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“Conor can’t carry the whole team, Aidan. You just launched them all out there. If we win this, it’ll be because of you. If Hart’s slapshot was enough to win that trophy, we’d be chasing our fourth championship.”
He steps onto the ice and skates away before I can respond.
I follow, slower than usual, as I turn his words around in my head. I know I’ve been contributing more, yeah. Taking responsibility instead of shirking it. But Conor’s the captain. I’m the guy on the team underclassmen text if they’re wondering where a party on campus is or to ask for a spare condom. I’m the team mascot, the party animal.
“Phillips!”
I finish my first lap around our end of the ice, then skate over to the bench.
Coach Keller is standing with his arms crossed. Coach Zimmerman is at the opposite end of the bench, rearranging a few extra sticks.
“That was quite a speech,” he tells me. Nothing in his expression indicates ifquiteis a good or a bad thing.
“Sorry for not keeping it, uh, clean,” I say.
Technically, Holt’s athletic program has an anti-profanity policy. Not a well-enforced one, and Coach has never reprimanded us for language during practice. But I’ve never heard him swear, and most of the guys make an effort to clean it up whenever we know he’s in earshot. I lost track of how many f-bombs I dropped earlier.
“I’m proud of you, Phillips,” he says.
It’s a sucker punch to my stomach.
I stare at Coach, certain I heard wrong. “Uh, what?”
“Sixteen seasons, and I remember every player I’ve coached. As soon as I met Hart, I knew he’d have an impact. You? Never occurred to me until your sophomore year. Our last game of the season. Hart sat in the locker room for two hours after the rest of the team left. Remember where you went?”
I shake my head.
“Old friend of mine was at Gaffney’s. Texted me, saying a bunch of my players were there drinking.”
I remember it now. Or parts of it, before I got wasted and went home with some random girl. That was a tough loss.
“Hart was the logical choice as captain. But you were on my short list, ever since I saw that message. And you reminded me why, just now. You’re a leader, Aidan. One people follow because theywantto, not because they’re supposed to. Stop underestimatingthat. Letting people underestimate you. Believe you have two games left, but play like this is your last one.”
I’ve never noticed before, but Coach’s eyes are the same warm brown as Rylan’s, the color of melted chocolate.
She’s here, somewhere. Maybe.
We haven’t talked since I dropped her off after our snowy trip to the Sound. I’m supposed to meet her for our rescheduled tutoring session tomorrow, and have no clue what to expect.
I force myself to focus. To nod. “Yes, sir.”
Coach nods back.
And then I turn around to finish my warm-up.
We won.
Conor’s on his phone, and I’m certain he’s texting Harlow.
For the first time, there’s someone I feel like talking to who isn’t in the locker room.
And she already messaged me.
RYLAN: Congrats!!! :)
Suddenly, simply texting her doesn’t seem like enough. I want to see her. Touch her.
I rush through showering and changing, same as the other guys. We’re all exhausted yet jubilant. No one will be partying tonight, not knowing that there’s an actual championship on the line now. Our spot is guaranteed, it’s no longer a hypothetical goal. No one wants to be the weak link who messes it all up, and getting drunk isn’t going to help.
