Chapter 19
NINETEEN
Connor
This is what I imagine game seven of the Stanley Cup finals must feel like.
The combination of excited and nervous energy in this arena practically makes the ice vibrate under my blades.
With each shot either team takes on their opponent’s goal, with each and every hit us players level at each other, each time one of us steals the puck, the intensity grows like an overfilled balloon.
Unsurprisingly, this is the toughest game we’ve played at the Olympics.
The Canadian team is giving us all they’ve got.
Plus, they’ve somehow managed to make this feel like they have the home team advantage.
The crowd, while immense and international, is still disproportionately filled with Canadian fans who are cheering loudly for their nation’s team, drowning out any voices of allegiance to us.
They want those medals so badly. It’s a shame I’m about to deny them that pleasure.
Gavin is engaged in an intense wall battle for the puck with Alexander Tavish against the boards in Canada’s offensive zone.
Thanks to Gavin’s size and his tenacity, Tavish loses control of the puck.
With my speed, I swipe it before he can grab control of it again and send it across the ice to Max Franklin.
He takes control and starts driving the puck down the lane towards goal.
He’s blocked by one of their defenders but manages to send the puck to Nichols, who’s protecting the blue line nearby.
I’ve caught up with them, but I can see Tavish gaining on me in my periphery.
Unfortunately for Tavish, he doesn’t see Gavin in his blind spot until it’s too late.
Gavin trucks him as he tries to intercept the puck that Nichols passes me.
Tavish barely got his stick on it, but it was enough to make Gavin’s hit a legal one and for play to continue.
When the puck lands perfectly on the tape of my stick, I don’t even bother to fake left or right to throw their goalie off his game.
I have all the speed behind my shot right now and I send a rocket right down the center that slides straight through the space between their goalie’s knees before he can close the gap.
The horn blares and with that goal, I’ve made the score three to two with less than two minutes left to play.
Nichols is the first to throw his arms around me in celebration. I thank him for the assist, and he thumps my helmet with his glove before we’re both engulfed in a hug from Gavin.
“Hey, Marshal!” Tavish says as he skates by. “You never hug me like that when I score.”
“That’s because he’s usually in the penalty box,” Franklin says as he comes to join our celebration.
Tavish winks at us. “Don’t celebrate too hard.” He slowly skates off backwards. “There’s still plenty of time left for me to tie this up.”
“I’ll let Bouchard know you’re coming!” Gavin yells out to him.
He smiles at Gavin and flips him off, then turns around to skate to center ice for the face off.
On my way to center ice, I skate past our bench and grab a line of forearm bumps from my teammates while they pound the boards with their sticks.
At the end of the line is Coach Chris with some encouraging words.
“Way to get it done, Kennedy. Do you have enough gas in the tank to close this one out?”
“I’ve got it, Coach,” I say. It’s not so much gas in the tank as it is pure adrenaline. This game, this atmosphere, skating with Gavin on my line, I might never tire again.
Coach turns to Gavin. “Marshal, keep your eyes on Connor so he can keep his eyes on the puck.”
“Not a problem, Coach,” Gavin says and skates right on my heel as we get into formation and wait for the ref to drop the puck.
When it hits the ice, Tavish wins the face off.
He grabs it with lightning-quick speed and takes off out of the circle.
I chase after him. He’s quick. There’s a reason why he’s been a first line forward for Canada during the games, and back in Buffalo for the Blizzards as well.
He gets within shooting range of the net, but Bouchard is poised and ready for him.
I can see his stick bow into an arc as he takes his shot, quick and with a lot of force behind it.
Bouchard reaches with his blocker and knocks the puck out of the air before it can reach the goal.
Tavish is already there, ready for the rebound.
He tries another shot. This time, Bouchard blocks it with his leg, then sends it back out of the crease with his stick towards Franklin.
He takes possession of it but is quickly hit by a Canadian defenseman.
Tavish takes possession of the puck again and brings it around the back of the net, looking for someone to pass it to. I skate towards him to try to steal the puck, but Gavin beats me to him. He has him up against the boards fighting for possession of the puck once again.
With some help from one of his defensemen, Tavish manages to get away from Gavin and passes the puck to his right winger who’s at the top of the circle.
Quickly, I skate between them. Tavish is bound to be making his way to net front. With proper positioning, I can intercept this next pass. And I do it with textbook precision.
Tavish, not to be outdone, levels me with a hit and takes possession of the puck again.
He doesn’t have it for long before Gavin shoulder checks him, causing the puck to bounce wildly in front of Bouchard and the net.
Bouchard gloves it down, stopping play. Even with his mask on, obscuring his face, I can tell Bouchard is loving every minute of this.
Watching his teammates battle it out for gold is the exact type of thing Bouchard would draw pleasure from.
When the ref blows the whistle, we’re all breathing hard. But there is no way I’m going back to the bench. Not with winning the gold medal less than a minute away.
The ref calls for us to all come into formation for the face off. All five players from both teams ready themselves. It’s me against Tavish once again. There’s no way he’s winning this one from me.
The puck drops and I snap it to Max Franklin. But Canada’s defense is ready. One slams into Franklin, the other intercepts the puck as it leaves his stick, preventing us from clearing the puck out of our defensive zone.
He passes it to Tavish, who is waiting in the slot in front of the net. Bouchard is poised and ready for him. When Tavish takes the shot, Bouchard puts it to bed by beating the puck and grabbing it in his glove. It’s over. The clock runs out. We’ve won.
Gavin
Holy shit! We fucking did it. We really fucking did it. Not that I had doubts that we could, but Canada, especially Tavish, made this quite the battle. We’re Olympic champions.
