Chapter 26
Chapter twenty-six
Reid
Luka and I made a promise to keep things separate, but I broke the rules last night when he was at my place, and after the way I acted, I spent half the night replaying our conversation and tossing and turning, trying to think up how I was going to say I was sorry.
Turns out, it’s not that hard to say sorry when you actually mean it.
Once I realized what I needed to do, that I had to step back from being captain in order to really have something with Luka, I could finally rest. Then I got in at least a couple of hours’ sleep before waking up and contacting my agent, to set up a meeting with the coach and whoever else I had to inform of my decision.
My agent, Gregory West, has been with me since I joined the NHL and knows all my secrets.
It’s good business for an agent to know what you’re up to, that way, if they get wind of any stories about you and the new rookie you’re sleeping with, they can squash them before they go anywhere.
He’s really been earning his ten percent the last few months.
Now, with me stepping back, he’s going to have to work double time to redirect the rumors to the boring “wants to spend more energy on his family” story he insisted we go with.
While the others finish getting ready, I head over to the hospitality table and grab half a PB he would have been crushed if he got sent to the AHL, and I would never have forgiven myself if I was the reason that had happened.
I guess we were lucky it went the way it did.
Still, even with the coach knowing, we’ll keep things mostly under wraps.
It’s not like I’m super keen to put my love life out there anyway, except, since falling for Luka, I suddenly want all sorts of things I never knew I did.
***
We’re one down against Washington going into the second. Luka nearly scored twice, but their goalie’s on fire, and Colt got caught off guard by their winger who sent one in on his left a minute before the break.
The coach calls the line change, and we’re off the bench in perfect timing and set up for the face-off.
Kirkston wins it and sends it immediately back to Luka. Luka passes back to Kirkston, who sends it to White, then it’s dropped back to Luka again, and I notice I’m in pretty much the exact position I’d be if we were running the trick shot I didn’t pull off last time.
Luka glances my way. He sees it too, and when I nod, he cocks his hip and sends it right to me. I take off like a shot.
The crowd’s volume increases like they know something amazing is about to happen. Fuck, it better work this time. No. It will work. I’ll make it work. I can do this.
I don’t look back, and just have to trust that Luka is skating around the D-man on him and White’s moving over to back me up, which hopefully has them thinking I’m going to drop the puck back to him.
But I’m lined up just to the right of the post, and when I get close, my skates slide out.
My feet move so fast, skidding around the back of the net, the puck with my stick the whole way.
Time slows down; I’m almost there. The goalie is tracking me, his head jolting back and forth between Luka and me like he’s waiting for me to pass it off, and Luka’s ready for when I do.
But that’s what the goalie’s expecting me to do.
It’s what Luka’s expecting me to do too.
I want to try something else. Something I’ve only done once, in secret, because as much as I claim to want to play things safe, the more time I’ve spent with Luka, the more I’ve seen that that’s what I’ve been doing my whole life since my parents passed.
I played it safe to secure a contract, to provide for the boys and to set the example, but expecting them to dim their light isn’t going to help us win.
What it will do is make them resent me, and I think in some ways, I resent myself for not letting the flashy rookie I started off as continue to surprise the fans and myself.
I move my skates so fast the blades cut through the ice, propelling me all the way around the net, then just before the puck lines up with the post, I lift my stick and the goalie’s head snaps to Luka.
But I’m not passing it this time. I want to try to get this on my own. If he blocks it, Luka is well positioned to collect a rebound. But hopefully he won’t have to.
Before their goalie can look back, my stick sweeps the puck, lifts it, and tosses it right by his head, tickling the net and lighting up the lamp.
I spin through the momentum, falling briefly forward, my gloves skimming the ice to help steady myself, and the second I’m upright, Luka slams into my side, wrapping his arms around me.
“Did the horn sound?” I ask almost in disbelief.
“That was fucking brilliant,” Luka screams, and I look past him to the scoreboard hanging in the middle above the rink.
“Fuck yeah. It went in.”
White and Kirkston join us in the embrace.
Colt is cheering up the other end, tapping his posts as he does, and the cheers of the crowd push through the noise of rushing blood in my ears.
They’re all on their feet, arms pumping, jumping up and down, basically losing their minds over something I did.
“Where did that come from?” White asks over the crowd’s cheers.
“The rook might have shown me a few tricks,” I say with a wink in his direction. My heart is still pounding like I’m running a marathon, and we head to the bench for a break.
“Nice moves, Raines,” Coach Dennings says on my way past.
“Thanks, Coach,” I reply, unable to stop myself from smiling. I take a seat next to Luka on the bench as we watch the next puck drop.
“I guess you can teach an old dog new tricks,“ he says, nudging my leg with his knee.
“I thought I wasn’t that old,” I reply, and he nudges me back but leaves his leg to rest against mine, and it’s perfect.
***
I was on cloud nine after I pulled off that shot, and my defense was unmatched through the whole second period.
In the third, I try for a slap shot, but it bounces off the goalie’s leg pad.
Thankfully, Luka’s right there, like he instinctively knew to be, and he swoops it in for a goal off the rebound.
Washington is tired, out of sync. Their winger is having a harder time evading our defense, and not two minutes after our last goal I steal the puck and pass it up to Kirkston, who scores, threading the needle right between the goalie’s legs, lighting up the lamp post again, and giving us the win.
Cheers echo through the rink, our teammates rush the ice, whooping and raising their sticks in the air at the celebrating crowd.
A few of the guys launch into Colt, practically tackling him into the net and pushing it back a few feet.
This is the moment, the validation of all the hard work we put in every day, training on and off the ice.
In the line, shaking hands with Washington, their captain, Lawrence Tuft, pauses when he gets to me, tightening his grip on my hand.
“Aren’t you a little old to be playing games on the ice?” he asks.
I chuckle, and he snaps his hand back.
“Apparently, I’m not that old,” I reply, and he shakes his head and slinks off the ice along with the rest of his team. Lawrence and I played against each other in college, so he’s probably just pissed that I’m still lighting up the ice with new moves.
Now just to get through all the post-game crap so I can celebrate my new moves on the ice with some new moves in the bedroom, with the rookie who inspired them all.