We’re up 4–1 now, and our buffer is looking even better with eight and a half minutes to go. We settle down, getting back into position, and the puck is dropped at center ice. I finish out my shift, then plop down on the bench, trying to catch my breath.
“Fuck, my lungs are burning,” Hayes says.
His words make me feel a little better because I feel like I’m dying out there. It’s like I’m skating through sand instead of on ice.
“Don’t know how your old ass is still doing this,” he remarks.
Me either.
“Hope to hell I’m half as good as you when I hit your age.”
He thinks I’m playing well out there? Sure, I scored a goal, but that was only because nobody thought to cover the old guy. Still, as silly as it is, Hayes’s words light a spark inside me that I didn’t know I needed.
When I hit the ice for my next shift, it feels as if I’m skating a little easier. I’m still struggling and barely moving fast enough to stay out of reach of the other guys, but I’m keeping up, which is all I can ask for at this point in my career. When I get the puck, I flip it down toward LA’s empty net, just barely missing. They hustle after it, and our guys are right there too, battling it out. Keller being Keller lays a big hit, and it’s just enough to get the team and crowd fired up. Suddenly, sticks and gloves are flyingall over the ice, and I have someone by the collar. He tries to throw a punch at me, but I dodge each attempt.
Meanwhile, Keller has someone in a headlock, practically giving him a noogie. It’s hilarious and chaotic and exactly why I love this damn game to begin with. I’m not nearly as scrappy as my teammate, but that doesn’t mean this isn’t still fun, especially knowing one minute we could be throwing punches and the next we’d be attending each other’s weddings.
There’s one last meaningless puck drop before the final buzzer. The Serpents swarm Fox, patting him on the head, then congratulating each other. We just won our first game of the season, and it feels so damn good.
Maybe I’ve been overthinking this the whole time. Maybe I’m not too old to be out here on the ice. Maybe I can keep up and keep doing this for at least a few more years. Maybe I’m not the main course on the chopping block like I thought.
“Absolutely fucking stellar, boys!” Coach Smith beams at each one of us in the visitors’ locker room. “That’s how you start a fucking season off!”
He looks like such a proud dad, and I get it—I’m proud too. We played good out there.
“Hit those showers. The bus leaves in twenty.”
We do as he says, the room buzzing from the win. Everyone’s laughing and joking, even Keller. Well, at least as much as he laughs. Twenty-five minutes later, we’re on the road to Anaheim for our next game. The bus is mostly quiet. Everyone is either on a tablet or talking quietly to their family on the phone.
“Nice goal out there,” Keller says about ten minutes into the journey.
“Nice fight,” I counter.
Leave it to Keller to drop the gloves during the first game of the season. He’s our enforcer for a reason.
“So, how’s it going?”
Something in the way he says it has me turning to him.
“What do you mean?”
He lifts his brows. “I think you know exactly what I mean.”
Fuck. I do know what he means.
Nessa.
I clear my throat, sitting up higher to look over the seats to see where Hutchinson is. He’s all the way up front by Coach. He has his phone out, flipping through photos of his new baby girl. I settle back into my seat, glancing over at a smug-looking Keller.
“She moved in with me.”
“What?!”
Keller’s outburst draws the attention of several of our teammates.
“Shh! Rory was just about to tell me what she’s wearing!” Lawson says from two seats up.
I swear I hear Rory say, “I was not!”
