Chapter 14
fourteen
Luke
The bus ride to the airport felt longer than usual, heading back into enemy territory for Game Five tomorrow.
Tuesday was slotted for travel, film study, a light skate, and then bed before anyone got too deep into their own head. Coach called it a reset day. I called it a day where I had too much time to think.
I pulled out my phone for the fourth time in twenty minutes.
Last night was everything
I'd texted Dani that morning.
Can't stop thinking about it.
She'd responded two hours later, somewhere between patients.
Me neither. Busy day, will text more when I can.
I sent another one anyway. Then another around lunch. Something small each time—a photo of the hotel room's terrible art, a joke about Roz falling asleep during film study, a question about how Lily was doing.
She answered when she could. But her answers were short and showed that she was a little distracted.
I told myself that was fine. She had a job, and it didn't matter that I wanted to talk to her every chance I got. She was doing what she loved, and that was all that mattered.
Part of me wanted to just show up outside the hospital again, steal another twenty minutes over rabbit food and bad kombucha.
But I knew better than to crowd her.
I was trying.
But I wasn't great at it yet.
Coach Greaves found me in the hotel hallway before team dinner, clipboard tucked under one arm like always.
"Walk with me a second."
We fell into step toward the elevator bank, away from the noise of the team room.
"Bryan's still not cleared," he said. “Gametime decision tomorrow. Might not know until warm-ups.”
"Understood."
"You ready either way?"
"I've been ready for years."
That got a small nod out of him, the kind of approval Coach didn't hand out easily.
"You've been solid. Not just on the ice. The way you've carried yourself through all this."
He gestured vaguely, meaning the cameras, the questions, the whole circus that had followed me since Bryan went down.
"That matters more than people think."
"Thank you, Coach."
"How's the media stuff sitting with you? I know it's a lot more than you're used to."
I thought about lying. Decided against it.
"Honestly? It's a lot. I'm trying to find the balance."
"Good answer." He clapped my shoulder. "Keep finding it."
He peeled off toward his room, and I stood there a second longer, turning his words over.
You've carried yourself through all this. I wanted to believe that was true. Some days it felt true. Tonight, with my phone quiet in my pocket and my chest tight for no reason I could name, it felt a little less certain.
Dinner was in a private room off the hotel restaurant. Long tables, buffet trays, the low hum of guys unwinding after a travel day.
Bryan sat two seats down, looking better than he had in days. Color back in his face. That particular restlessness of a guy who wanted his job back and knew exactly how close he was to getting it.
"Saw your interview," Bryan said, not looking up from his plate. "The one where you tripped over your own answer about mental fortitude."
"Wasn't my finest moment."
"No kidding." He smirked. "You told that reporter you think you can compete with anybody in the league. Including me."
I set my fork down. "I said I believe in my game. That's not the same as calling you out."
"Sure sounded like calling me out."
"Bryan."
"I've been the guy carrying this team all season," he said, voice rising just enough to catch attention up and down the table. "You get a couple good games and suddenly you're telling reporters you belong in my net."
"I never said your net."
"Might as well have."
Wyatt's voice cut in before I could answer, low and even.
"Enough."
Bryan's jaw tightened. He looked at Wyatt, then back at me, something simmering behind his eyes that had nothing to do with the actual words we'd traded.
"Just saying," Bryan muttered, going back to his plate. "Some of us earned our spot the hard way."
I didn't answer that one. It wasn't worth it.
Coach Greaves walked the room through Game Five strategy after that, matchups, special teams, the usual.
I half listened, watching Bryan out of the corner of my eye the rest of the meal.
He didn't look at me again. Didn't need to.
I could feel it anyway, the specific weight of someone who thought I'd taken something that belonged to him.
We turned in early. I lay on top of the hotel comforter for a long time before I finally called Dani.
She picked up on the fourth ring, her voice flat with exhaustion.
"Hey," she said. "Long day?"
"You have no idea. You?"
"Longer."
A pause. Some kind of noise in the background, a door closing, maybe.
"I'm sorry I've been quiet. Today was brutal. Triple homicide came in around three, and then a kid with a broken arm who wouldn't stop screaming, and I just—I'm running on fumes, Luke."
