17 - Aiden
Aiden
Coach didn’t waste time. It was five minutes before practice started, and there was an important piece of team business to cover.
He stood at the front of the locker room with his arms folded, eyes moving across the benches until we quieted down enough to hear the faint drip from the showers down the hall.
“We’ve got a problem,” he said. “Mason’s done for the season. Broken ribs. Busted ankle. Torn cuff.”
We were quiet before, but now the silence felt dense. Like something alive. Then every head turned.
Mason sat near the lockers with a pair of crutches angled against the bench beside him. His ankle was wrapped thick enough to look like it had its own padding system, and the ribs under his practice hoodie were probably taped stiff. He looked like hell and still showed up anyway.
That part didn’t surprise me.
Coach’s gaze locked on him. “Tell me again what the hell you’re doing in my locker room?”
A few guys let out quiet snorts.
Mason adjusted one of his crutches with a pointed shrug. “I’d rather be here and watch the guys practice than sit at home watching Judge Judy.”
“Can you take my warm-up drills for me?” Cash Money snickered.
Coach just shook his head. “How many times do I have to tell you boys about going at rehab the same way you do a game. Pull any crap, and all you’re doing is making the wait longer.”
“No concern there, Coach,” Shawn said. “Looks like Mason’s already pulled everything there is to pull.”
Laughter rolled around the room in a hot burst, and Mason awkwardly lunged at Shawn with an outstretched crutch aimed at his head.
Shawn ducked, having the advantage of working limbs, and sent Mason into an extended reach that would’ve sent him sprawling if Grayson didn’t catch him by the scruff of his neck.
The laughter got louder, and Coach shook his head. “See what I mean? You think it’s a joke now, but when you’re not on the ice next season—”
“I’m not ignoring anything,” Mason shot back, a bit of frustration leeching into his voice. “I’m just not good at doing nothing.”
Tucker pushed off the bench. “We could fit you for a mascot suit if you want? Keep you close to the ice every game.”
That broke the room open. Laughter bounced off the walls, skates thudding against the floor as shoulders shook.
Landon tipped his chin toward Mason. “That won’t work. Everybody knows arctic foxes don’t walk on crutches.”
Everyone burst out laughing again, louder this time. Even Mason cracked a grin, wincing slightly as he shifted in his seat. I laughed too. It slipped out before I could overthink it, and the sound felt lighter than it used to.
Coach waited it out, then lifted a hand.
The noise drained away.
“Of course y’all know this means a shuffle is coming,” he said. “Line changes. Strategy adjustments. With playoffs around the corner, we can’t risk one wrong move.”
The air tightened in a different way. Guys straightened up. Some glanced at each other. Everyone knew what that meant. What was on the line.
Coach looked down the row of players, stopping on Shawn, then moving on.
“Aiden.”
I looked up, heart in my throat.
“You’re moving to first line center. Shawn will back you up.”
There was no explosion of laughter this time. Not even stunned silence. Murmurs rippled across the benches, and I felt every one of them in my gut.
First line.
No fucking way was this happening.
I started to sweat.
I’d wanted this since the day I’d walked in here. I’d imagined it so many times that hearing it out loud felt unreal, as if it belonged to someone else.
I kept my face steady. At least I tried to.
Across the room, Mason hadn’t looked away. His eyes were on Coach, not on me, and I could see the gears turning behind them.
When I’d been bumped to second line, Mason had kept his mouth shut, only sharing his opinion of me with Grayson in what he thought was a private moment in the tunnel. He’d told our captain straight up that the decision didn’t sit right, that it felt as though Coach was handing out charity spots.
Now it was him being replaced, not Shawn, which made it worse.
And he was right there to see it.
“Seriously?”
Coach looked at Mason. “You have something to say, say it.”
Mason shifted on the bench, crutches clacking lightly against the floor as he adjusted. “Yeah. I do.”
Every eye in the room turned toward him.
He looked around without flinching, addressing Coach but coasting his gaze over all of us. “I don’t get why we keep treating positions like they’re favors. If Aiden was the best man for it, then fine. But he’s not. There’s no question about who the better center is between him and Shawn.”
A couple of guys stared at the floor and thank God, because I wasn’t sure what my face was doing in that moment. All I knew was I couldn’t swallow past the bitter taste in my mouth. And I sure as fuck couldn’t stop my knee from bouncing up and down.
