Rookie Crush

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

COLBY

“You’ve got this, boys. Don’t let them get into your head,” Coach Vaughn all but growls from where he’s pacing behind us on the bench. “We’ve got five minutes left, and a lot can happen in five minutes. So don’t fuck this up.”

We came into the Hockey East Championship Final thinking we had this in the bag. An easy win. We’ve stormed through the season, collecting points like they’re candy bars from a vending machine, but none of us could have expected this from Providence. They haven’t gone easy on us.

It’s clear the rest of my teammates are getting frustrated. They’re a mix of grunts and exasperated sighs as every shot we take on goal gets denied. But me? Call me weird, but I live for this shit.

Fast-paced, high-intensity, nail biter of a game.

Anything could happen, and it’s the anticipation of the unexpected that has adrenaline thrumming through my veins like a live wire.

Don’t get me wrong, of course I’m going to be pissed if we don’t win, but who wouldn’t be? I’m a hockey player, after all. We have the W on our minds, always, and while getting a shutout would be sweet as fuck, barn burners are my jam, and I fucking love it.

Hockey has been the center of my life since before I could walk.

As a kid, every inch of my bedroom walls was covered in magazine cutouts or trading cards of my favorite players.

I didn’t want to watch cartoons or animated movies—I only wanted to watch and play hockey.

I slept with my stick in my bed more often than not, with my skates down on the floor by my side.

Hell, sometimes I even slept in my pads, much to my mom’s disapproval.

Every waking moment was consumed by hockey, hockey, and more hockey, to the point my mom stopped buying vases and ornaments because, well, death by hockey puck.

May the ceramic owl rest in peace.

It’s always been my dream to make it to the NHL, like every other person who has ever played the greatest sport in the world, but if I had a dollar for every time someone asked me, But Colby, if you love it that much, why didn’t you enter the draft after high school instead of going to college?

I’d probably be well on my way to being a millionaire right now.

And I do love it, but I like to think my reasoning was quite… mature. Sensible, even, for someone who was only sixteen at the time.

The thing is, I was ten years old when I first caught the media’s attention. What started off as the local newspaper posting a small piece about me in their weekly sports column quickly escalated into state news, and soon enough, the national news. Then it became international news.

“Colby McKay, the Wonder Kid,” was the very first headline. It was closely followed by “Watch out! Colby McKay is going to transform the NHL,” and then, “Colby McKay: projected first overall pick in the NHL draft.”

I mean, do you know how fucking rad it is to hear your name featured in a segment on Sports Network as the one to watch when you’re only fourteen? Pretty fucking surreal.

But an immense amount of pressure came with the high of being recognized for my game, and when I told the head coach of my junior team that I wasn’t going to enter the draft as soon as I was eligible because I wanted to go to college for a year, his eyes almost fell out of his head.

“Colby, are you out of your mind? You are going to be the first overall pick, guaranteed,” he’d argued. “Every team is salivating to snap you up onto their roster.”

Salivating as they might have been, that, right there, was the exact reason why I’m currently sitting on the bench playing for Whilton U, experiencing college life like any other dude my age does.

I wanted to be freshman forward Colby McKay, even if it was only for one year.

I know the draft waits for me in the summer, but right now, my sights are firmly set on making it to the Frozen Four and enjoying the last few months of the semester before my life does a complete one-eighty.

And maybe finally getting the chance to complete my secret list of first-time activities before I get selected. But now is not the time to worry about that because there are more important things at stake, like winning this game.

“McKay, lock in. You can daydream later.” Coach Vaughn taps on my shoulder, and I follow my linemates as we hop over the boards and take the ice for our next shift.

I mentally shake away all other thoughts and get refocused.

We line up for the face-off in the defensive zone, and I zero in on the puck in the lineman’s hand.

When it drops, I quickly snap it over to Nelson.

The junior right wing pivots on his skates and heads back into the neutral zone.

I’m close behind, positioning myself for the pass.

One of Providence’s defensemen gets possession, but it’s short-lived.

I manage to get myself into the perfect spot to steal the puck when they go to make the pass to their waiting winger.

Before they can realize what’s happened, I’m off.

