Until this moment, I hadn’t realized how much I’d been afraid I was letting my best friend down by coming unraveled the way I had. And somehow, gazing up at his number right now, I understood that Leif would’ve tried to hold up the team the same way I had. He’d have piled everyone’s grief and shock onto himself and tried to carry us all, hiding his own pain and soothing everyone else’s until he—being as human as anyone else—would’ve crumbled.
I closed my eyes, surprised I didn’t squeeze a tear free. As the anthem wrapped up, I took and released a deep breath, feeling lighter as yet another anchor chain fell away.
I’m not weak. I’m not a fuckup.
I’m as human as the man I’m still grieving.
And tonight, I’m going to do his memory proud.
Just before we broke away to set up for the faceoff, Peyton bumped my glove with his. When I turned, he was smiling, and I smiled right back.
My first game with these men in way too long, and then I’ll spend the rest of the night sleeping next to you.
Hell yeah.
A minute later, the puck dropped, and we were off and running. The Pittsburgh Whiskey Rebels were bound and determined to wring two points out of this team, but Charlotte was going to make us work for it. Though we won the first faceoff, they stole the puck and broke away, speedinginto our zone, three-on-two against our defensemen while we forwards were hot on their heels.
Eminem got to the puck carrier first with a hard hip-check that almost sent the guy sprawling. Somehow, the guy didn’t lose possession, and even a viper-fast poke check from Trews didn’t relieve him of the puck. They were almost on top of the crease now, the puck carrier dancing through the defensemen as he tried to either pass or shoot.
I’m pretty sure he didn’t see Peyton coming, though.
Just as the puck carrier deftly avoided another check from Eminem, Peyton swiped the puck right off his stick. He spun away from another of Charlotte’s players, and I—hovering near the blue line—slapped my stick on the ice.
There was too much traffic for Peyton to pass it to me, so he did the next best thing—he whipped around behind the goal and saucer-passed over everyone’s heads. I was wide open, and I tracked the puck, mentally calculating if I should chase it or?—
Nope, it was low enough.
I jumped up, snatched it out of the air, dropped it to the ice, and tore across the red line, then the blue one. I had no idea what was going on behind me because the crowd was going absolutely insane, drowning out every sound and even my own thoughts.
I skated for all I was worth toward the goal, focusing on the goalie, tracking his movements, watching him watch me. Fake it? Backhand? Top shelf? Five-hole?
I wound back to rip a shot over his shoulder, and when he rose to anticipate it, I snapped it under his pad.
The roar that came out of me was swallowed up by the crowd. Elation surged through me, and I banged myself off the glass in the same instant the red light came on.
My first game after rehab. My first shift. My firstshot.
Iwas fuckingback.
My teammates crushed me in hugs, smacking my helmet and shoulders.
“Welcome back, Calds!” Eminem shouted over the noise.
“Fuck yeah, Captain!” Trews said.
Peyton didn’t say a word, but he didn’t need to. The pride and love in his eyes said it all.
The impulse to knock our helmets off and kiss him was almost overwhelming. If not for the deafening roar around us, not to mention the hands pounding on the glass behind me, I might have forgotten we were in front of thousands of fans, not to mention all the cameras. I might have locked lips with him right then and there.
And goddammit, I wanted to do exactly that.
Fortunately, I kept my head together. He and I exchanged a gloved fist bump, and then I was leading the guys to the bench for more fist bumps.
Our shift was over, so we took our places on the bench. As Peyton dropped beside me, his shoulder touched mine, and I had to fight hard not to put an arm around him or rest a hand on his thigh. Physical affection was just so easy between us. So habitual. And damn it, I’d had to spend two weeks away from him while I was on my conditioning loan, and Peyton had been on the road with the team until yesterday morning, so we’d only had one night together lately. I needed to be able to touch him.
Not now, though. Hockey now. Hands all over Peyton later. I could wait.
Or, well, I thought I could.
