Page 26 of Center Ice
“You good?” I ask.
He opens his eyes slowly. “I’m good.”
“Why are you just sitting there?”
“Just soaking it all in. Trying to figure out the energy of this place, you know?”
“The energy?” Is this guy for real?
“Yeah. Every team has its own energy.”
“Sounds a little woo-woo to me,” I tell him.
“Everything is based on energy,” he says. “From the smallest building blocks of atomic elements to intergalactic travel. It’s all just energy.” His words are lazy and slow. It’s amazing to me how chill he is off the ice, given how fast and aggressive he is on it.
“So,” I say, crossing my arms as I lean against the doorframe, “what’s this team’s energy then?”
“Too early to tell,” he says decisively and stands. “You heading out?”
“Yeah,” I say, and he grabs his bag and follows me out of the locker room.
“So, how’s it feel playing for your hometown team?” he asks as we walk down the hallway that’ll lead us to the parking garage.
“It hasn’t really sunk in yet,” I say, thinking about the giant Rebels symbol on the ceiling of our locker room. I remember touring this new practice facility with my club team when it wasbuilt—back when I was in high school—so it’s a bit surreal to be playing here now. “Ask me when we play our home opener.”
“I will,” he says, and it occurs to me that this wasn’t Zach making casual conversation. He actually cares about my answer.
“How’s it feel to you, playing here?” I ask him.
“Little weird, not going to lie. I grew up in Canada, then spent the last seven years in Philadelphia.”
“Philly’s a pretty cool town,” I tell him. “But Boston’s better.”
He lets out a low laugh. “Figures you’d think so.”
“Because it’s true.” We chat about where he lives and what he’s done in Boston since he moved here earlier this summer. He’s an easy-going guy, and before I know it, I’m at my car.
“You going on Saturday night?” Zach asks me as I drop my bag into the trunk.
“Definitely.” When Colt invites you to a party at his place, you go. End of story. “You?”
“Feel like I need to go, you know?”
“You don’t want to?”
“The party scene just isn’t reallymyscene. I’m a morning person, so staying up all night partying really impacts my day.”
I shut my trunk and turn toward him. “Hey, you’ve played in the league longer than me, but as someone who’s had to switch teams more often, here’s a piece of advice. When the team is all going out, you go. Whether you want to or not.”
If I’d been less intimidated by Leland and his cronies in Colorado and spent more time with the team off the ice, it might not have taken them a full year to realize I wasn’t the douchebag they thought I was.
“Yeah,” he says in defeat. “I know. I’ll be there.”
“Good,” I tell him, then get in my car.
As I’m backing out of my space in the player’s section of the garage, my phone rings, and Jameson’s number flashes on myscreen. I hit the button to answer it, and his deep voice fills the car.
“What are you doing Thursday night?”
