37. Oliver
After the insanity of last night, I’m genuinely surprised any of us are able to skate in a straight line under the overly bright lights of our practice rink. I didn’t exactly abstain from drinking, but my excitement has burned away any lingering hangover symptoms from my system.
As of two hours ago, the team doctors have cleared me from the injured reserve. And I’m headed out to play my first game in just under two months.
The mood in the locker room as we get dressed is electric, and I’m pretty sure that’s not just me projecting. Spencer and Elijah have told me about how surly the guys have been for one reason or another, but I’m not seeing any of that tonight. Could it be the carnival spirit? Maybe. But I’d like to think that it’s because Logan has put our lines back in the order that works best for us as a team.
My phone buzzes on the bench beside me, and I unlock it with a smile. It’s a post from Tori, a stylized photo of me from this morning’s practice under text declaring my return to games. The response in the comments is more positive than I would have expected, which warms my chest. There’s always the fear that people will forget about you if you’re away from play for too long, but it seems that fans were almost as eager for my return as I was.
“Still remember how to skate, Ace?” Wyatt teases from across the room, making everyone who’s paying attention laugh.
“I think so,” I retort, rolling my eyes with a smirk.
A knock on the door halts any further banter as Dennis, our equipment manager, pokes his head in through a gap for a moment before shouldering through. He’s got my helmet in one of his hands, a soft towel cleaning the newest addition to it as he crosses the room. I sigh, but don’t complain out loud. Doc might have cleared me to play, but it didn’t come without conditions, the primary of which is the curved piece of plexiglass that’s now bolted to the front. Dennis hands it to me with an expectant look, and I slip the helmet on right away.
“It’s not as bad as I thought.” I twist my head this way and that.
The guard doesn’t cover my whole face, like I’d worried it would, but is shaped to cover my cheekbones and eyes, a section molded to bend over my nose without covering my nostrils. That will prevent my exhales from fogging it up and obscuring my vision while I’m playing, which I’m glad for. The edges extend beyond my peripheral vision, so there won’t be any distortions or blind spots theoretically, and it weighs almost nothing.
“This’ll work great, Den. Thanks!” I say, bumping fists with the older beta.
“And if it doesn’t, we can always swap it out for the cage,” Dennis replies with a chuckle.
Spencer lets out a sympathetic groan. When I’d played in the Canadian Major Juniors, we used plexiglass visors similar to one I have now, per the league regulations. But they were much narrower and usually straight across and ended right around the bridge of your nose. In the NCAA, the college league where Spencer played before being drafted, players have to wear the full face guard made up of thin metal dowels, welded together in a grid to prevent pucks hitting them in the face.
Dennis doesn’t linger for long, heading back out to the hallway to make sure everyone’s stuff is ready to go. Not long after that, we get the signal that it’s time for warmups. I’m practically vibrating as I line up between Spencer and Eli, and I can’t stop smiling. It’s been such a rough few weeks, feeling well enough to play but constantly being told I can’t, missing the guys and the time we would spend together, and now this looming trade offer. But none of that matters as the team moves through the tunnels, bumping fists with fans as the music and cheering gets louder with every step. And once I set my skate on the ice, all my worries melt away.
I look up and scan the crowd as I skate the half-ice circuit, taking it all in. But my eye catches on something in a box, a familiar head of blonde hair and the sparkle of a purple dress. I can’t help myself, lifting my stick to Tori with a smile, but leaving it in the air to pretend like I’m saluting everyone in the stands. The crowd roars at the gesture, and I grin as Spencer bumps my shoulder.
“I think they’re glad to have you back out here,” he says warmly into my ear.
I laugh and nod, my smile growing wider. I catch his eye for a moment, and it’s all too easy to read the unspoken end to the sentence in his ocean-blue gaze.
And so am I.
I’d heard the expression that some things are like riding a bike: you never really forget how to do it. Playing on a line with Eli and Spencer is my bike, and even after two long months away, my muscles know exactly how to ride it.
The goal horn and accompanying song blare through the arena a few minutes into the third period, and I join the dog pile in the corner to celebrate Spencer’s second goal of the evening. We’re only up by one point, so we can’t let our guards down so easily, but we’re doing surprisingly well against the Florida Panthers. They trounced us earlier in the season, but my teammates are on another level tonight.
As we skate back to the bench, the crowd pounds on the plexiglass, and I flash them a lop-sided grin. A group of girls, about fifteen of them, absolutely lose their minds, screeching and carrying on like I just flashed them my ass or something. They’ve been sort of obnoxious all game, but any time I feel too distracted, I only have to glance up to the executive box and remember who I’m going home with tonight.
