," Dad agrees. "Are you coming to the team dinner?"
"Oh, I wasn't?—"
"You should come," I say quickly. "If you want to."
"Are you sure?"
"I'm sure."
"Then I'd love to."
As we're walking toward the restaurant, Savannah falls into step beside me while my parents walk ahead, already discussing the finer points of my performance.
"So," she says quietly, "how does it feel?"
"How does what feel?"
"Scoring your first college goal. Playing well. Having your parents proud of you."
"It feels..." I think about it. "It feels like I finally proved I belong here."
"You always belonged here."
"Maybe. But now I know it."
"Good. Because you looked like yourself out there tonight."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean you looked like the Colin who loves hockey instead of the Colin who's scared of hockey."
She's right. For the first time since starting college, I felt like I was playing for the right reasons.
"Thanks," I say.
"For what?"
"For watching. For believing in me. For being there."
"Where else would I be?"
"I don't know. But I'm glad you were there."
"Me too."
We're both smiling again, and I realize that scoring my first goal was amazing, but having Savannah there to share it with made it perfect.
Even if I still have no idea what we are or where this is going.
But right now, with my parents proud and Savannah by my side and the taste of victory still fresh, I don't need to have all the answers.
I just need to enjoy this moment.