"I get it."
"Do you?" Her words came out so sharply they startled me. "Because it feels like every time I don't respond in ten minutes, you send three more texts."
Her words landed harder than I expected.
"I'm just trying to stay connected. You're the only good thing happening this week that isn't hockey."
"That's a lot of pressure to put on one person."
"I didn't mean to."
"I know you didn't. But it feels like it sometimes."
She exhaled, and I could picture her rubbing her eyes, the way she did when she was past the point of careful phrasing.
"I have a job that doesn't stop for me to reassure you every hour. I need you to be able to handle a few hours of silence without it turning into a crisis."
"I'm not making it a crisis."
"You kind of are, Luke."
I sat up straighter on the bed, something defensive exploding in my chest.
"I don't know what you want, Dani. I've got Bryan trying to take my job right now. My whole life's about to either explode or fall apart depending on what happens Wednesday. I don't think it's crazy that I wanted to hear your voice and share things with you."
"And I don't think it's crazy for you to want to do that. But I'm exhausted and don't have the energy to manage your feelings on top of my own tonight."
The words stung harder than they should have.
"I'm not asking you to manage me," I said, quieter now.
"It's not always about what you're asking. Sometimes it's about what it costs me anyway."
Another pause.
Longer this time.
"I have to go. It's been a very long day."
"Dani—"
"I'll talk to you tomorrow, okay? Get some rest."
The call ended before I could say anything else.
I sat there in the dark hotel room for a long time, my phone still in my hand, replaying the conversation. Trying to figure out where it had gone sideways.
I hadn't meant to be too much.
Hadn't meant to add weight to a day that already sounded like it had crushed her from every direction.
But something about it stuck to my ribs anyway. A small, cold feeling that maybe I'd overreached. Maybe I'd been treating her like a soft place to land instead of a person who also needed somewhere soft to land herself.
I didn't sleep well.
The next morning I thought about texting her. Just something small. Hope today's better. Nothing that required a response from her.
I typed it out twice and deleted it both times.
She needs space, I told myself. Let her have it. Don't be the guy who can't survive twelve hours without checking in.
I got dressed instead. Packed my bag. Focused on the parts of the day I could actually control.
The bus to the arena in Minnesota was quiet, the kind of quiet that came before something big. I put my headphones in and stared out the window at a city that became an enemy I needed to survive.
Fans were already gathered outside when we pulled up. A lot of them. Wolves jerseys, signs, some directed at Eli and Wyatt specifically, the kind of stuff that only made sense if you knew their history here.
"Heads down, focus forward," Wyatt said as we filed off the bus, loud enough for the whole group to hear. "Let them yell. We've got a job to do."
Eli walked beside him, jaw set, eyes already somewhere else. Somewhere on the ice, probably, running through whatever he needed to run through before the doors opened and the noise really started.
Inside, Coach Greaves pulled Bryan and me aside before warm-ups. Small equipment room off the visitors' locker room, door half shut.
"Bryan, you're cleared," Coach said. "Medical's good with it."
Something in my chest dropped.
"But I'm starting Luke tonight."
Bryan's face didn't move for a second. Then it did, all at once, color rising up his neck.
"Coach—"
"We'll talk after warm-ups," Coach said, already turning to leave. "Get ready, both of you."
I headed toward the locker room to change, and I hadn't made it three steps down the hallway before I heard Bryan's voice behind the half-closed door, pitched low but not low enough.
"I've been carrying this team the whole season," Bryan was saying, to whoever would listen, maybe just to the room itself. "One kid gets a couple lucky bounces and suddenly he's the story. He hasn't had the reps I've had. Hasn't earned it the way I have."
I kept walking to my stall.
I didn't need to hear the rest.
I laced my skates slower than usual. Let the anger settle into something useful for tonight’s game.
Warm-ups were a blur of routine—shots from the slot, the point, the wings, my body doing what it had done ten thousand times before while my mind sorted through everything that had piled up over the last two days.
I was tired of it. All of it.
The puck dropped, and I let all of it go into the game instead.
The first period opened with the Wolves coming hard, testing every angle, every lane. I met them in the blue paint with the same quiet focus I'd spent three years building in empty rinks and late-night film sessions.
