18. Buzz #3
The reporter’s expression shifted slightly. Like I had given her a better answer than she expected. “What does it mean to win this with your whole family here tonight?”
My eyes moved to the gaggle behind the railing. All of them. “It means everything,” I said, quieter than before. “They show up. Always. That’s just what my family does.”
The reporter asked one more question about state, one about scouts that I dodged so hard Coach’s mouth twitched again, and then she thanked me while the camera light clicked off.
Mase appeared immediately and slung an arm around my neck. “Nice interview, celebrity.”
Simon shoved into us from the other side, still smiling like his face hurt. “We’re going to state.”
I looked at him. Then at Mase. Then at the guys pouring into the hallway around us, helmets off, faces flushed, eyes wild with a joy none of us knew how to carry yet. “We’re going to state,” I said.
Mase’s arm tightened around my neck until I could not breathe. “Emotional moment,” he announced.
“I will kill you.”
Coach’s voice cut through the hallway. “Burns.”
He stood near the entrance to a quieter side corridor with two men beside him. One wore the Fargo jacket. The other wore the St. Croix State crest stitched over his heart. Dad was already with them. So was Thane.
The hallway seemed to lengthen between us. Every step felt wrong and good at the same time.
I had just won the biggest game of my life. My teammates were screaming behind me. My family was ten yards away. Lucy was close enough that I could still feel her attention like a hand against my back.
And I was walking toward men who wanted to talk about what came next.
Coach introduced me to the Fargo scout first. Dan Mercer.
Firm handshake. Gray at his temples. Calm eyes. He looked like he had seen a thousand kids have big nights and was trying to decide which ones would survive after the lights turned off.
“Hell of a game, Ty.”
“Thanks, sir.”
“Four points in a section final gets people’s attention.”
I tried not to grin like an idiot.
“But the shorthanded goal is what I’ll remember,” Mercer said. “Not because you scored. Because you read the play before it happened.”
The St. Croix State scout shook my hand next. Mark Ellison.
He had watched me before, though we had only spoken briefly after one regular-season game when I had still been sweaty and too cocky to understand how many doors one conversation could represent.
“Good to see you again,” he said.
“You too.”
He smiled faintly. “You looked more complete tonight.”
I was not sure whether that was a compliment. From the way Coach’s face stayed neutral, I figured it probably was.
Mercer tucked his hands into his jacket pockets. “We’d like to sit down with you and your family after the season. Formal conversation. Spring evaluation camp.”
“Fargo?” I asked.
Mercer nodded. “You’re the kind of player we track closely for Phase II.”
May draft. Junior hockey. Leaving after graduation if a team wanted you badly enough and the fit was right.
St. Croix’s scout glanced at Mercer, then back at me. “A strong USHL season would answer a lot of questions for college programs too. Speed of play. Defensive details. How your game translates when every guy on the ice can keep up with you.”
“Every guy?” I asked before I could stop myself.
His smile grew. “Most guys.”
Dad exhaled through his nose. Coach looked at the ceiling. Thane made the smallest sound.
Mercer did not laugh much, but his mouth twitched. “Confidence won’t be your problem.”
“No, sir.”
Dad stepped in then, voice steady in the way that made everyone around him automatically understand he expected clear answers. “What timeline are we talking about?”
“Nothing tonight,” Mercer said immediately. “Season first. State tournament. Let him finish what he started here. Then we talk.”
Dad nodded once.
Thane shifted beside him. The Fargo scout glanced over.
“Burns,” Mercer said, acknowledging him. “Chicago treating you all right?”
Thane’s expression barely changed. “Depends on who you ask.”
Mercer smiled. “Heard you got another call-up last month.”
“Two games.”
Mercer gave Dad a business card. Then another to Coach.
Ellison handed Dad one too, then glanced at me. “Enjoy tonight. You earned it.”
I should have said something normal.
Thank you.
I appreciate it.
Instead, I said, “Does enjoying tonight include pizza? Because I’m starving.”
Coach closed his eyes.
Dad looked like he was deciding whether pride and exasperation could coexist in one blood pressure.
“Go see your family,” Coach said, voice rougher than usual. “Before your grandmother storms the hallway.”
That was not impossible.
I started toward the crowd, then stopped when Thane called, “Ty.”
He looked me over once, professional and irritating. “On the overtime rush, you pulled the weak-side D with your eyes before you changed the shooting angle. Do that on purpose next time.”
That was it.
That was the whole thing.
No good job. No hell of a game. No I’m proud of you.
But from Thane, that was basically a parade.
I nodded once. “Yeah.”
His jaw flexed. Then he looked toward the hallway full of families and cameras and teammates. “And stop turning pucks over at the blue line like an idiot.”
I grinned. “Knew you loved me.”
“Unfortunately.”
Dad moved first, stopping in front of me before I reached the rest of the family. The crowd roared around us. The guys kept shouting down the hall. Somebody started singing the fight song off-key near the locker room. My heart was still hammering hard enough to feel it in my wrists.
Dad put one hand on my shoulder. “You handled your business.”
My chest felt like it cracked open. I nodded because speaking would have been a bad idea.
Then Mom reached me and ruined any chance I had of pretending not to be emotional by wrapping both arms around me, hockey smell and damp jersey and all. “My boy,” she whispered.
“Mom,” I groaned, but I hugged her back.
“Eat.” Grandma Ruth shoved a foil-wrapped bar against my chest the second Mom released me. “You must be famished.”
“You’re always right,” I said, taking it. “Thanks, Grandma.”
Grandpa Hal stood in front of me next, roster folded in half in his hand. His eyes were pale and steady beneath the brim of his Northbend High hat. “Good third period.”
“Thanks, Grandpa.”
Kendrick clapped me hard on the back. “Four points. Fantastic. We’ll never hear the end of this.”
“You could try being supportive.”
“I came, didn’t I?”
Then, finally, I saw her. Lucy stood half behind Naomi, hands tucked into the sleeves of her coat. She looked proud and bright and a little pale in a way I did not know how to read yet.
I stepped toward her.
Lucy’s eyes moved over my face, then my jersey, then back to my eyes. “You were unbelievable.”
I tried to say something cocky. The scouts loved the cheekbones. Nothing came out.
So I reached for her instead.
She came into my arms immediately.
The impact of holding her after that game almost knocked the breath out of me. Not hard. Not dramatic. Just complete. Her cheek pressed against the cold, damp front of my jersey, arms tight around my waist, and for the first time since warmups, my body finally stopped moving inside itself.
There.
That was the quiet place.
Lucy holding me, and some part of me that had been chasing the whole night finally caught up.
“I saw the tape,” she whispered against me. “You’re ridiculous.”
“You said romantic wrong.”
“Romantically ridiculous,” she laughed. “Better?”