GRANT
EIGHTY-EIGHT
Puck Kings
Connor
It’s a big day for G, Huddy Boy, and Ethan!
Mitchy
We’re in the stands ready to cheer for you!
Connor
Can’t wait to see you give it your all, dudes!
Mavvy
*Attachment: 1 image*
We made Murphy a shirt with your faces on it!
Sully
Why are you all sending so many messages? We’re standing five feet away from each other.
Connor
Grant and Hudson aren’t standing five feet away from us. We have to include them.
Still can’t believe you flew back for the gold medal game, Sully. Must mean you love all of us.
*Sully has left the group chat*
*Connor has added Sully to the group chat*
Connor
Really, Goalie Daddy? On the important day of our boys? I’m so disappointed in you.
I can hear the fans chanting from our locker room, and there are still ten minutes before the puck drops. I jam an AirPod in my ear and try to dull the noise.
Finding something to do is the easiest way to get my head in the game, and I grab my stick and start taping it. I’m doing my best to keep my pregame rituals the same as they are back home, but everything is different now.
I’m not sneaking a glance at my phone to see if there’s a text from Amelia. I’m not taking a photo that I’ll show her later. I’m empty and hollow and so fucking broken. Not even my Skittles taste good today, and I’m sinking into a state of despair.
I went to the women’s gold medal game two nights ago just so I could get a glimpse of her, and it was a stupid decision. Getting to watch her do the thing she does well cut like a fucking knife. Seeing her celebrate and not being able to be a part of that happiness stung.
I hoped I’d have a chance to run into her at the bar when the rest of the team walked in, but Emmy gave me a sympathetic look when she told me Lia went back to her room.
Space, I remind myself. She wants space.
But I’ve never been someone who can sit by while the people he loves hurt. I’m a fixer, and maybe the meeting I have scheduled with the commissioner next Wednesday will give me the chance to fix this whole situation. In another week, it’ll all blow over, and that will be that.
Optimistic to a fucking fault.
“Hey.” Davis Bartlow, who I participated in the Skills challenge with all those years ago, sits next to me in the locker room. I pop out my AirPod, and he smiles. “Sorry. Don’t want to disturb you while you’re in the zone.”
“No worries. I’m trying to clear my head, and nothing is working. What’s up?”
“Just wanted to check in and see how you were doing after that article. The media has been a fucking circus.” He scoots closer. “Between you and me, I think it’s bullshit this is even a topic of conversation.”
“I’m barely surviving, if we’re being honest.” I offer him a shrug. “I’m glad I have hockey to give myself something to focus on, but I haven’t been fueling myself this last week. I haven’t been sleeping, and it’s fucking up my game play.”
“Don’t forget that you get to be here. No one is forcing you to stay, and if you’re going to go out there and represent our country, you might as well give it your best effort so we can snag the win.
” Davis clears his throat. “I also heard from Thorne that Green is going to be in the stands tonight with the rest of the women’s team, so maybe that’ll motivate you to find the player inside you who earned his spot on the roster.
Show off for her. Remind her why she fell in love with you.
” He pauses. “Give the media something to talk about besides your personal life.”
“Thanks.” I nod in agreement. His words loosen the ball of tension in my chest. It unspools ever so slightly, and I roll my shoulders back. “It’s about time the U.S. men brought home a gold medal. Might as well make it today.”
I let familiarity take over after that. I follow the team to the ice and go through the last of our warm up shots.
I do some final stretches for my hamstring, keeping my eyes on the ice and not the stands where I so desperately want to look.
I take off my helmet for the national anthem and find my spot on the bench, happy with my second line positioning for tonight’s game.
Canada has been impressive the entire tournament, and we all knew this is who we would be going up against for all the glory.
I can’t hear myself think over the loud cheering from the fans, and when Coach Saunders clasps my shoulder, I have to turn all the way around to face him to hear what he has to say.
“How are you feeling?” he asks.
“Not great, but I know what my job is. I’m not going to let outside circumstances dictate my performance,” I say.
“I’m proud of how you’re handling all of this.
” Coach’s jaw works. “I know I was angry at you when the story first leaked, but I hate how things have turned out, Everett. Give me one more night of focusing on hockey, and we’ll see what we can come up with when we talk to the commissioner next week. ”
“Thanks, Coach.”
Everything hurts.
It’s my own fault that I’m winded, but this is the most excruciating game of my career.
It’s fast-paced with no icing calls to stop the clock.
Every person on the ice is one of the most elite athletes in the world.
By the end of the scoreless first period, my legs are tight and my lungs are having trouble finding air.
Our athletic trainer uses a massage gun on my hamstring, and I grit my teeth through the pain.
It hurts, but it’s nothing compared to the ache of not having Amelia by my side.
Back on the ice in the second period, I start to find my rhythm. My shoulders loosen. My stick feels lighter in my hold. I’m bolder with my bursts of offense, not afraid to take a shot when I’m open. I miss, but it gives me the courage to try again in the third.
“Hanging in there?” Hudson asks, passing me his sports drink. I squirt some in my mouth then wipe my face with the back of my hand.
“Yeah. Felt better in the second period than in the first, and I’m feeling better now than I did in the second.” I stretch my neck to the side, glad when it cracks. “Did you see the boys?”