I’m putting every ounce of energy I have into propelling me down the ice, closing in on the opposing goalie within a matter of seconds.

I fake right, then sink the puck into the top left corner with a backhander.

Goal!

With a wide grin, I slide my knee across the ice and mimic shooting an arrow in the air toward the jumbotron as the score changes to 6-5. I manage to get back onto my skates just in time for my teammates to swarm, crushing me against the boards.

“Atta boy!” the team captain, Liam Shelley, bellows, roughing my helmet with his gloved hand. “That was an absolute beauty. You fucking superstar.”

The tops of my cheeks heat with the praise as I accept the back slaps and helmet taps before we make our way back to the bench.

Coach squeezes my shoulder, offering his own brief words of approval as I squirt water into my mouth, but it all becomes a distant noise when Tyler Beckmann, a senior defenseman, flashes his megawatt smile my way.

“Shiiit, I love watching you play,” he says, offering me a fist bump.

I tap my glove against his, unable to get any words to fall out of my mouth as he skates away to take his position at center ice. My eyes are glued to him, pulse drumming an erratic beat. Like it does every time Tyler even so much as glances in my direction.

I’m pretty sure there are rules about this. About not crushing on your teammate.

But with Tyler? I didn’t stand a chance.

His easygoing smile. The way he holds eye contact with you whether he’s talking or listening, like he genuinely cares about every word you have to say. His magnetic energy that puts me at ease whenever he’s around.

And don’t even get me started on his thighs.

Damn, now is definitely not the time to be thinking about those.

Snapping my attention back to the play on the ice, Providence’s offense is all over us, but we stay strong. The minutes ticking down on the clock turn into seconds, and Providence fail to take another shot on goal before the buzzer sounds.

We won.

We fucking won.

We’re Hockey East champions and another step closer to the Frozen Four.

I vault off the bench and swarm the ice with my teammates, leaving our sticks, gloves, and helmets scattered in our wake.

In the mix of shouts and celebratory hugs, I find Tyler.

His dark hair is damp with sweat, the long strands sticking to his face.

His smile is ten feet wide, and the sight of it has a pleasant ache forming deep in my chest. His eyes lock onto mine, and then he begins to push through our rowdy teammates.

Some have fallen onto the ice, laughing with joy.

When he reaches me, nothing could prepare me for the way his arms come around me, squeezing the breath from my lungs.

“Fuckin’ A, Colbs. You’re magic, you know that?”

Colbs.

I hate when people call me that, but falling from Tyler’s lips, it’s my favorite word of all.

“Nah,” I scoff, feeling hot under his pride-filled gaze. “I just had a shot, so I took it. You would’ve done the same.”

He shakes his head, his smile growing impossibly wider.

His hand lands on my shoulder, and I find myself leaning into it.

The moment is broken a few seconds later, interrupted by our teammates lining up to shake hands with the other players, and I mourn the loss of his touch, like I do every single time.

After the trophy is presented and we finish taking what feels like ten million photos, my cheeks are aching by the time we head back to the plush locker room we’ve been put in, all of us buzzing on the post-W high.

“I’m really proud of you guys tonight. You didn’t crack under the pressure when things got tough.

We need to carry that into the next few weeks,” Coach Vaughn says, taking the time to look at each one of us individually.

“This is the strongest team Whilton U has ever seen, and I’m confident this is only the beginning.

Enjoy this win tonight, boys, because the hard work isn’t over yet. ”

He steps out of the way, and the trophy is brought into the locker room.

Liam lifts it in the air, and we all celebrate around him, howling like testosterone-filled hounds as energy drinks are sprayed like champagne.

We take turns with the trophy, getting even more photos taken, then someone plugs in their phone, and music blares from the Bluetooth speaker.

I glance around the locker room, laughing at Nelson as he does some weird dance-shuffle shoulder-pop move to the beat of the music, and a shirtless Liam does the Griddy in just his hockey pants and skates.

As much as the NHL is going to be a blast, it’s wild to think I could have missed this if I didn’t go with my gut. I would have missed out on the opportunity to experience this with some of the nicest guys I’ve ever met and potentially carve my name in the history books at Wilton U.