Chapter 20 - Landon
Landon
Practice was already rolling when my skates cut onto the ice, drills looping in muscle memory while my head stayed somewhere else entirely.
Pucks rattled off boards. Whistles snapped.
Frost Bank hummed with that weekday echo, empty seats watching us sweat for nobody but ourselves.
I moved through passing lanes, took the puck, gave it up again, legs doing the work while my brain replayed a door splintering inward and Nicole’s voice climbing past anything I’d heard from her before.
I had wanted something to happen with her.
That part wasn’t complicated. I liked her.
Liked her stubborn streak, the way she took up space without asking permission.
The sex itself hadn’t shocked me. That part fit too easily.
It was everything wrapped around it that sat wrong.
The shouting. The crash. My fist meeting James’s jaw before my head caught up.
“Switch.”
Coach’s voice cut across the ice. I pivoted without thinking, took a return pass from Grayson, sent it back on a tape-to-tape feed that earned a nod. My hands were steady. My head was not.
Another rep. Another loop. I caught Mason watching me as we reset.
I drifted toward him as the drill broke, shoulder bumping his pad to get his attention.
“Hey. I need a minute.”
He didn’t even look at me, just pointed his stick toward the far end. “Coach is gonna eat us alive if you bail again.”
I tipped my chin toward the bench. Coach had his back to the ice, phone pressed to his ear, one hand on his hip.
“He’s busy,” I said. “I won’t be long.”
Mason sighed, long-suffering, and peeled off with me toward the boards. “You’ve got thirty seconds.”
I didn’t bother easing into it. “I got home last night and Nicole was arguing with her boyfriend.”
He barked a laugh. “Perks of thin walls. Saves on cable.”
“That wasn’t it.”
He finally looked at me then. I could see the joke still hanging there, waiting for confirmation.
“I broke her door.”
Mason stopped skating. “You what?”
“I don’t know,” I said, words bunching with the mess of shit in my brain. “I heard her screaming and it flipped something in me. I didn’t think. I just went in.”
The humor drained from his face, replaced by something sharper. He angled his body, blocking me from the rest of the ice.
“And?”
“And he swung at me.”
Mason’s mouth twitched. “You give it to him?”
I nodded.
“Good,” he said without hesitation. “Guy sounds like a real winner. But why do you look like you didn’t win the fight?”
I stared down at the ice, the grooves carved by a hundred skates, all that repetition wearing paths into something solid. “Because I don’t know what I would’ve done if he’d gotten to her first.”
Mason didn’t interrupt but I could tell he was listening closely.
“If he’d laid a hand on her,” I went on. “If I’d been a minute later.”
“Damn,” he said finally. “I thought you just wanted to tap some ass. But you really like this girl, huh?”
I snorted a weak laugh. “I think it’s way past that.”
“Cross!” Coach again. I couldn’t tell whether he was mad or not.
“Told you,” Mason grumbled, increasing the distance between us to separate himself from the delinquent.
I pushed off, skating over to the bench with an excuse already queued, but Coach didn’t let me get it out. He raised a hand, palm out, and waved the rest of the guys in closer. Sticks tapped ice as the circle tightened.
“I just got off the phone with management,” he said.
My stomach dropped. It was the perfect follow-up to the morning I’d been having.
Coach looked at me for a long beat, then his mouth split into a grin that threw me off balance more than any hit.
“You’re a nominee,” he said. “Rookie of the Year.”
His words floated around like some mythical incantation, not really settling with me.
Grayson punched my arm. “You look pretty shocked for someone who’s acted like this was his destiny since peewees.”
Laughter broke around us. Helmets knocked into mine. Someone rapped my shoulder with a glove.
“About time,” Mason said. “Try not to let it inflate that head any more than it already is.”
Rookie of the Year.
It finally sank in, heat rushing through me, pride colliding with everything else already packed inside my chest. I looked around at the guys, at the scuffed ice under us, at Coach still smiling like he’d been holding onto this news for fun.
“Where’s my phone?” I blurted.
Coach jerked his chin toward the tunnel. “Go. And the rest of you can call it too.”
The team’s cheers rose but I took off away from the celebration, cutting hard for the locker room, blades biting as I left the noise behind. The hallway narrowed, sound dropping away until it was just my breath and the thud of my heart.
My phone sat where I’d left it, face down on the bench. My hands shook as I picked it up.
I didn’t think too hard about the words. I just typed.
It’s official. Yours truly is a nominee for Rookie of the Year.
