Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
ETHAN
Letting Jamie walk out of my room is one of the hardest things I've ever done. After hearing his story, I want to do so many things.
I want to kiss him.
I want to hold him.
I want to cover his body with mine.
Most of all, I want to find some dipshit kid named Josh in Southern California and make him regret all his life choices.
I settle for rubbing Jamie's back and petting his hair as he lets out what seem to be long-held tears. We never get around to watching the film – it was mostly an excuse, anyway. The temptation to keep him in my room, to wrap him up and keep him safe, is almost too much.
Instead, I let him leave, spending most of the rest of the night staring at my ceiling.
In the past few weeks, I'd come to understand that Jamie wasn't the in-your-face type I'd originally feared.
For all that I'd worried about him seeking out the press, getting his face everywhere, I'd realized that wasn't really his jam.
And now I know why.
Part of me feels elated – now that I know why he's out, I can be a lot less worried about him dragging me with him. He'll probably be totally on board with the no-strings hookups I had started to hope for.
But most of me? Most of me feels angry. Irate, even.
The night is long and restless, and it shows on the ice at practice the next morning. My passes aren't connecting, and I'm missing checks all over the place.
After one particularly horrifying drill where I completely fail to set a screen, Alexei calls for a water break and, before I can skate away, snags my jersey.
“Ethan, my friend. You are playing like rookie. You are playing worse than rookie. You are playing like grandpa who bought himself a PTO. What's wrong?”
I heave a sigh.
“I'm fine. Just had trouble sleeping. I'll take a nap this afternoon, I promise.”
“Trouble sleeping? Thought you and Jamie Carter were watching film. God knows I'd be bored to tears by that. Should have been best sleep of your life.”
Of course he'd remember my plans last night.
“We, uh, ended up talking. About his experiences in the league so far. Made me think about my behavior during camp, about how I wasn't as...welcoming as I could have been.”
This is a gamble. I can't tell him what we actually talked about – and I definitely can't tell him what happened after Carter's housewarming party – but he already knows about this, so maybe it will stave off the questions.
Sure enough, he gives me a brief nod.
“Is good to think about what we could do differently. Better. But is also ok to forgive yourself. Remember that.”
I pat his shoulder, unexpectedly grateful to hear he doesn't think less of me for how the beginning of the season went down. As I skate back to the bench, Carter raises an eyebrow at me, as if to ask if everything is okay. I give him a reassuring smile, hoping that soon it will be.
Back at the hotel, I sleep like a rock. When my alarm goes off at four, I feel considerably more alert than I did this morning.
As we line up to get on the bus to the arena, I think for a moment of sitting next to someone else – anyone else.
Surely, I can think of a reason I need to talk to Coach or Alexei for twenty minutes?
Apparently I can't – or won't –- because I end up next to Jamie as usual. Even he looks a little surprised at this, as though after last night and this morning's disaster of a practice, I would want to be somewhere else.
“You good?” he asks, arching an eyebrow. His voice is casual, but I see a look of worry in his eyes that's more familiar in my own.
“Yeah. Sorry I was such a dumbass at practice this morning. I'm feeling better now.”
At this, the corner of his mouth quirks up.
Carolina is having a great season, but so are we.
For two periods, the game is tied at zero in spite of the best efforts of our forwards.
At the beginning of the third, Carolina sneaks one under Alexei's pads and for a moment I think he's going to break his stick in frustration.
Instead, he heaves three big breaths and taps the pipes, getting back into the zone.
As we skate out for the faceoff, I grab Carter's sleeve.
“Hey, Carter – think you can tie this up for Kovalenko?”
He looks to where Alexei is roughing up the crease.
“Yeah, Cap. I got you.”
Sure enough, he wins the faceoff and drops a blind pass back to Sutter.
Near the goal, Lindy is finding space, setting up to receive a pass and tip it in.
Their defense sees it, too, descending upon him to block the shot.
What they don't seem to see is Carter looping back behind Sutter, snagging the puck from him.
For a moment, I'm not even sure Sutter knows what's happening.
He changes his stick position, buying Jamie a few seconds more with some fake puck-handling.
By the time Carolina realizes he doesn't have it anymore, Jamie is coming around the back of the goal and nudging the puck in between the goalie and the post.
As the horn blares, I can't help but rush at Jamie and lift him off his skates in a hug. Soon, Sutton, Lindy, and Mac crash into us from all sides to celebrate the game-tying goal. As the cheers die down, I can hear Alexei yelling from the other end of the ice.
“Thank you Jamie Carter!”
Jamie laughs in response.
The second line switches on and they are able to hold the score for the remainder of the third period.
Back in the locker room, I see Alexei grab Jamie and hoist him in a hug so big, I'm worried it will end with Carter on injured reserve.
“Thank you, Carter. We needed that.”
With a firm pat on Jamie's shoulder, Alexei walks to the corner of the room and clears his throat. Instantly, the room falls quiet.
“We cannot waste what will surely be the goal of the week. Let's get out there and win this, yes?”
A series of assents go around the room as the boys get hydrated and dried off.
