Atlantic isin teal and Pacific is in maroon. We’re not truly split up within the locker room because it’s only so big. However, I do cross lines into Pacific territory to give Coach Adak a hug. He’s the head coach for the Pacific team.
“Good to see you, Caulder,” he says, hugging me tightly. “I’m so proud of your career. You’re amazing to watch and I get to tell everyone that I coached you in college.”
I laugh. “Me?! Look at what you’re doing with Carolina! You finished first in the Central Division last season! I still think you should have won the Cup.”
“And you’re going to make it to the playoffs this year, too,” Lamar adds with a grin. “The guys are going to be so jealous that you’re coaching us for the day.”
Adak bows his head. “You boys are good for the soul.”
“All right,” Brian Teethis says. “On your own side, Haines. You can catch up after we kick your ass.”
I roll my eyes. His comment leads to banter filling the locker room, which is only magnified when the two celebrity coaches join us. Atlantic has Marlon Dario, an actor that’s just won some shiny award from what I hear. Pacific has rockstar, Royalty Zayn. I absently wonder whether their daughter will be the one to interview them. I’ve always thought it was funny that the child of a huge rockstar and an A-list actor ended up being a sports anchor.
We lazily talk strategy in a huddle while the game between Central and Metropolitan takes place on the ice. But the locker room is mostly quiet as we watch the game on the television and chat during the intermission.
These games are held in a tournament style. Instead of best four out of seven full-length games, these are short, one-shots. Each game has two ten-minute periods, and a ten-minute intermission between them. If they end in a tie, they go right to shootout. The games are played three-on-three.
At the end of the first half between Central and Metro, they’re tied 1-1, Jirí having scored for Central and Menlo for Metro. While there is $1 million on the line, we’re definitely interested in winning. But there’s only so much strategy we can play in this short a time. There isn’t a lot of time to gel with the other players, or whatever.
The second half of Central vs. Metro ends in a tie with two more scores each—Thomas and Jirí for Central, and Larson and Niklas for Metro—so they go directly into a shootout.
Drick stops Menlo’s shot. Trustein stops Jirí. Drick stops Leroy’s attempt. Trustein stops Thomas’s shot. But fucking Max brings home the win, scoring on Drick and ending the game.
Then we’re on the ice.
It’s me, Stark, and Ethan on the ice first with Davies in the goal. I’m standing across from Laurent and the damn man smirks at me. I smile in return because I’m about to show him how to compartmentalize and focus on hockey alone.
Turning my attention to Ethan, he glances my way. Then he looks at Stark. There’s a single nod that passes between them. The puck’s dropped and I skate around Lo as Ethan pulls the puck to Stark. Stark sends it my way and Lo tries to get in my face, but I pass it back to Ethan.
As soon as Lo turns around, I’m skating behind the goal and come out on the other side as Ethan fakes a shot. He sends it back to me and while Lamar has his focus on Ethan, I swing the puck into the net.
I hear “GOAL” over the speaker and flash Lo a smile as I skate back to the center. We tag out, trading with Link, Ivanovich, and Darnell Clearwater. Noah Kain scores three minutes later. Stark trades out with Link and sinks the next goal. The first period ends in a tie after Noah sinks another goal three seconds before the buzzer.
We get back to the locker room to find the Metro team is there, while Pacific has been moved temporarily to the guest locker room for the intermission. I step into the room in time to hear Carolina’s Niklas Zawodny telling Max and Larson how to get the perfect tight, hard glutes.
“You must engage all time so plug does not shoot out,” Niklas says and I stop in my tracks.
Ethan plows into me, his arm swinging around my waist to hold me up.
“What—” Ethan starts.
“You do squats with a butt plug?” Max asks.
“Not any plug. Smaller one. You must engage glutes that way all times to ensure plug stay. And not just squats. Also allexercises. Be surprised at how many engage glutes.” Niklas taps his fist on his ass. “See? Hard. Want to feel?”
Max and Larson exchange looks.
“Man, yes,” Larson admits. “But my husband would lose his mind if I groped another man’s ass when he’s not present. Another time.”
“Yes. Another time.” Niklas looks at Max. “Want touch my ass?”
“This is wild,” Ethan mutters.
“Nah,” Max says. “In a previous life maybe, but I’m good with the ass I touch already. Thanks for the tips, though.”
“This way, Atlantic,” Coach Tavis Davenport from Philly calls. He pats Max on the shoulder on his way by. He’s our head coach today, though he’s Max’s coach every day. “Good first half. We need to get out there and clean it up. They’re going to be putting Dayne in goal, trading Gibbon out, so know your goalie.”
I snort. Azure is a damn beast. We’re dead.
