Page 32 of King of the Crease

Nick’s eyes flutter open and stare back at me, and it’s like a lightning bolt. All I want to do is look at this man and listen to his voice and decipher the sparkly patterns floating in his irises.

For the first time in years, the shroud of loneliness around me begins to fade away.

“I think that worked,” he says in a low voice. “I’m ready.”

For one of the rare times in my life, I’m speechless. He gets up and joins my teammates as they head onto the ice. And I…I can’t help but wonder what it would feel like to press my lips against his.

10

NICK

My stomach does Olympic-level gymnastics as I watch the game from the bench. Hank is in goal for the first period. Before he puts his helmet on, he mouths “You’re next!” at me and caps it with an enthused grin.

My stomach flips like an Olympic diver but for all the wrong reasons.

Hank is straight. Ex-wife, son, athlete. All straight signposts, especially in a small town like Sourwood. I can’t mistake his sweetness and friendship as flirtation. And I definitely can’t stare into his eyes again like I did in the locker room. I only have so much self-control.

From the jump, the Comebacks are on fire. Des and Tanner fly down the ice, swapping the puck back-and-forth with such synchronicity it’s like they share one brain. Toward the end of the period, Bill slices the puck across the ice right past the goalie.

I gulp back a lump of nerves. The goalie for the Deep Dives, a team made up of scuba instructors, has much more experience than me. If he can’t stop these goals, then I’m going to be useless when I get my turn.

Despite the aforementioned issue of Hank’s straightness, I keep turning to watch him during the game. For such a teddy bear of a man, his stance in goal is all business. It’s tough, rugged, focused. My mind goes to places that it shouldn’t. Like the east wing of Ardenia’s castle during renovation, it’s totally off-limits.

“He’s good,” says Mitch, sitting next to me. The edges of thick beard curls through the faceguard of his helmet. “Hank is like a wall. Nothing gets past. He’s impenetrable.”

Why is it that as soon as I hear the word impenetrable, I think of penetrate? I am a royal, a crown prince, yet my mind can so easily devolve to teenage horndog.

By the end of the second period, we have a comfortable 4-1 lead.

“You ready?” Bill skates up to me.

“Ready?” I ask.

“Yeah. You’re going in next period.” Bill clocks the panic on my face. “Unless you want to just observe for this game.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Hank says behind him. He takes off his helmet. The ends of his shaggy hair are tipped with sweat. He turns to me. His red face makes his eyes positively sparkle. “Nick’s up!”

“We sure about this?” I laugh.

“Short memory,” Hank says. “You miss a shot, a play doesn’t go your way, forget about it. Stay in the present. Every few seconds, you have a new chance to be better.”

“Short memory,” I repeat.

Hank is sticking his neck out for me, so the least I can do is not chicken out. Bill is a guy who responds to strength. I’ve met my fair share of them during my royal duties.

I stand up and give Bill a steely, confident nod. “That goal will be better protected than the crown jewels.”

“Speaking of, you’re wearing a cup, right?” Hank asks.

I give him another of my patented steely, confident nods. After the intermission, which I spend closing my eyes and getting in the proverbial zone, I get out onto the ice. I can feel all the spectator eyes on me. Can they sense my nerves?

“Okay, new guy. Show me what you’re made of,” Bill says, skating to the center.

I grip my stick like it’s a flotation device and try not to think about the fact that an entire bench of men is counting on me not to humiliate myself.

First game. No pressure.

I flick my eyes to the bench. Hank nods at me. I’m not going to let him down. I will be the player he believes in.