Brayden
ten
“Carina spoke with Keeley. You were right. She’s been struggling,” Gauthier murmured under his breath to me.
We were standing in the private lounge at Austin-Bergstrom International, waiting to be ushered onto a bus that would take us to the barn for tonight’s game.
It was the second to last preseason game.
Most had been held in smaller arenas in cities without teams. Austin had the AHL, the Dallas Stars’ feeder team, so tonight’s game was on their turf.
But I was the home-grown boy, and the crowds loved me.
“She was pretty upset when I spoke with her yesterday.”
“Carina and Rusty are going there this afternoon. They’re taking Hannah for a few hours.”
I smiled, but jealousy ate at me. I wanted us to be the people who helped her—Spencer and me saving the day.
“Thanks for checking on her,” I grumbled.
Gauthier bit back a grin, and I narrowed my eyes. “What?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all.” He chuckled and shook his head, then walked away.
“That’s horseshit,” I muttered under my breath. There was more Gauthier wanted to say, but he was already moving on to a conversation with Rossi and Dupont.
***
The visitor’s locker room was the same as virtually every other changing room I’d been in.
Bench seats ran the length of the long, narrow room, with cubbies built into the walls.
They were grey, completely devoid of personality.
The Seals’ rooms were a bright purple, with flags hanging from the high roof and a vibe you couldn’t match.
The visitor digs were a way of psyching out the opponents.
It didn’t matter, though. We were sitting pretty so far. One loss, three wins, one of which was a shutout. Tonight we were going to make it four wins. Y’all, it was too early to tell, but I felt a vibe. This team was going to do it.
I tightened my laces and slid the bucket onto my head before following the team down the tunnel. We were about to be announced. Imagine Dragons’ “Whatever It Takes” started, and I looked around at the boys. They were surprised. It wasn’t the song we were used to opening to. But it worked.
Kuznetsov bopped his head, and Gauthier and Minns danced. Hux cracked his neck, and Rune stretched his back, looking like a padded wall of muscle as he rapped the lines about being born to run.
Mironov clapped me on the shoulder and asked, “Any of the Stars on your shit list?”
“Not yet, but I’ll let y’all know. You gonna let any of them score?”
“Wash that mouth out, new guy,” Rune chirped back.
“Hey, I’m not dissin’ your abilities—”
The announcer called us out, and Mironov shouted, the sound somewhere between a battle cry and howl.
Rune followed, hyping us up. We rallied together, slamming our sticks against the padded floor as we burst out of the tunnel and straight onto the ice.
We were laughing big, our smiles splitting our faces.
This was why we played—the adrenaline, the high from winning.
And win we would.
***
“Let’s go, let’s go,” Gauthier shouted, earning another slap of sticks on the ice.
The game was brutal. The Stars were fast on the ice, easily matching our pace, and unlike the Grizzlies, they had finesse on their side. Their forwards were precise and their defense in the right place at the right time. Every time.
But we were outclassing them.
I deked left, then slapped the puck to Mironov.
Gauthier broke away, streaking down the ice.
I followed, keeping the angles open for him to pass back even as the Stars choked his angles.
Gauthier crossed the blue line and slung it to Hux, who immediately passed to Minns.
They tic-tac-toed it straight to within shooting distance of the goal while I came up the inside, ignored by their defense.
Their goalie shifted, leaving his left side exposed.
Minns wound up. Texas’s goalie bit. But instead of shooting, Minns shot it to me.
The puck struck my tape. I dug my blades into the ice.
Then I tipped it up, lifting the biscuit right into the net.
The buzzer sounded, and I threw my hands up. “Yee haw,” I cried. My first goal as a Seal. My teammates surrounded me, backslapping me and rapping their knuckles on my bucket.
“You’ll do,” Mironov teased and I grinned back.
“Y’all love me already,” I shot back, grasping his hand and butting our heads together.
Fuck, it felt good being on the ice with this group of men.
The Blizzards were a great team. The head coach and all the support staff were professional.
There were cliques on the team that made it feel like camaraderie, but it wasn’t like this.
It wasn’t whole team celebrations when the new guy got his first goal.
I flipped the puck over in my hand, then tossed it to the team medic. “Trisha, put that somewhere safe for me?” I asked.
“You got it, Miller.”
The rest of the game was a blur of purple and green.