“I never want to be on the opposing side of you ever again,” Tavish says as he jumps on me to give me a hug. He waves Bouchard over to join us. “You either. Damn. Now I know how the rest of the league feels when they play the Blizzards. It fucking sucks.”
He’s grinning from ear to ear. Actually, we all are. That’s the most fun I’ve had in a game in ages and I’m relieved to see he’s not upset. Or at least not taking it hard. He’s smiling at the both of us. Celebrating and laughing like he won gold as well.
“That last shot almost got past me,” Bouchard says, rubbing Tavish’s helmet with his giant goalie glove.
I thump him on the shoulder. “You put up a hell of a fight. Could have gone either way out there tonight.”
“Nah,” he says and elbows me. With his stick, he points across the ice at Connor, who’s being tackled by the rest of our team as they clear the bench and rush him. “There’s a reason why Connor over there is the best in the league.”
I beam with pride for Connor. He really is something special on and off the ice. It’s nice to see everyone else feeling the same way after all the resentment that was leveled at him during training camp and the earlier games.
“Look at his stupid face,” Tavish says. At first, I think he’s talking about Connor, but then I look at him and see he’s pointing at me. He elbows Bouchard. “What the fuck happened to our team grump? Why does he look so dopey?”
Bouchard places his hand onto Tavish’s shoulder. “You don’t even want to know.”
Tavish narrows his eyes at me and then they go wide. He starts howling with laughter. “I did not see that coming!”
“Yeah, and do me a favor,” I say. “Keep your trap shut. You know how gossip travels around the ice.”
“I wouldn’t worry that much,” Bouchard says, leaning close to Tavish. “They’ve done a terrible job of hiding it.”
The two snicker together at my expense as Tavish pushes me away. “Get out of here. Go celebrate with your boy before he wises up and leaves your ass.”
I turn and skate away backwards, flipping them the bird. Bouchard gives Tavish another hug before he follows me, and Tavish heads back to his team, to console them about their second-place finish.
When I reach my team, Connor is still lost somewhere in the middle. To make matters worse, the press has been let onto the ice to capture close-ups of the celebration and attempt to catch soundbites or quick interviews.
There’s a microphone thrust into my face almost immediately. “Gavin Marshal, what’s it feel like to be the first gay hockey player to win an Olympic gold medal?”
Instead of facing the reporter like I should, I keep looking around the crowd, trying to find Connor as I answer. I’m looking everywhere for a flash of his golden hair.
“I hardly doubt I’m the first,” I say, still not looking at the reporter. “I can guarantee there have been others besides me.”
The microphone is pushed towards my face with more force. “The first openly gay player, then?”
Now I’m annoyed. This isn’t what I wanted this moment to be about.
Hell, this isn’t what this moment is supposed to be about.
All I want is to find Connor and celebrate with him and my team.
We’ve worked our asses off for our entire careers to be here right now, and this reporter wants to make it all about me being gay.
Which, if I’m being honest, is the least fucking interesting thing about me or this moment.
It’s not like being gay is some secret hockey player superpower.
I finally turn to look at the reporter. She’s smiling at me, eager for me to give her some inspirational soundbite.
The poor thing is under the delusion that I’m someone who wants this mantle.
Why I don’t know. It’s not like I’ve ever claimed it and I’ve made it abundantly clear since being outed that I have zero interest in being the league’s gay poster boy. She’s about to have a rude awakening.
“It doesn’t feel like anything,” I tell her. “I’ve been playing hockey my whole life and not once has me being gay had anything to do with it.”
She looks at me, stunned for a split second before she opens her mouth and tries again. “Is there anything you want to say to any young gay boys watching you right now?”
“Yeah,” I say with a bitter laugh. “Ignore anyone who tries to make being gay the only thing about you worth reporting on.” I skate away before she can come back with a rebuttal.
“Marshal!” Bradley yells out, pulling me into the scrum of my celebrating teammates. “You big scary bastard, get in here!”
“Where’s Connor?” I ask him, looking around.
“Last I saw, he was being hoisted up in the air by Franklin and Nichols.”
I look around some more and I finally see him.
His back is to me but there’s no mistaking him.
He has one arm around Nichols and the other slung over Calhoun, who’s hanging off Franklin as well.
The four are being photographed, mugging it up for nearby cameras.
I stay back. After that disastrous interview, I don’t want that kind of attention.
In fact, I don’t want any attention at all.
As I look at Connor right now, all I want is to be back in our little dorm room, crammed onto our ridiculous makeshift bed, avoiding falling through the seam.
It’s already going to be our last night in there.
Tomorrow, we all leave to go home and back to our lives with only a few days’ rest before we have to report back to our teams and the regular season by Tuesday.
I should care about this win. I should care about the ceremony and having that Olympic gold medal placed around my neck.
But I don’t. I want the celebrations to go quickly.
I want the pomp and circumstance to be over so I can relax back into the world I’ve lived in alone with Connor in the quiet of our room and hold him tight for as long as I can before he’s ripped from me, and our relationship is reduced to stolen moments when our teams cross paths until the summer.
But I will endure this for him. I will smile and wave and stand still on the podium for him because I know this win means more to him than it does to me.
We came here together to go for the gold, but the difference is, I found gold in him.
I don’t need a medal around my neck. I just need him in my arms and in my life.
Finally, he turns and sees me. His smile is wide.
He’s lit up brighter than the flashbulbs going off around all of us.
He skates to me, and I brace myself for his incoming hug.
He leaps into my arms and wraps his arms around my neck.
He smells like sweat and ice and the happiness that’s radiating off of him as he laughs in my hold.
When I place him back on his feet, I expect him to let go of me and maybe skate away.
Instead, he pulls me down to him and kisses me right there for everyone to see.