A wrist shot from the right circle came in high. I tracked it early and caught it clean against my chest. The rebound never left the crease.
A tip in front three shifts later required a full extension. I got the edge of my blocker on it and directed it into the corner, where Wyatt was already waiting.
Every save felt deliberate. Controlled.
Finn created the first goal midway through the period on a broken play. He kept the puck alive along the wall, found Eli in the slot, and the shot beat their goalie clean.
The visitors' bench stayed quiet.
By the intermission, the scoreboard still read 1–0, and the Minnesota crowd had already started shifting from pure hostility into something dirtier. I dropped lower in my stance. Tracked the point shots through the bodies. Held another after a scramble that left three players piled in the crease.
The second period brought more pressure. They adjusted, collapsing the slot, looking for deflections and second chances. Somewhere in the middle of the period, I realized the noise in the building had changed. The taunts had thinned.
The crowd had started holding its breath after every shot instead of roaring through them.
With under five minutes left in the second, their top line broke in three-on-two. The pass came hard and flat across the slot. I slid with it, snapped my glove shut on the puck, and held on.
The whistle cut through the quiet that followed. Eli tapped my pads on the way past.
"Keep it simple. We'll be fine," he said.
I nodded once and reset. I'd been waiting my whole life for exactly this.
The third period opened with the Wolves throwing everything forward. They pulled their goalie with six minutes left.
Six skaters. Full pressure. I refused the bounce.
I froze a scramble at the top of the crease. Directed a rebound into the corner.
Took a point shot off the chest and felt the air leave my lungs for half a second before I recovered and covered the loose puck.
Then the power play. Minnesota's unit set up fast, working the perimeter, looking for the soft spot. Their best forward drifted into the slot, stick ready. The pass came across, clean and hard. There wasn't time to think.
There was only the read my body had learned years ago in a driveway in Michigan while my dad rolled tennis balls at me after his shift ended.
I dropped. Glove up and pad out. I got just enough of the shot to send it ringing off the post instead of into the net.
The building went dead silent for one long second. Our bench erupted. We killed the rest of the penalty. Cleared the zone. Blocked every remaining chance.
When the final horn sounded, the scoreboard still read 2–0, and the Minnesota crowd had gone from angry to stunned.
We'd come into their building and taken exactly what we needed.
Reporters swarmed me the second I stepped off the ice, microphones already extended, questions overlapping into noise.
"Luke, take us through that save in the third?—"
"Any message for Bryan after tonight's decision?"
"How's it feel silencing this crowd?"
I gave them the version Finn had taught me.
True enough to sleep on. Nothing that would cost me anything later, especially with Bryan.
"My mom's watching from home tonight," I said, finding the camera lens. "Hey, Mom. This one's for you."
They loved that. Somebody actually clapped.
I made my way back toward the locker room, past reporters, staff, and a hallway still buzzing with excitement from the win.
The locker room was loud. Guys were shouting. Music blasted through a speaker balanced on the equipment cart.
Coach Greaves stood near the whiteboard, and when he caught my eye, he just nodded once. It said everything without saying anything.
Bryan sat two stalls down, unlacing his skates with more force than necessary, and didn't look at me the whole time I changed.
I didn't go near him. It wasn't the night for it.
The bus back to the airport was quiet in the exhausted, satisfied way that follows a hard-won game.
Most of the guys had headphones in or their eyes closed within the first ten minutes. I leaned my head against the cold window and let the city lights blur past.
I thought about texting Dani. Wanted to, badly. Wanted to ask if she'd watched the game.
Then I saw my phone was about to die. I dug through my bag for my charger and came up empty. I must have left it at the hotel that morning while rushing to make the bus.
I checked the battery. One percent. Long enough for one message, maybe.
I typed it out slowly, my thumb hovering over the screen as I debated whether to send it.
Won 2-0. Made a save in the third I still can't fully explain. Wish you were here to see it.
I hit send just as the screen dimmed, then went black before I could see whether the message had gone through.
I set the phone facedown on my knee and looked out the window instead, while I let myself sit with the strange, hollow feeling of wanting to share everything with Dani without overwhelming her.