“We are going to an ice rink, but not for a tour. It justso happens that one of our favorite alums is starting in his first AHL game next week. So pack your bags, guys. We’re going to Vegas.”
The room goes quiet for a minute—even Calla doesn’t make any noise.
“I’m serious,” I tell them. “I cleared it with Coach, and he’s coming along. They’re even bringing the new head of PR. I guess it’s great publicity for the school that Booker’s gone pro. His game is right before our season opener, so we can’t stay long, but who cares? We’re going on a road trip.”
Chatter fills the kitchen as everyone makes plans and figures out schedules and rides to the airport.
Once we’re finished with the cleanup, the guys scatter before we’ve had a chance to decide who’s cooking next week. But I’m not gonna stress about it. We all ate dinner together. The fire department wasn’t called, and neither was an ambulance.
You know what? A win is a win.
Coach Novotny calls a Turn and Burn drill and we all skate into formation. I can feel the sweat running down my back because we’re nearing the end of practice, but playing at this level requires us to find fuel in the tank even when we’re exhausted. When I see Wagner glaring at me across the ice, I’ve got all the motivation I need to finish strong.
Yeah, the guy’s kind of a dick, but he’s a phenomenal player—the kind that makes you better because you have to rise to the challenge just to play against him.
I’m lined up with Blue and when Novotny blows the whistle, Wagner, Baby Santos, and Dime race for the puck. That’s our cue to gap up, so Blue and I skate backwards todefend the net as the forwards work to move the puck to the middle of the ice. They’re passing, communicating silently as the battle against us, forcing Blue and me to do the same. I’m used to sharing a line with Santos or Mickey, so it’s taken a minute to adjust to another player’s style, but that’s what’s going to make us unstoppable.
While Blue and I work to kill the play, Novotny blows the whistle again, skating into the zone. Blue and I exchange a glance before skating backward toward the goal. It’s like I can hear his thoughts. I’m getting used to playing with him and picking up on his signals. Wagner’s, too. So, when the man I silently call Sparky in my head skates down the ice toward Coach, I cut to the left and block him when he pivots back toward the net.
By the look on his face, I can’t tell if he’s shocked or impressed.
Maybe both.
Twenty minutes later, we’re lumbering into the locker room when Van calls for our attention.
“Hold up, we’ve got a little team business to attend to,” Van says, clipboard in hand. I’ve got to admit it’s pretty cool to watch my former teammate take charge. “This will only take a minute and we’re doing it old-school style. The time has come to vote for a captain. Before you hit the showers, see Coach Novotny to fill out a ballot.”
I stand at my cubby, stripping off my gear, trying not to overthink the vote that’s about to take place.
“Dude, you’ve so fucking got this,” Mickey says, sidling up next to me like he can read my mind.
I shrug because I’m trying—and failing—to play it cool.
“Look at me, Olls,” he says, so I give him my full attention. Yeah, Mickey can be a hyperactive ball of energy sometimes, but the guy’s got a heart of gold.
“No matter what happens with that vote—hell, if everybody votes for Flo because he’s got great hair—I need you to know one thing, okay? You’re the leader of this team. I’m dead fucking serious. No matter what name Coach announces, you’re the one we all look to, the one we all count on. And that’s facts.”
My only answer is a genuine smile because I’ll be damned if I’m gonna get all choked up and miss my chance to cast my vote.
We all migrate over to Novotny and then to the showers. It takes an excruciatingly long time for him to count the ballots. Seriously. It’s at least five minutes before he calls us back to the benches in front of our lockers. Coach emerges from his office, glances at what Novotny has written on his clipboard, and nods. The man betrays no emotion as he addresses us.
“Gentlemen, as you know, I’m not one for long speeches. And you don’t want to hear me drone on, anyway, so I’ll get to the point. You’ve elected a captain in a unanimous vote. Congratulations, Jablonski, you’ve got yourself quite a crew.”
The guys are cheering, and I see Blue slap me on the back. I shake Coach’s hand, but the whole time, my mind is spinning. One word is playing on a loop.
Unanimous.
Holy shit. My teammates all agreed on something.
And it was me.
That feels pretty damn good.
15
Fallon
I’m an artsy girl. Whether I’m doodling flowers in the margin of my notebook or using my laptop to draft a logo, I’m happiest when I’m being creative.
