The vibe is exactly what I needed.
Bodies moving, music loud enough to drown out thinking, like everyone left their stress at the door. I should do the same. Some of us carry this hockey stuff so deep into ourselves we forget there’s anything else. Forget we’re twenty-one years old and supposed to occasionally do something stupid and reckless. I’m mid-thought when someone shoulders hard into me from the left.
“Fucking watch it—”
I turn around and of course. Of course.
Jamie Nash. At a team party. In the wild.
I didn’t think he knew these existed. Talks constantly about team unity and then never actually shows up to anything that isn’t mandatory. Maybe that’s the disconnect right there — maybe the real reason we can’t play for shit together is because our captain only knows us in the context of drills and lectures.
He’s staring at the beer now soaking into my pants with an expression that isn’t quite an apology. More of a shrug.
I look down. Look back up. And pour the rest of my beerdirectly onto his shirt. Not much was left, but enough to make a point.
“Oops.” I smile at him. “Looks like we’re even, Captain.”
The look on his face is worth everything. Those green eyes go absolutely feral with rage and I feel it like a small personal victory. I lean into it. “What? Nothing to say? No lecture this time?” I whisper.
I let myself look at him for a second — really look.
Blond hair always perfectly in place, jaw defined with all the right angles, beer dripping down what is certainly a very nice chest underneath that grey henley shirt. Clean and golden and wound so tight he practically vibrates. All-American Jamie Nash, standing in the middle of a college party looking furious and stupidly attractive.
Not my problem.
I blow him a small kiss just to watch the vein appear.
His expression shifts then. The rage recalibrates. I can see the exact moment he decides to do something other than combust. Shoves it down somewhere I can’t reach. “I need to talk to you,” he says. Surprisingly calm, despite the anger I know I still see flickering in his eyes. That’s unexpected. I was hoping for more of a fight.
“Lead the way, Captain.”
He grabs a fistful of my shirt and starts pulling me through the party — through the crowd of bodies and red cups and our teammates either playing beer pong or deeply occupied with chicks who definitely want something more than just a conversation. Jamie moves through it all like he has a clear destination in mind and the rest of the world is just in the way. And the manhandling does something to me that I’m choosing not to examine right now.
He finds an empty guest room upstairs, pushes me inside, and closes the door behind us with a thud. The music becomesmuffled. The space between us feels too small and too tight for all this silence. It’s so dark I can barely see Jamie’s silhouette, only illuminated by the sliver of light glowing under the door. I drop onto the edge of the bed and spread my hands. “Alright, give it to me. What did I do now? Make it quick so I can get back to the party.”
“Can you just — stop. For one second.” He drags a hand through his hair. “No bullshit. Just listen.”
“I’m listening.”
“Good.” He crosses his arms. “I talked to Coach after practice. We both think it would help if you and I spent some one-on-one time together. Work on things separately from the team.”
I stare at him. “That wasn’t your idea.”
“Does it matter whose—”
“It was Fitch’s idea and you hate me and you can barely stand to be in the same room as me, so let’s not pretend otherwise.”
The pinched nose. The vein. I’ve learned to read them as much as I‘ve come to crave them.
“You know what would also help,” I continue, “is if you tell Coach to let me play center. I’ve been a center my whole life and you’ve got me on the wing just to—”
“That’s not why—”
“Just to establish dominance or whatever it is captains do. I get it. I do. Very alpha of you.” I applaud.
“Callahan.”
“I’m listening, I’m listening.” I throw my hands up in mock defeat then lean back on my hands and give him my most cooperative expression; the side of my mouth lifting into a smile. “So you want to spend some quality time together. Just the two of us. That’s very sweet, Jamie, but I have to be honest with you—” I press a hand to my chest, “I’m just not sure I’m ready for that kind of commitment.”