“The bunn—girl in the second row looks like she wants to have your babies,” Owen snorts to me as I sit beside him, but changes his tune as he catches a glare from Eli.
“If you want to take her up on that, by all means, she’s all yours,” I reply, smoothing over the momentary tension.
“Nah, I’ve got my eye on the redhead.” Glancing across the ice, he makes a kissy face that only sets the girls off again.
“How about you focus on the game and not who you’re going to do after it?” Logan nudges Owen’s back roughly.
Owen clears his throat and returns his attention to the ice, scooting to the edge of the bench in preparation for the line change. “Yes, Coach,” he mumbles, not that Logan is paying attention.
I look up and find him glaring down at me, and I shake my head, denying the silent accusation. I have not a single ounce of interest in any of the puck bunnies. Jerking my chin up toward Tori, I turn slowly, letting Logan follow my eyeline up to see her leaning against the low wall at the front of the box and glaring down into the stands.
“So, that’s where she hangs out,” Logan mutters, almost to himself.
“Like a little guardian angel,” Eli confirms from beside me.
We shift down toward the end of the bench, though I realize Logan still hasn’t looked away from Tori. Not until the Panthers score again, at which point he glares at every skater on the ice, friend and foe alike. I glance at the clock, letting out a short huff. We’ve only got eight minutes left, and we can’t afford to get distracted this close to the end. We’re a little behind in the standings, but if we come out of our Mardi Gras homestand with more wins than losses, we’ll be in a good spot to take the wild card slot for this year’s playoffs. We can’t let off the gas.
Two shifts later, we’re no closer to scoring, but things are getting desperate. We’ve got less than three minutes left, and Florida isn’t letting us take anything without a fight. But we need a win, not a tie. Tex, Alex, and Henri leap over the half wall in a blisteringly fast change, racing up the ice to try to score while the opposition is tired.
“Casino,” Logan snaps, pulling my eyes off the ice to look at him with Spencer and Eli. “Get it done. Whatever you have to do. Play some pond hockey.”
Eli, Spencer, and I look at each other with matching grins. When the time comes to change, the three of us form up around Kala’s net, moving the puck around without really advancing toward the offensive zone. I keep an eye on the clock. The Panthers are making another change, which is fine with us. We didn’t want their best line out here anyway. They must be anticipating going into overtime and want their good guys to rest.
Joke’s on them.
Spencer’s body shifts a millisecond before he takes off up the ice, Eli and I following on his wings effortlessly. Maybe it’s because of how close we’ve become with Tori, and therefore each other, but I swear I can practically hear Spencer’s passing alert in my head without him needing to say anything. My stick is on the ice just in time to grab the puck and spin around an opposing defenseman, sling-shotting it to Eli, who’s waiting for it near the blue line and carries it in a half-stride ahead of us.
Caleb and Max join us in the zone, and we cycle the puck around, never letting a Florida skater get close enough to pick it off before it’s gone. I’m silently counting down the seconds, eyes darting back and forth between the clock and Spencer. At exactly twelve seconds, Spencer makes a break for the net, taking off so fast that he’s left the two players guarding him behind before they can even turn. Eli snaps the puck to me, and then, without pausing, I send it off. The rubber is a gray blur on the white ice, with no one able to follow it except its intended target. Spencer’s stick barely comes off the ice as he winds up and rockets the puck between the goalie’s glove and leg pad, the goal buzzer kicking off with two seconds to spare.
The cheering is deafening, the whole building seeming to shake as people jump and holler, and I can’t stop smiling. I look up at Tori again, and she’s on her feet, too, even jumping up and down. Caleb tackles Spencer against the boards with Eli and me, all of us laughing. It’s then that something hits my helmet, and as I tilt my head up to figure it out, a string of purple plastic beads slide off my shoulders and onto the ice.
“I didn’t even show my tits,” Eli jokes, his eyebrow quirked in confusion.
“During Mardi Gras, hat tricks are bead tricks,” Spencer shouts over the noise, pointing with a gloved hand toward the jumbotron.
Sure enough, an animated graphic flashes across the screen, occasionally broken up with shots of the crowd hucking beads down onto the ice.
I can’t stop laughing as I navigate my way through the bead obstacle course back to the bench. Just when I think I can’t love this city any more, they always find a way to prove me wrong.