CHAPTER FORTY OSKAR
CHAPTER FORTY
OSKAR
It’s hard to breathe. The stuffy tunnel doesn’t help, but there is more than that. It’s Kai. Game one against the Condors is waiting a few feet away. At the end of the series, one of us will go on to play for the Laurentian Cup while the other sits at home, waiting to see who wins.
My head spins, and just as the world goes sideways, the announcer introduces the New Jersey Fury. Lewis gives me a push, and I’m running on my skates, then jumping onto the ice.
While the anthem plays, I’m supposed to have my eyes on the flag. If I turn my head the right way, I can see Kai, but not clearly enough to read him. He’d looked calm during warmups. Most people would stop there, but I know him better than that.
Fan. Before all this begins, I could use a hug from him. Before I help the Fury kick his ass.
Less than thirty minutes separate our arenas, and the hockey world has decided that must mean we’re enemies.
We aren’t, of course. Last night, we ate Mexican takeout on Kai’s couch and watched a documentary about sharks.
Then we went to bed, and—for the night—forgot we’re rivals.
It was probably the last quiet evening we’ll have for a while because hockey is about to consume everything.
The mixed New Jersey-New York crowd is still cheering while I skate to my crease and take extra care scuffing the ice. I do it a second time before talking to the goalposts and tapping them gently. Only then do I turn and look down the rink.
Kai’s kneeling, petting his posts like he would a puppy. While I’m adjusting my helmet, he stands and looks at me. I shouldn’t be able to see his eyes from so far away, but I’ll swear I can.
“Ready for this?” they’re asking. Or maybe, “Ready for us to kick your butt?”
After we kissed this morning, as we were leaving for our morning skates, he said, “Good luck, Ozzy. Hope you have fun.”
Now, here I am, about to do what Gunnar and I dreamed about since before we started school. This is for both of us, brorsan. Help me out if you can.
The puck drops. We play with fury, as Coach told us to do, but nobody can get one past Kai. I’m making as many saves as he is, which has already earned me a few choice curses from the Condors. When I can, I look down the ice, and sometimes Kai is looking back. I’d love to know what he’s thinking.
With eight minutes left in the period, the Condors take possession of the puck. They flood into our zone and start hammering me with shots. No matter how hard our guys work to break their rhythm, it does no good.
One of their wingers sends a pass to Nico Rossi, who winds up for a one-timer. Already calculating the angle, I spring into action. The puck is a black blur, but I bat it away with my blocker.
Carson captures the rebound. He’s the fastest man on our team, a blue streak racing down the ice.
After he jinks around both Condor defensemen, he cuts for the crease and takes his shot.
Kai drops into a butterfly. The puck soars by his glove, and the crowd erupts as the ref signals a goal. Fury 1, Condors 0.
Part of me celebrates because we’ve taken the lead. Another part watches Kai stand and take a drink of water. When he turns back, I raise my stick, but he ignores me.
The Condors take the next faceoff. A winger breaks away and hurtles toward me with startling speed.
About twenty feet out, he unleashes a snapshot.
I try to slide right but miss a beat. The crowd is already on its feet when I execute a desperate T-push and throw up my glove. I’m cooked, just as Kai was.
But the puck slams into my glove, and I squeeze hard to hold on to it. I’m getting what Kendrick calls “half and halfs” from the crowd; the Fury fans are roaring their approval while the Condors fans boo. When I square up again, Kai turns away.
The Fury are good enough to win this. I am good enough, and God help me, I want to.
I spend the first intermission taking a quick shower, letting the trainer use a massage gun on my thighs, and getting back into my gear. After two minutes of joking around with Butler, it’s time to take the ice for the second period.
The crowd is rowdy from the moment we appear. I go through my routine, then can’t resist looking at Kai. This time, he raises his stick, and I do the same.
Trouble starts as soon as the puck hits the ice. The Condors are in no mood to play hockey, so the game quickly becomes a shoving match that the officials pretend not to notice.
The puck soon lands against the boards, and after a lot of grinding and swearing, the Condors win the battle and swarm our zone.
Theo Grant unleashes a slapshot, which I swat aside.
A Condors forward pokes the rebound to Rossi, who shovels it toward the goal.
I’m down, sliding with my stick extended, but I can’t see through the screen of men.