Coach held a straight face as he looked at Mason. “When you’re coach of this team, you’ll get to make whatever calls you want. But for now, it’s my job. I know what I’m doing, and I don’t have to explain jack shit to any of you.”
Mason’s gaze flicked toward me for the first time. He might as well have struck me with one of his crutches.
“That’s the problem,” he muttered. “Not all of us in here knows what they’re doing.”
The room held its breath, and I felt my shoulders pull inward. Tightening around something I didn’t want exposed.
“That’s enough, Calder,” Coach said.
And that was it. At least, to anyone in the locker room it looked like the end of it.
I stared at the floor tiles near my skates, feeling every heartbeat in my hands.
First line.
This was the thing I’d chased in the quiet hours, the thing I’d convinced myself I could handle if it ever came.
And now it was here.
With Mason watching.
With the team watching.
With everyone who’d ever wondered if I belonged finally getting a clear answer.
Mason didn’t look pleased, but he didn’t push it any further. He just leaned back against the bench, one crutch resting against his thigh.
“Congrats, man.” Shawn clapped me on the shoulder, and that single move seemed to break through the tension. Everyone settled again, continued getting ready, talked to each other in hushed tones.
Coach clapped once, cutting through it all. “Okay, get ready. I’m adding ten minutes onto the session to make up for the late start.”
Tape started moving again. Skates were laced tighter. Guys stood and drifted toward the door.
But I stayed seated a little longer.
This was everything I’d wanted, and also everything I was afraid of messing up.
As I stood, the weight of the moment settled in a way I couldn’t ignore. It was tough going, feeling pride and paralyzing fear at the same time.
“Part of being successful at this is learning how to ignore the things that don’t matter.” Grayson came up and threw his arm around my shoulders. I’d been so caught up in my head, I hadn’t realized he was still in here with me. “Welcome to the first line, Santos.”
There was a reason he was our captain. Solid as ever.
“Thanks.” I tried to crack a smile, but it felt as though my face collapsed under the weight of such a tall order.
We started out together, the guys’ voices filtering back from the hallway. My name came up a few times, and I guess Grayson must’ve felt the way I braced beside him, because—
“Mason’s mad at himself, and taking it out on everyone,” he said. “But just so you know, I would’ve picked you over Shawn too.”
I stared at him, my steps slowing. “Shawn’s the better center.”
“His arm never quite healed back to what it used to be.”
“But still—”
“I’m giving you a compliment, goddammit.” Grayson slapped me on the back and laughed under his breath. “You can be a real blockhead sometimes, you know that?”
The childish name made me think of Sage. It was something she would’ve called me right now if she were here. My shoulders eased a bit, and a small laugh even managed to wade through the swamp of emotions tearing me up.
“Okay,” I said with a sigh. “I’ll try to stop being so dense all the time.”
Grayson’s grin widened. “That’s a good start.”
We reached the end of the tunnel, the rink opening up in front of us with the guys already spilling onto the ice.
Coach didn’t waste a second. “Give me circles.”
Guys split without discussion. Centers to the dots, wingers wide, and defense drifting back while the pucks scattered across the ice in a messy pile near the red line.
Grayson glided toward the near faceoff circle and jerked his chin at me. “Your dot.”
Right. Almost forgot.
I pushed off and cut across the ice, carving toward the circle. My skates bit hard as I slowed, stick settling into my hands while the rest of the line slid into place.
Coach kicked a puck into the circle.
“Win it clean,” he called. “I want possession inside two seconds.”
Grayson crouched across from me, glove twitching against his stick. He gave me a sideways look. “Don’t overthink it.”
Easy for him to say.
Coach blew the whistle and we both snapped forward.
My blade caught the puck first and shoved it back between my skates. The motion carried through my shoulders and into my arms before I even registered the contact.
Grayson tapped his stick against mine once. “Nice reflexes, old man.”
“Again,” Coach called out.
Another puck skidded into the circle. This time Landon slid in as my opponent, grin already spreading under the cage of his helmet.
“Big promotion today,” he said, settling his stick across the dot. “Better not embarrass us against Dallas.”
I dug my skates into the ice. “That hairdo of yours has that part covered.”
Coach’s whistle cut through Landon’s laughter, which distracted him just enough to make him lag in going for the puck.
It rattled against our sticks before I hooked it back to the boards, where Tucker scooped it and fired a quick pass toward the slot.
Coach waved an arm. “Breakout drill. First line stay.”