It moved fast. The puck streaking up the ice, Gauthier on breakaways, a power play against us when Minns threw down after a Dallas defenseman got Hux a little too up close and personal with the boards, a goal from Gauthier, more than a few saves by Rune.
Thousands of voices rose, swelling in a deafening cheer.
It filled the air, vibrating the ice below our feet when the Stars’ forwards battled it out with Rune and Mironov in a clatter of sticks in front of the crease.
I watched Rune as he followed the players, not the puck.
The tightening of every muscle, the minute rotation of a knee or a hip, the hitch of an elbow or drop of a shoulder.
The puck snapped between each of them until Gauthier got it free.
I flew up the inside again, sliding in behind him as he lunged forward, dodging a Dallas defender.
He slung the puck to me, and I broke away, clear ice in front of me.
My heart pounded. My thighs burned. My wrists and toes ached. My lungs filled with the biting cold air. A flicker behind me. Hux. A defender appeared on the other side. I shot the puck to Hux, and he caught it, tape-to-tape.
He returned it a moment later, the solid thwack on the blade of his stick whispering the puck over the ice straight to me.
A perfect pass. I dug my blades in, turning on a dime, and shot it to Gauthier.
We were neck and neck, the scores tied. Minutes counted down into the single digits. This was our chance.
Gauthier deked right, passed left to Hux. He slapped it to me. I slid it to Minns, each of us avoiding Dallas’s defense and gaining ground toward the crease.
Hux worked his magic, that foresight he seemed to have putting him in the right position every time.
Minns sent a wrister straight to him, and like Hux was in a game of baseball, he swung his stick and connected with the puck.
A crack echoed over the ice, and I watched the vibration hum up his stick, wobbling it as he launched the puck toward the goalie.
I held my breath.
The goalie slapped it away, sending the puck back into play. I scrambled, trying to deke it out of reach of the Stars’ forward. But Hux was there. He shouldered the forward and slotted the puck straight onto his stick.
Gauthier took the pass, then slung it straight back to Hux when he was open. This time would be it.
He went in hard and fast, streaking along the ice in front of the crease. I almost didn’t see the hit. It was barely a flick of his wrist. But it was enough. It sailed straight through the goalie’s legs in the millisecond before he slid into the splits.
The horn sounded. Imagine Dragons filled the air. I slammed into Hux, our bodies colliding. “Fuck yeah!” I shouted.
We won, and our locker room was on fire.
The guys were buzzing, riding a high. Wads of balled up tape sailed across the room.
Gatorade stung my eyes as Minns shook his bottle over me.
I laughed, whooping and throwing my hands above my head.
It was only a pre-season game. It didn’t count for anything. But it also did.
Sweat and the stench of ripe gear filled the room. Minns hit Play on a party mix, and the heavy bass reverberated through the room. Cheers, Rune beatboxing, and Hux standing on the bench twerking hit me. This was everything.
Gauthier shouted something to Mironov.
“All right, all right,” Coach yelled. The music stopped. The room quietened. “You did good, boys. This is the beginning. This is our season. Your season, boys.”
Whoops and cheers lit up the room.
I closed my eyes and let the waves of noise and togetherness crash over me. My team. My brothers. My family.
We had one more game left in the pre-season.
We were wheels-up out of Texas a few hours after the game.
I would have liked to have gone home, seen Mom and Noah even just for a meal, but there was no time.
We shifted from chaotic celebrations into the manic rush of postgame rituals.
Bike ride, cooldown weights, deep stretches, and then the showers.
Our final pre-season game was against the Hurricanes in their home barn, and I couldn’t fuckin’ wait.
***
There were a few days between the end of the pre-season and the beginning of the season proper. Almost like a slow inhale before madness set in. I’d be living out of a duffel bag for the majority of the season, with only short stretches at home. But I loved it. I especially loved it with this team.
It was the last chance Spencer and I had to have nearly a whole uninterrupted day to ourselves. I was heading home to spend it naked with him as soon as we wrapped our training session. We’d already reviewed the tape from last night’s game, and Coach wanted to nail down a few of our weaknesses.
“Right, that’s it,” Coach announced and turned up the lights in the room. “Gear up.”
I slid my slides back onto my feet and stretched out my back, cracking my neck from side to side. Stuffing my hands in my hoodie pocket, I grinned at Rune, who yawned like he was waking up from a nap.