When I finally spot the puck, it’s not where I expected. Everything slows down. I’m moving fast now, but the puck slips through and crosses the line before I can smother it. The crowd explodes as the Condors break into a celly. Fury 1, Condors 1.
J?vla skit! I get up and force some water past the frustration balled in my throat. When I turn back, Kai is looking at me. He taps the handle of his stick against his chest and nods.
The next eighteen minutes are a war. Every whistle brings another scrum or someone getting dragged to the penalty box. Despite the hard hits and bloodshed, the score remains tied when the buzzer sounds.
As we head for the tunnel, I spot Kai leaving the ice. His mask is off, and he’s flushed and sweaty. Our eyes find each other. There are no smirks, just hard stares that say this isn’t over. I nod once before going to the locker room.
I munch through an apple while Troutman gives us a little encouragement.
After he leaves, Carson comes over and claps my arm. “You okay? You’re doing a hell of a job out there.”
“I’m good,” I say. “You?”
He tilts his head. “I don’t mean only about the game. Playoffs are hard as hell. Are you and Mercer ready for this?”
“No worries. We might be rivals on the ice, but we keep that separate.”
Carson nods, then flashes one of his big Texas grins. “Good for you. Keep it that way.”
Forty-five seconds into the third period, a defensive zone turnover ends up on Rossi’s stick. My stomach sinks as he cracks a shot over my shoulder from the point.
Condors fans cheer since they’ve taken the lead, but ours are booing. Sweat runs down the back of my neck because I’m not sure if they’re booing Rossi or me. I glance at Kai, who shrugs. J?vlar!
But then he nods, and I let out a breath.
What is wrong with me?
Kendrick wins the faceoff and sends the puck to Lewis, who passes it back as soon as Kendrick starts moving. Our guys chase him into the Condors’ zone as he splits their defense, then buries a backhand past Kai’s glove. Tied again.
Kai drinks his water and stares at the jumbotron. While the guys are lining up for the next puck drop, he looks at me. I raise my stick, and he answers with a nod.
As the game disintegrates into chaos, both teams are frantic. Kai and I are both hammered with shots and making saves that are sure to make tonight’s highlight reels. I stop a Condor breakaway with a desperate dive, and later, Kai stones Carson on a penalty shot.
With two minutes left in the game, the Condors set up in our zone. Jace Castillo, one of their young guys, shoots the puck from the point. It hits a skate, bounces off a leg, and deflects up and over my shoulder into the top corner. A garbage goal, but now it’s Fury 2, Condors 3.
Troutman pulls me for an extra attacker. We pin the Condors in their zone for the entire minute, but they hang on. The final horn is a physical blow.
The Condors are celebrating as we leave the ice. I spot Kai tapping helmets with his teammates. He turns his head, finds me, and gives a small, almost imperceptible nod. He’s smiling. I nod back and head into the tunnel.
Fan! I’d have been smiling too.
We clomp to the locker room with slumped shoulders and a hundred theories about what went wrong. Some of the guys talk about going for drinks, but the idea fizzles. It’s a good thing, since we have another game in two days.
I take a cab home and have time to change into sweatpants and a hoodie before a message arrives on my phone.
KAI: You guys played well, and you were personally outstanding. I know what you’re going through, and I’m sorry. The loss wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have done any better.
I stare at his text, trying to decide if he’s being sincere.
OSKAR: Thanks. You were incredible. The Condors outplayed us, but expect it to be different next time.
KAI: I think you’re dreaming, but miracles happen.
I’m glad he’s not pushing sympathy because I couldn’t handle that right now. I love Kai more than anything, but we both have jobs to do.
OSKAR: Bold words, handsome one. Six games left.
KAI: True, but we only need to win three more.
The smirk emoji tells me it’s a chirp, but I’m too tired to think of a clever retort.
OSKAR: Asshole. You’ll regret those words.
KAI: Cocky rookie.
OSKAR: Yes, but you love my cocky.
KAI: No question about that.
Time to shut this down because I’d really like to be together tonight.
OSKAR: I know we agreed to give each other more space during the playoffs, but I miss you.
KAI: Me too. We’ll be through this before long.
OSKAR: Not soon enough. Call tomorrow?
KAI: Absolutely. Get some rest for now. I’m sure you guys will be working as hard as we are in the morning.
A few minutes later, lying in bed, I pull up a selfie Kai and I took on Christmas Eve. I study it for a while and go to sleep with his face in my mind.