When I skated behind the goal, I saw a teenage boy holding a sign that read,We knew you could do it—welcome back #72.
Holy shit. I almost lost my damn edge. I almost choked up right there on the ice.
Instead, I focused on finding a puck, and when I had one, I sent it up over the glass for the kid. It caught in the net a couple of times, but it finally went over. He looked like I’d made his entire year as he held up his puck and his sign.
Smiling, I tapped my glove in front of the sign, then put it against the glass. He grinned and fist-bumped me.
Then I skated away to continue my warmups, wondering if I could make it through this game without losing it.
And if I did fall apart… well, would anyone really judge me? Everyone in this arena knew what I’d been up against for the last several months. They all knew I’d lost my best friend in the world. Just being here on this ice at all felt like a small miracle; quite frankly, if I shed some tears and someone decided I was too soft or too weak, they could get fucked.
It was getting harder to imagine them actually doing that, though. As Shannon, Rachel, and Peyton had all pointed out to me more than once, the fans had grieved Leif too. From the signs and the cheers, they were as happy to have me back as I was to be back.
Our warmup routine didn’t vary much from game to game, and sliding back into that felt amazing. It feltnormal, and there weren’t words to describe how damn goodnormalfelt these days.
When it ended, we left the ice in our usual order, retreating to the locker room to hydrate and get ready for the first period. All normal. All the same as I was used to.
Right up until Baddy walked up and hugged me tight. “It’s good to have you back, man.”
The words and the hug both caught me by surprise, as did the rush of emotions they ignited, but I returned my friend’s embrace. “It’s good to be back.” Nothing had everfelt more like an understatement than those words. Being back here was second only to being back in Peyton’s arms. It was like my world was finally back on its axis for the first time in too long.
As he let me go, he clapped my shoulder. Then his eyes flicked to my jersey—to the C on my chest, I thought—and something like regret slipped into his expression. Meeting my gaze again, he said, “We shouldn’t have made you captain, dude.”
My heart hit the floor. “Oh. Uh…” How the fuck was I supposed to respond to that? “I shouldn’t have let you guys down.”
“Let us—what?” Baddy yelped. “No! Man, no. That’s not what I meant. You’re captain material. A hundred percent.” He squeezed my arm. “But we shouldn’t have put that on your shoulders. Not when you were having such a tough time after we lost Early.”
Damn, now I really didn’t know what to say.
Coach appeared beside us, and his hand landed on my other shoulder. “He’s right. We all knew you were struggling harder than the rest of us. Because you were closer to Early than anyone.” He gave my shoulder pad a light smack. “It wasn’t right for us to pile the captaincy on you too.”
My throat tightened, and I had to take off my glove to wipe my eyes. “Someone had to do it.”
“No.” Coach shook his head as he withdrew his hand. “We could have had three alternates instead of two As and a C. I’m sorry we did that to you.”
Several of the other guys chimed in, murmuring their agreement and nodding.
I closed my eyes and released a long breath as some weight slid off my shoulders. I hadn’t even realized how much pressure I’d been feeling from the captaincy, andknowing the guys understood why I’d buckled under it was more of a relief than I’d anticipated.
Another hand appeared on the small of my back, and I didn’t have to look to know who it was. I did look, though, and gazing into those sweet, concerned blue eyes gave me a whole different kind of rush.
“You going to be okay tonight?” Peyton asked softly.
I smiled, wrapping my arm around his shoulders and leaning into him. “Yeah. I’ll be fine.” I laughed. “If I go another night without playing hockey, I’m going to lose my damn mind.”
That broke some of the tension in the room, and there were more nods, coupled with chuckles of “I’d go crazy without hockey, too” and “there’s no therapy like hockey.”
I laughed with some more feeling as I rested my head against Peyton’s shoulder. The real therapy had done more for me than I could ever put into words, but there was some truth to what the guys were saying, too—hockey was cathartic and energizing in ways I desperately needed right now. The sport itself, and also being out there with these men. With this team that was like a family in so many ways.
My best friend was gone, and there was nothing I could do to change that.
But tonight, for the first time since that awful night at the hospital, my world didn’t feel so damn empty and bleak.
I patted Peyton’s chest, then straightened and looked around the room. “What do you guys say we go out there and knock two points out of Charlotte?”
The cheer that went up was more exhilarating than the roar of the hometown crowd after an overtime goal.
Peyton ran his hand up my back, and his smile sent a rush of heat through me.