I'm not at all surprised when Carter, Lindy, and I get the nod for the three-on-three overtime period. I wave Lindy over to where Carter and I are sitting.
“You remember that drill we ran that first day at camp? With the defenseman faking to one shooter, then backhanding to the other?”
The gleam in Carter's eyes tells me he knows the exact drill I'm talking about.
“You mean the one you couldn't hit for shit?”
I laugh at that, and for a moment it's hard for me to believe this is even the same team as that sullen, silent group we had in September.
“Yeah, that one. Fake to Lindy, backhand to Jamie, one-timer into the net. Sokolov's got a weak glove side, so try for that?”
Carter nods.
“Let's do it.”
Just minutes later, we are out on the ice. From the start, things are chippy – at this point in the season, we have the league's two best records and pundits are already talking about us as a possible post-season matchup.
We lose the faceoff, mostly because Carolina is more focused on hitting Jamie off the puck than they are in playing the puck itself.
That's unacceptable and I make sure they know it, delivering a hip check that leaves Johnson on the ice while I skate away with the puck.
The hit is brutal but clean, and the referee has nothing to say as I skate back toward their goal.
Lindy and Carter are already positioned where we discussed – Lindy to the left of the net, with a nice angle for a shot.
Carter's position is a little less optimal – a sharper angle on the pass and a worse position for the subsequent shot.
That's partially the point, though – trying to get Carolina to take the bait, to see Lindy as the better option.
I think back to the Chicago game, to the way I showed Jamie how Volkov's body telegraphed his movements a second early. I try to mimic that now, subtly advertising a pass to Lindy that I never intend to complete. Sure enough, Carolina take the bait, shifting their defense heavily toward the left.
The fake pass gets them moving even faster that way. By the time I'm executing the backhand pass to Carter, he's in a better spot, able to execute the one-timer over the goalie's glove. With that, the sudden death period is over and the win is ours.
It’s after midnight before we trudge onto the plane, and I almost wish we could stay the night and fly out in the morning. As much as I would like to pour my body into a hotel bed and sleep for about twelve hours, I know I'll feel better in my own bed, my own apartment.
I settle into my usual seat, Jamie dropping down next to me just a few minutes later.
The plane is quiet and dark as we taxi, and soon I find my eyes growing heavy.
Before I know it, I'm feeling the plane touch down in Minneapolis.
I also feel a warm weight on my left shoulder and, looking over, see Jamie's blonde hair peeking out from the hoodie that is perched on my shoulder.
I know I should be worried that someone will see, that someone will know this is more than just an exhausted hockey player falling asleep on the nearest horizontal surface. Instead, one side of my mouth quirks up in a smile.
“Yo, Rook.”
For a moment he rubs his head further into my shoulder, like a cat against its owner. I can see the moment when he realizes what's happening, as his head snaps up and he looks at me, wide-eyed.
“Sorry, Cap. Won't happen again.”
It's clear he, too, expects the worried, anxious person I've become. But at three in the morning after four consecutive road games, I can't seem to find him.
“No problem, Rook. No problem.”
The next day, I sleep in late, enjoying the rare Saturday off.
Around lunchtime my phone starts buzzing – mostly the boys in the group chat planning a celebratory evening downtown.
Around two, the phone starts ringing and I go to answer it, expecting it to be Alexei demanding my presence at the bar that evening.
I should be so lucky.
After a quick look at the screen shows my father's face, I pick up. The only thing worse than taking this call will be what happens if I don't take this call.
“Good afternoon, sir.”
“Ethan, good, glad I was able to reach you!”
Well, at least he's in a good mood. If I play my hand right, this could be a short call.
“Yes, sir. Day off today.”
I'm sure he knows this already, has planned this phone call at a time where I'll have no good reason not to pick up.
“Oh good, glad I caught you at a good moment. Look, there's a deal I'm hoping to do for you – a few photo shoots, maybe a podcast or two. Would be great if I could impress these guys while you're in town.”
Looking at the fridge, I realize what I've overlooked – there, just a few days from now, is our away game in New York. Shit.
“Yes, sir. Would you like me to get you some club seats for the game?”
“That would be perfect. And you'll be able to take us out afterward? Maybe to the Brandy Library? I don't want to get you in any trouble with your coach, but a little face time with these guys would go a long way.”
The desire to heave a deep sigh is almost insurmountable. I take a deep breath instead.
“I can probably make that work. Our rookies this year are pretty tame, so I don't need to do too much babysitting. I'll let Coach know.”
Maybe I can talk Ramsey into calling me back to the hotel early for an “emergency”.
“Tame?! That's not exactly the word I'd use. I still can't believe they drafted Carter.”
From his tone, I can tell he'd like to use a different word.
“Oh hey, looks like Kovalenko is calling me. We're getting the boys together tonight to celebrate the win against Carolina.”
“Good, good. You boys are having a good season. Just trim a little fat off that roster and you could really make a push for the playoffs.”
Oh for fuck's sake. I have a feeling he and I would disagree about where the “fat” on the roster lies.
“So, uh, four tickets?”
“Why don't you make it five?”
“Sure. Five tickets at will call for you.”
Can't fucking wait.