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Pete took a deep breath. "I love you."
I felt like I'd been body-checked—in the best way possible. "I love you too, Pete," I replied, the words rushing out as if they'd been waiting for that moment. "I've been holding it in, thinking it was too soon or too complicated. But hell, right now, it feels like the least complicated thing in our world. I love you."
"Come on," Pete said, holding out his hand. "Let's get off the ice. We've got a big day tomorrow."
"Yeah," I nodded, "a huge day."
“Tomorrow, we break this damn losing streak.”
* * *
Game night was electric. Every player itched to take the ice, and every fan in the stands sat on the edge of their seats. The tension in the air was thick, almost like you could touch it.
Just before the opening face-off, my eyes landed on a figure in the stands who didn't fit the usual crowd of rowdy fans and anxious parents. It was a guy in a crisp suit, jotting notes on a pad, his attention laser-focused on the action getting ready to unfold on the ice. My gut churned with recognition.
He was an NHL scout. And damn, if his eyes weren't glued to Eddie. A swell of pride rose within me. Eddie deserved it. He earned those trained eyes evaluating every flick of his wrist, every pivot, every shot.
Still, mingling with that pride was a dread I couldn't shake. If that scout liked what he saw, and chances were high that he would, Eddie was bound for bigger arenas, deafening crowds, and a life far removed from our little team.
As much as I was happy for him, the thought twisted my gut. We would have to say goodbye to him, to his raw talent, his youthful energy, and his untamed potential. Not to mention just a great kid to have around.
Those conflicting emotions wrestled inside me as the crowd roared and the players clashed. My pride for whatever help I’d given Eddie battled with a selfish sort of sorrow for what we'd lose when—not if—he made it big.
The game itself was wild, a seesaw of emotions, each goal ramping up the tension even more. And then Eddie did it—sniped a top-corner shot in overtime. We'd broken the losing streak, and we were headed to the playoffs. The win clinched it.
The team went wild, piling on the rookie like he was a hero returning from adventures overseas. I caught Pete's eye amid the chaos, and we shared goofy, happy grins.
In the locker room, the air was alive with celebration, triumphant shouts, and laughter. Pete was right in the thick of it, moving from player to player, his hand delivering enthusiastic back slaps, his voice providing congratulations to everyone.
We’d done it, and Pete was our fearless leader. I was so fortunate not just to work beside him but to share the rest of my life with him.
Eventually, the high-fives turned to handshakes; the shouts faded into soft chattering, and one by one, the team filtered out, leaving Pete and me standing amid torn jerseys and empty water bottles.
We retreated to the office, and as we walked in, I noticed two bottles on the desk. One was champagne, and the other was two liters of Coke with a handwritten note attached that read, “Coach Hoss.”
I laughed. My men were looking out for me.
Pete and I settled into our chairs, and I took a deep breath, feeling the air fill my lungs before I let it out slowly. I had a few things to share; it was as good a time as any.
“You know, you shared some pretty heavy stuff with me the other night," I started, locking eyes with Pete. "It made me think. I've been holding my cards pretty close to my chest, and it's about time I show my hand, too."
The room felt a little smaller just then, a little more intimate. Pete pushed a stack of papers to the side and leaned back in his chair. He looked at me. It wasn’t a casual glance. It was a deep, meaningful look. He was ready to listen to whatever I wanted to share.
"I grew up with a single mom, too,” I began, the words tumbling out quickly. "She worked two jobs, and my younger brother, he didn't make it easy on her. He got mixed up in stuff he never should have. It got bad enough that I thought about quitting hockey more than once.”
“We’re all lucky you didn’t,” Pete said.
I nodded briefly. “It was hard. I thought about sticking around to take care of them. You know, get a job, be the man of the house or something like that. Meanwhile, the scouts were all over me, and my mom wouldn't hear of it. She believed in me from the beginning. But you know the rest of the story. When the going really got tough, I folded. That pressure nearly took me under.”
And there it was, the truth wrapped up in a little nutshell. I looked at Pete, waiting for his response, and what I saw in his eyes felt like a miracle. I saw understanding, compassion, and something more—something that looked a lot like love.
"Damn, Hoss," Pete finally spoke, his voice edged with emotion. "That's a hell of a load to carry. But look where you are now and what you've become. You’re a survivor. You're not just a coach or a colleague—you're an inspiration to me and everyone on this team."
The weight of his words and the sincerity in his tone brought a single tear to my right eye. I was so used to trying to be the strong one, the stalwart backbone of any team I was on. To have someone see the cracks in the armor, the doubts and fears I never let show and still stand by me—it was more than I’d ever hoped for.
"Thanks, Pete," I managed to say. “That means the world coming from you."
He leaned forward, elbows on his desk, his eyes never leaving mine. "Listen, we're heading into the playoffs, and that's new for a lot of these guys. Hell, it's been a while for both of us, too. It's gonna be stressful, high stakes, the whole nine yards. So, what do you say we make a pact?"
