Chapter 30 - Grayson
Grayson
I was in a daze as I took the elevator back to the team floor, ignoring waves and comments from my teammates on the way to my room. I scanned the key and relaxed when the door closed behind me.
“Uh, did you forget the ice?” Mason asked. He was stretched out on his bed, scrolling on his phone.
“The other machine was broken, too,” I said.
Mason grunted. “I’ve heard about this shit happening in the playoffs. Getting hostile treatment on the road. First it’s broken ice machines, then they’ll start poisoning our food.”
“Uh huh,” I said. I wasn’t really listening to him. My head was still swimming from the kiss, and the way her body had come alive against mine. Her eyes had been so big while I pressed her against the wall, gazing up at me like she was ready to surrender to me if I only told her how I really felt.
What might have happened if we weren’t interrupted?
“You saw how small this town is,” Mason was saying. “Hockey is all they have. If we win tomorrow and take a lead in the series, you’d better inspect all your meals closely until we get back to Texas. That’s all I’m saying.”
“Good point,” I said absently. “We should get the rookies to taste test all the food. I’ll ask coach about it.”
“Hey, wait a minute. Let’s not get carried away.”
My phone buzzed, and I almost dropped it in my haste to look at the screen.
Josie: What were you going to say before we were interrupted? I need to know.
“Is that your girlfriend?” Mason asked with a goofy grin. “Let me see.”
“Can I get five fucking minutes of peace without being harassed about shit I don’t have any control over?” I snapped.
“Geez, sorry, Captain.”
I ignored the text and brushed my teeth. But when I crawled into bed, all I could think about was the woman two floors below me. It was like I could sense her through the walls, pulling on me with a strange kind of gravity. I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep until I replied to her.
But how could I explain the confusing emotions that were swirling in my head? I didn’t even understand it myself. I tried to type it out, but everything I wrote felt woefully inadequate.
Me: I’m sorry I was a dick to you in the lobby. There’s a ton of pressure on me. This is the team’s first playoff series in franchise history, and I really need to focus on it. We can talk about everything when it’s over.
Me: Please don’t push me, Josie.
It wasn’t easy for me to say please. Especially not with her. She took a long time to answer—the three little dots appeared on the text, showing that she was typing.
But when she eventually did respond, it was with a single word.
Josie: Okay.
It was what I wanted, what I’d asked her for, but it didn’t set my mind at ease. If anything, it left me even more confused than before.
“Night, Captain!” Mason said cheerfully while turning out the light.
I didn’t sleep. My brain was wide awake. After a while, I opened my phone and re-read all of our text history in the dark, wondering if I should have said more.
When I eventually did sleep, it wasn’t restful. I woke the next morning feeling even more exhausted than before.
Our morning was filled with media events and interviews at the arena.
Even though this was the first playoff series for the Surge franchise, I was a veteran of the process by now thanks to my history on the Predators.
I knew all the right words to say when I was in front of the cameras and answered questions.
“All we can do is give it our best effort.”
“One game at a time.”
“Need to focus on creating opportunities for my teammates on the ice.”
“We may be the underdogs, but I think we match up well against the Oilers.”
When the media circus was over, I went back to the hotel room to take a nap. I even managed to catch an hour of sleep, although I still didn’t feel particularly rested afterward.
Everything was a blur after that. Putting on my suit. Boarding the team bus outside the hotel, even though the arena was only three blocks away. Walking from the bus to the visiting locker room and changing into my practice gear.
The routine was calming, though I still didn’t quite feel like myself.
Then the lights dimmed, and the arena thundered with jeers and boos. I stood just outside the spotlight, waiting for my name to be called. It was loud—relentlessly so—as thousands of Oilers fans unleashed a wall of noise meant to rattle us.
“Number eleven,” the announcer boomed, “playing Center, Grayson Steele.”
My skates crunched softly on the entry mat, drowned out by the roar of boos from the hometown crowd.
Even though my heart felt like it was trying to pound its way through all the layers of gear I was wearing, I held my chin up and kept my face blank.
The noise washed over me. It was hostile, sure—but it was electric.
This was playoff hockey, and there was nowhere else I would rather be.
This was what I lived for.
We stood in a line on the ice as the American National Anthem was played, followed by the Canadian one. As soon as it ended, I skated around the rink, warming my legs up.
That’s when I spotted her.
Josie was sitting in the front row behind our team bench, wearing the same number eleven Surge jersey from our private ice skating date. I’d managed to forget about her during the pre-game routine, but now she was front-and-center in my mind.
She gave me a small smile.
A strange feeling came over me as I skated to center ice for the puck drop. It was like my body had been filled with helium, making me feel lighter. And stronger. I seized on that feeling, grateful for the energy that came with it as I lined up against the captain of the Oilers.
“Let’s have a good, clean game,” the referee holding the puck told us.
The Oilers player nodded politely at me, but I was already putting my game face on.
And it wasn’t an act.
The moment the puck hit the ice, I slashed out with my stick, passing it backwards to a teammate.
I juked the opposing player, cut across the ice diagonally, exposing a weakness I’d noticed while reviewing game footage.
I was wide open for a few precious seconds, and that’s all I needed.
I received a pass from Tyler on the wing and immediately fired it at the goal, glancing it off the Oilers goaltender and into the net.
The arena filled with groans from the Edmonton fans, and cheers from the Surge fans that had made the trip here. I pumped my fist and celebrated as my teammates surrounded me, bombarding me with praise.
“Let’s fucking go!”
“Atta boy, Captain.”
“You hear that crowd? They shut up real fast!”
As soon as the celebration ended, I looked to Josie behind the bench. She was clapping and grinning like we’d won the Stanley Cup.
It filled me with more energy than a full night of sleep ever could.
I was in the zone from that point forward. It was like the game slowed down around me. I could see plays developing, recognizing what the Oilers were going to do before it happened. Every time they got the puck, we smothered them with our defense.
Later in the first period, I saw one such play developing. I skated over to their Center, lingering in his blind spot. Waiting for my moment.
He received the puck from a teammate, then turned and began to sprint—
And smashed right into me.
I leaned my shoulder into him, catching him underneath the jaw.
He crumpled to the ice while I stole the puck, going on the offensive while the crowd groaned and shouted.
It was music to my ears, and I fed on it while weaving between defenders on my way to the goal.
By the time I shot the puck, there was no doubt in my mind it was going in the net.
I raised my hands to the sky and sneered at the opposing crowd. My teammates surrounded me once again, but I only had eyes for Josie. She was on her feet, banging against the glass while shouting at the top of her lungs.
“LET’S GO GRAYSON!”
Our gazes collided. And even though we were surrounded by thousands of fans, we shared a private little smile.
I was the goddamn Steele Wall. And when I felt like this?
Nothing could stop me.