"Alright, listen up," Sean grunted. "Jack, you're new to the lineup, so pay attention. We're going to run the trap on defence. Frustrate their forwards, force turnovers. That’ll give you and Country space to work on the wings."
"Got it." Jack nodded.
"Tyler, you and I will keep the centre locked down. Funnel to the outside. Boyd, watch the backhand on twenty-three. Top corner.” Sean scanned the group. There were nods all around. “We don’t need sponsored Nikes to feed them their own ice.”
The thump of fists on hockey pads punctuated that statement. They finished suiting up then took their time stretching before following Sean like baby geese down the hallway leading to their bench with a half-hour left before the whistle. At this age, they needed double the length of their warm-up to avoid breaking a hip.
After dropping their water bottles, they spilled into the rink, blades cutting crisp lines into the glistening ice. Country glided out, his muscles firing up as they started drills. This dance of rubber and steel was their ritual, and Country could feel the choreography of this team in his bones.
With five minutes left on the countdown clock and the stands filling up with people who looked like they stepped out of Vogue to attend, they made their way to the bench. Country stayed on the ice and had Mike pass him his water bottle.
Jenna used to do that. She’d sat on the bench at his games and filled water bottles for two different teams after high school. He shook his head.
“Let’s go!” Sean called, and Country pushed off the wall to get in position. He could think about Jenna all he wanted later, but first, they needed to beat the hell out of the Puckaneers.
The starting whistle echoed off the boards, and the game began with the drop of the puck. Sean won the face-off, pushing it back to Mike, who slid it across to André. The defenceman's eyes locked with Country's before he sent a rocket pass up the wing.
"Allez!" André called, and Country chased the puck down, dodging a check. He flicked the puck toward Jack, who was breaking toward the net. Jack caught it, deked, and fired a shot that ricocheted off the goalie's pads. Their bench banged their sticks in applause. Country nodded across the ice. Next time.
The periods passed in a blur. Country drove hard every shift, burying his frustration over the ranch and indecision over what to do about Jenna with each pump of his legs and flick of his wrist. He was everywhere, and the more he touched the puck, the hungrier he got.
Sean tapped his calves as he passed to the bench. “I’ll keep feeding you all night.”
Tyler pushed onto the ice to take his place, and with minutes ticking down in the third period, they were tied two-to-two, and it felt unbearable to lose. Country needed this.
He intercepted a sloppy pass from the other team's defender, weaving through the opposition with fluid grace. "Jack!” He didn’t know why he barked his name—Jack could sense he was already there. He sent a no-look pass behind the defender on his right. Jack darted past and caught it, snapping the puck past the bewildered goalie.
They met behind the net in celebration as the red goal light flared, ignoring the boos from the home crowd as they skated back behind the blue line.
“What a beaut!" Mike clapped his mitts against the boards.
"Lock it down!" Sean commanded. They hounded the offence until the final buzzer sounded, and Country pumped his fist in triumph. He got a squirt of water from Sean then lined up with the team to bump fists with the Puckaneers.
Country skated over to the opposing team. One of the forwards, a burly guy with a chipped tooth, clapped him on the shoulder. "You were on fire tonight."
"You had us on our heels in the second," Country replied, moving down the line.
Energy buzzed as they made their way back to the locker room. Inside, Country peeled off his shirt then unbuckled the straps of his shoulder pads and slid them over his head. In seconds, gear littered the floor and the benches.
As he sat down to unlace his skates, Country ran the game on replay through his mind. Decisions on the ice were simple to dissect. There was a wrong play and a right one, and after the fact, it was easy to see which was which. Life wasn’t as cut and dry. With Jenna, he hadn’t had a strategy, he’d just been living the best way he knew how. It was impossible to tear a play apart when he hadn’t known he’d made one in the first place.
Country stripped down and joined his teammates in the showers. The hot water was a welcome relief to his strained muscles.
"That assist in the second period slapped," Boyd shouted at him over the sound of the water.
He nodded his thanks, tilting his face into the spray, holding his breath as all the adrenaline from the game seeped out of him and circled down the drain. He pressed his hand against the tile and let the water pound against the crown of his head.
When it seemed ridiculous to stand there any longer, he lathered up and rinsed, then grabbed his towel and floated through the cloud of steam back to his locker. He was pulling on his jeans when Ryan called his name.
“Yeah?” He looked up and zipped his fly.
“When were you planning on telling us you ran into Jenna?" Ryan held out his phone.
Country hesitated, then reached for his waffle-knit Henley. "What are you talking about?"
Ryan motioned to his screen. "Just got a message from Melissa. She's in the hot tub with friends and the topic came up.”
The locker room hushed, and all eyes turned to him as he pulled his shirt over his head and shoved his arms in the sleeves.