“I did. Can’t believe Mav got Sully to wear that shirt.” He laughs and gestures to Canada’s bench. “And there’s our boy, Easy E.”
“I don’t like playing against him. He’s a fucking bullet and way too fast.”
After a timeout, the game resumes. Ethan must have heard us talking about him, because he leads the offensive push for Canada. With an open path to the goal, he winds up for a backhand that slices through the air so beautifully, I swear I don’t even see it sink in the net.
I groan and hang my head while Canada celebrates.
Coach switches the line, and it’s my turn to get back in.
I’m inspired by Ethan’s goal, and I decide to take matters into my own hands.
I work with Davis off a face-off win, kicking the puck back and forth as we enter the offensive zone.
I see Thorne open to my right, and I shoot the pass over to him before Canada has a chance to steal the possession.
He scoops it up and slaps it through the goalie’s knees, lifting his arms above his head when the horn sounds to signify the goal.
“Fuck yeah,” I yell, feeling the most alive I’ve been in days. “Hell of a shot, Foster.”
“Nice assist.” He pats my shoulder and knocks his knuckles on my helmet. “Let’s keep this momentum going.”
Both teams try to be the one to close out regulation with a win, but time expires, and we’re still tied at one.
“I hate overtime,” I say on the walk back to the locker room for the fifteen-minute intermission. “3-on-3? Sudden death? Talk about the highest stakes in existence. No fucking pressure or anything. At least I’m not going to be the one out there.”
“What are you talking about?” Coach looks up from his notebook. “You don’t think I’m putting you out there?”
“Uh, no? You have much better options for guys who cover the ice.”
“Not tonight I don’t. You’re going out there, Everett.”
“Jesus fuck.” I whimper and race over to my stall that’s next to Hudson’s. “I’m scared, Huddy.”
“Don’t be. You’re built for this, Grant. And at the end of the day, it’s just hockey.”
It’s just hockey.
He’s right.
The game and the sport I love are great, but when the dust settles and the lights go out, that’s all it is. Entertainment, a place to have fun. I might as well give it my best effort, because even if I fail, I’m still doing something incredibly cool.
“Okay.” I wet my lips and reach for my tape. “I’m ready to step up, Coach.”
He gives me a nod, and I spend the rest of the break locking in. I go through all the mental mantras I know, reciting the important ones and reminding myself I’ll have two teammates with me out there.
I don’t start the overtime period, but I am switched in after only a few minutes.
I take the ice with Hudson and Davis, and I like the combination of the three of us.
Canada goes for a shot that our goalie blocks, and Hudson scoops up the rebound.
We spread across the ice, working alongside each other as we move and shift and switch positions.
Hudson passes to Davis who drops the puck to me.
I shove it over to Hudson who doesn’t keep it for long after getting cornered against the boards.
I take control of the puck, and when I line up to go one-on-one against Canada’s defender, I realize I’m looking into the eyes of Brady fucking Williams.
Guess even pieces of shit have the chance to play for their country.
I grit my teeth and keep my gaze on him as I move to my left. He tracks my movements, but instead of circling around the goal like he anticipates, I cut to the right. Williams trips over his skates and falls on his stomach, sliding across the ice and leaving me an open path to the goal.
I think of Amelia’s advice she’s given me over the years. I keep my wrists strong, and I take a chance on a slap shot that soars through the air. I hold my breath, letting out a scream when the puck lands in the net.
My gloves and helmet are off before I can even think. I throw them in the air and toss my stick to the side, making sure to step over Brady Williams on my way to the bench.
“That was for Amelia, you dumb fuck,” I say to him as I pass. “Enjoy your silver medal.”
I’m engulfed the second I skate to my teammates.
They surround me in hugs and yells and whoops of glee.
Hudson lifts me off the ground and four other guys hold me above their head, yelling we are the champions over and over.
I can’t stop laughing, but I take a second to move over to Canada’s side of the rink during all the celebrations.
Ethan sits on the ice, his face buried in his hands, and I grab his jersey.
“Chin up, E,” I murmur, and he looks at me with red-rimmed eyes. “I’m so sorry I had to do that to you.”
“I’m glad it was you.” He sniffs. “But fuck does it hurt.”
“You can kick my ass in four years.” I hold out my hand and he takes it, standing and wiping his eyes. “We’ll call it even.”
Coach Saunders puts a hand on the back of my head, giving me a shake that has me grinning from ear to ear.
“That’s what I’m fucking talking about,” he says. “I knew you had it in you.”
“Thanks for trusting me, Coach.”
There’s a ton of things happening at once, and when I shuffle into the line they’re organizing us into, that’s when I see her.
Golden hair.
Blue eyes.
Her hands clasped in front of her and her mouth twisting in a sad smile that makes it look like she’s in pain.
Amelia is in the front row, right against the glass, and staring at me. She doesn’t wave or open her mouth to speak. She just watches, and that’s when I realize how right Hudson was.
This is a fucking game.
I have a gold medal around my neck, but all I want to do is run over to her.
I can’t though, and all of my excitement snuffs out when she turns and heads for the stairs, leaving me wondering what the hell is going to happen to us when we get home.