Bouchard opens the door for me and sends me on my way as they leave to go get breakfast. I balance the trays of food for me and Connor in one hand and let myself into our room. I expect to see Connor upset. Run-ins with his father tend to do that to him. Instead, he looks calm. Slightly flushed from exertion, but calm like the whistle just blew to signal the end of a stressful first period in a game.
“Nice shirt,” I say, with a quirk up of my lips. The sight of him in it melts what’s left of my rage.
“Thanks.” He blushes, pulls at the hem as he looks down at it, and laughs lightly. “You should have seen the look on my father’s face when he saw it after he threw it at me and told me to put it on.”He takes his eyes off the shirt and looks back at me. His eyes and smile are mischievous.
In my need to touch him, I put our food down on the bed, then brush his flushed cheek with my knuckles. “You alright?”
He nods his head. “I think so.”
“I should have been here.” I flatten my palm against his face.
He shakes his head, then leans into my touch. “No. That would have made it worse.”
“Still,” I say, “I’m supposed to protect you.”
Fight flashes in his eyes, but it’s not aimed towards me. “Save it for the ice,” he says. “I need to handle him by myself.”
I nod. I get it. The fight between Connor and his dad has been brewing longer than long-held NHL team grudges. I can’t have this fight for him.
But I can kiss him. So I lean down and press my lips against his. When I pull back, there’s words on my lips I need to swallow down. Words I never thought I’d say to anyone. Words that feel an awful lot like they’re designed to express love.
Instead of speaking, I kiss him again with more urgency to stop the words from bubbling up.
FOURTEEN
Connor
The anger from my fight with my father has carried over into tonight’s game. It’s fueling me in a familiar way. Like when I was a kid, and he’d scream at me during the entire ride home from a game that we lost. Back then, the next game, I’d take all my anger and every word I could not say back to him with me on the ice and skate like my life depended on it. He, of course, took my fierce skating as a sign that his particular brand of motivation was the trick. It never once occurred to him that it was my hatred of him that made me go all out.
Spite is a hell of a motivator.
Which is exactly what I’m feeling when I’m let out of the penalty box.
“Thanks for keeping my throne warm for me,” Gavin says as he skates by wearing a wide grin.
I chase after him. Or, more specifically, the puck he’s just taken possession of in our offensive zone. He knows I’m coming. Already, in the short time we’ve been playing together, we’ve learned to read each other on the ice. To trust one another. To know where the other will be on instinct.
He does a spin move with the puck, sending it back towards me blindly, then blocks the lane by screening the goalie so I have a clear shot. I take it and send a bullet right past the goalie’s ear and into the net.
The horn blares and the team is on me in celebration with helmet taps, fist bumps, and hugs.
“You slick motherfucker!” Bradley Warren says to me, tapping my helmet. He’s smiling broadly. “I am not looking forward to seeing you in the postseason if you bring this energy with you.”
“I promise to take it easy on you.” I wink at him.
“Don’t you dare,” he says back with another tap to my helmet, then skates away.
Gavin is suddenly right beside me. “Looks like you made a friend.”
I smile at him. “It looks like you made us a team.”
“Couldn’t have done it without you, Captain,” he says, thumping the C on my jersey with the side of his fist. He skates away from me backwards, but keeps his eyes locked on mine, wearing an effortless smile as he goes. All of my affection for him bubbles through me. I can’t imagine going back to not having him on my team and by my side.
Gavin
“Way to win, boys!” Coach Chris yells out when we get back into our locker room. He’s holding the game puck in his hand and looks around. “A lot of you have earned this today, but I gotta give it to your captain.”
The locker room erupts into applause. Connor, of course, blushes furiously and tries to wave Coach off.
