Austin
AUSTIN
I call Alyssa back when I get out of the shower. Gray’s playing Call of Duty with the sound on 100 in the other room and I try to block it out as she answers.
“Hey, how’s it going?” Her voice is so warm and familiar, I have to stop myself from melting into it.
“Good, you?”
“Don’t you have a game against Harvard tonight?”
“Yep, you watching?”
“Try and stop me, I love watching you kick those Ivy League guys’ asses.”
I laugh. “Yeah well, we have an Ivy League guy on our side now, and he’s gonna be my linemate.”
“No shit, so Coach promoted him already? How did everyone take that?”
“Not good.”
“They’ll have to get used to it,” she says. “That’s hockey. It’s cut-throat.”
“You’d be a natural.”
“Hey, fuck you.” She laughs. The sound like a million good memories.
“You seen my ma?”
“Yeah, went by the diner yesterday after class, she slipped me a free milkshake.”
“She’s good like that.”
“Tell that to my orthodontist.”
I run a hand over my face.
“Everything okay?”
“What? Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?”
There’s a short silence, then she says, “you still worried you won’t get signed before the deadline?”
My heart flutters at the verbalization of the thing that sits on my chest 24-hours a day. I don’t even have to answer.
“Don’t be.” She says. “Worst case scenario, you’re a free agent. Maybe you’ll sign for the Devils and your uncles won’t have to disown you after all.”
“Ha! I know, I’m being stupid.”
“Yeah, kinda.”
“Thanks.”
“Is there something else?”
“No.” I think about pinning Huntington against the wall outside class. It was like I was having an out-of-body experience. I don’t think I’ve been in a fight off the ice since second grade when Ross Chbowsky tried to steal my PB
“Just communicate for pete’s sake!”
If the guy ever cursed, I’m sure he would be doing it now.
I drag Yale in by the jersey and tell him what I’m planning to do before letting him go. He looks at me and nods and it’s the only time I think I’ve ever seen him look so serious.
I take the face-off at center ice and charge Harvard’s captain, sending the puck flying behind me, where Yale picks it up on his stick and barrels through the neutral zone with it.
I have to work to catch up, but I’m there, waiting when he taps it to me.
From the corner of my eye, I see Jordan ram one of Harvard’s defense out of my way and I shoot, score.
Yale comes at me, grinning through his cage, his body slamming into me. Expensive cologne and toothpaste radiating off him as ever.
When I slap hands with the rest of the guys, especially Hayes on the bench, I get the feeling they’re not as pumped as me and Yale are.
After that, things go more smoothly. I score with an assist from Gray and Yale scores on an empty net when Harvard’s goalie comes out.
Harvard get one more, but we manage to wrap the game up 5-2.
By the time we hit the locker room, everyone but Hayes is on cloud nine. Yale scored a goal and one wicked assist tonight. Hayes had an average game at best and spent more time on the bench than he’s used to.
“Not too bad for a rich boy ey?” Yale grins at me as we hit the showers.
“I thought it was easier when there was no goalie?”
He snorts. I think it’s the closest I’ve ever got to hearing his genuine laugh. It’s actually not the most annoying sound in the world.