*
Trivia Night took over O’Riley’s the way a playoff win takes over a city.
Blue and silver banners hung crooked along the brick walls, a neon Surge logo flickering behind the bar like it had a pulse of its own.
Jerseys everywhere. Old ones, new ones, stitched names from different eras, beer sloshing dangerously close to sleeves that would fetch a good dollar amount on eBay.
Holly stood on a chair near the dartboard with a clipboard and a mic, PR queen turned quiz tyrant, grinning like she’d been waiting all season for this. Rookie of the Year Nominee Night, she’d called it. Part anniversary, part excuse to drink on a weeknight.
Nicole sat at my side, thigh pressed to mine beneath the table, her knee nudging me every time someone shouted something stupid. Mason was across from us, already three beers in and arguing with Grayson about whether guessing was a strategy or a cry for help.
“We are not guessing,” Nicole said, pointing a fry at Mason. “Right answers only.”
“I like guessing,” Mason said. “It’s bold.”
“I came here to win,” she shot back, smiling anyway.
Mason winked at me. “Thanks for letting me be on your team. Those losers are gonna get creamed tonight.”
Cash Money and Tucker were at the next table over, already heckling like it was their job. Coach refused to play, and hovered near the bar with a ginger ale, arms crossed, pretending he wasn’t listening while absolutely listening.
Holly tapped the mic. “All right, Surge family. First question: When was the San Antonio Surge established as a team?”
Nicole’s hand shot up halfway, then stopped. She glanced at me, eyes bright, competitive, like this mattered in the best way.
“Two thousand six,” she said, calm as anything.
Tucker cupped his hands. “Two thousand two!”
A chorus of boos answered him and he looked around, confused.
“That math is shocking, but it explains so much,” Grayson called.
Mason laughed so hard he nearly knocked his chair back. “Buddy, that’s not even close.”
Holly pointed straight at Nicole. “Correct answer is 2006.”
Nicole bumped my knee under the table, victory contained but present. I slid my thumb along her wrist where it rested near my leg, hidden, ours.
We hadn’t talked much about what happened last night, but it kind of felt like talk wasn’t necessary. There was a knowing when we fell into each other. It didn’t need an explanation.
The second question rolled in, then a third, fourth. The bar got louder. Glasses clinked. Someone started chanting Surge halfway through a round and never really stopped.
Holly smiled like she was setting a trap. “Who was the first ever coach of the San Antonio Surge?”
Nicole didn’t even hesitate. “Jimmy Martinez.”
A few impressed whistles scattered around the room.
“Hey, are you gonna give any of us a chance?” Tucker called out.
Grayson downed his beer and said, “Maybe if you get a right answer.”
Holly ignored them and raised a brow. “Bonus points if you can share a factoid.”
Nicole straightened, enjoying this now. “Born July twelfth, nineteen fifty-two. Atlanta, Georgia is his hometown. Favorite comfort meal is slow-smoked beef brisket with his grandmother’s chili rub.”
The place erupted. My jaw dropped, but I was laughing too, chest swelling with pride at being this closely associated with a real-live Surge encyclopedia. Nicole took it in her stride, giving a series of mini bows as she accepted the applause.
“That man’s a good friend, and I never knew about this chili rub,” Coach said.
Nicole shrugged, gracious even in triumph. “Will I get more points if I tell everyone your favorite shower song?”
Coach’s face turned deep red, and the whole bar was left in pieces the way everyone descended into laughter.
I watched her light up under the attention, cheeks flushed, eyes alive, taking it all in without letting it go to her head. It hit me hard how much I liked seeing her like this. How different it felt to be the guy next to the spotlight, but in a good way.
During a lull between questions, she turned to me. “By the way,” she said, quieter now, just for us, “Rookie of the Year nomination. That’s huge.”
I smiled. “I do what I can.”
She nodded, then kissed me. Right on the mouth. Quick and clean, but not hiding a thing.
Wolf whistles exploded from three directions.
“Get it, rookie!” Cash Money yelled, which got everyone going because that guy never said anything.
I didn’t mind the teasing one bit. Nicole pulled back, blushing and laughing as her eyes darted away. I stayed exactly where I was, enjoying every second of it.
Later, when the final scores went up, it wasn’t even close.
“And tonight’s winner,” Holly announced to a rolling rumble of groans, “absolutely destroying the rest of you, Nicole!”
Nicole’s hands flew to her face. “No way.”
“Ah, shut up and go get your prize, Einstein,” Mason said, already standing.