28. Jackson
Jackson
The away locker room in Detroit smelled like stale sweat and industrial-grade disinfectant—a scent that seemed to haunt every visitor’s stall in the league.
It was cramped, the benches were narrow, and the lighting was a harsh, unflattering fluorescent that made everyone look like they’d been awake for forty-eight hours straight.
I hated being on the road. It wasn’t just the cramped quarters; it was the transient nature of it all.
Hotels were the worst—sterile, identical boxes where the pillows were always too firm or too soft, and the silence of a high-rise room felt like a physical weight.
It was a far cry from the quiet pond Splash talked about.
“Hayes, quit staring at the floor and get your skates on!” Logan shouted, already half-dressed and vibrating with pregame energy. He bumped my shoulder, nearly knocking me off the bench. “You’re in your head again. What’s the matter? The hotel coffee not up to your elite standards?”
I didn’t answer immediately. My phone was face down on the bench, but the words from the morning’s news cycle were burned into my retinas.
A veteran winger for Detroit had given an interview yesterday, calling the league’s Pride initiatives a “performative circus” and stating he wouldn’t “validate a lifestyle” he didn’t agree with.
I braced for the heavy, pointed silence I usually dreaded, but Logan immediately moved in front of me, putting his stick across my knees like a barricade.
“It tasted like piss, Logan,” I muttered, pulling my jersey over my head.
“The room was so quiet I could hear the guy three doors down snoring.” Donovan sat down next to me, his voice a low, steady rumble that cut through the tension.
“Listen up, Jackson. That asshole on their team is irrelevant. We are one team. We have your back on that ice and off it. You are our teammate, period. The road is a grind, and tonight’s designed to wear you down.
But once we hit the ice, none of that matters.
The noise of the crowd will drown out the silence of the hotel.
You focus on the shift, and we’ll focus on making sure nobody touches you. ”
I nodded, grateful for the Captain’s grounding presence. “I know, Cap. Just ready to be back in Seattle.”
“We all are,” Donovan agreed, finally looking at me with a knowing glint in his eyes. “But we have a job to do here first. Let’s go give them a show.” I tapped the latest letter from Splash. I needed some of his strength to get through this game today.