And after a restless night in a strange hotel bed, game day finally arrived.
Next thing I knew, I was sitting in another drafty locker room, tying my skates, and listening to the sounds of my teammates joking around as we pumped ourselves up pre-game. Looking down at my hands, I was surprised to find they were steady. I’d had Josiah’s birthdate and initials tattooed on my right fingers, and anytime I felt myself wanting to give up, I curled my hand into a fist and remembered everything I was fighting for.
“Hey, Rufus!”
That shout came from Ethan Walker, one of our star forwards.
I’d had the wordRuthlesstattooed on my chest recently, and Ethan thought Rufus was an appropriate, and somehow, hilarious, nickname for me. I’d warned him not to call me that. It made me sound like a dog or something. My clapback, of course, was ignored. Hockey players were weird and once they get something in their head, forget about it. Honestly, it could’ve been worse. Like Axel and Jace, who were tagged withHot ‘n’ Honey. Or Maddox and Kayden, who wereSalty & Sweet. If anyone called me any of those names, I’d be out of here.
“What do you want, Walrus?” I replied as I kept my head down, adjusting my laces until everything felt right.
Okay, so maybe I wasn’t immune to mouthing off stupid nicknames either.
“Man, I told you, don’t call me that,” Ethan whined as our teammates snickered.
“Why?” I asked. “Those whiskers you call a playoff beard makes you look exactly like one. Maybe one day you can have a big boy beard like the rest of us.”
There was more laughter and jeers, and Ethan shook his head. He was always styled, looking more like a model than a rough and tumble hockey player. His face was way too smooth for a thick beard, and his attempt at growing one had all of us razzing him hard.
“Bet you ten bucks you can’t go the whole game without pissing off Coach,” Ethan returned.
“Ethan,” Dane St. Pierre, our captain, interrupted. “Not now.”
“I’m going to play my ass off and no one’s going to be pissed about anything,” I countered as I stood up. “Am I right?”
There were shouts of “fuck yes!” and Ethan nodded at me. I knew that his comment was nerves talking. He was an outgoing, excitable guy, and when he was getting ready to hit the ice, he needed to joke around to ease the tension.
“But make it twenty,” I added and reached for my jersey.
I proudly wore that number, and since I was as superstitious as any other hockey player, it was only right. That number meant a lot to me. It was the day of my mom’s passing, the twentieth of July. Twenty was also the age when I took over care of Josiah. A lot had happened in two decades, but I was still holding strong.
I reached for my mouth guard and once that was in, grabbed my helmet, secured it, and then my gloves, and my stick.
One by one, we lined up outside the locker room, waiting for our turn to take to the ice. Most of the buzzing chatter from earlier was gone. There were nods of encouragement, and pats on the head. Even though everyone’s expression was stony, I knew that inside, the fire was about to unleash.
The Kallinger Stars stepped out of their locker room, and my heart began to pump faster. There was quick eye contact withthe opposing team, but nothing more. One of us would leave here a winner and the other would head home with regret. There was so much tension in the air you could practically taste the adrenaline. When “Thunderstruck” pumped out of the speakers, I shuffled my feet in time to the pounding drumbeat.
Kallinger headed for the ice first, and the roar of the crowd rumbled down the chute.
Everyone was ready to go. Everyone except Banning. Where was Coach?
I looked around and suddenly Damien appeared, stalking down the hallway in a three-piece navy suit, his tablet in hand, his raven hair slicked back, his eyes locked on us. The hottest flames burned blue, and Banning’s gaze told me that my teammates weren’t the only ones about to unleash fire. Coach moved like our cougar namesake, a predator ready to strike, his massive frame barely restrained by that tight, sophisticated suit. Not that I should be paying attention to what he was wearing, for fuck’s sake. Still, I’d never seen him so dressed up before, but then again, there was a lot at stake with this game, for the team and for the school.
A final like this brought national media attention. Scouts for the pros would also be watching.
With my skates on, Banning came up an inch short of my height. His presence, however, loomed larger. I could easily picture him barreling down the ice full force and acknowledged that he must have been intimidating to play with, never mind against. He was certainly the most intense hockey coach I’d ever played for.
The closer he got, the quieter my teammates, until there was barely a breath among us.
My heart kicked up double, triple time. Game day nerves indeed.
As he drew near, his gaze hit mine and his eyes narrowed.
What did I do now?
I dropped my shoulders, lifted my chin, and offered him a cocky smirk in return. He had no reaction, not a flicker of recognition, which only irritated me further. Instead, he glanced at our captain and then scanned the rest of the team. Whatever. I didn’t need his validation. I was here to get that win, not to impress him.
He crossed his arms, the suit fabric stretching over his biceps.
