I give an affirmative grunt in response. He’s right. Everything this year feels more intense with my last chance at the draft looming over my head. It’s all on the line this season.
“For fucking sure, man.”
Cameron clamps a hand on my shoulder and jostles me to get me to loosen up. “There you go, bro. It’s early in the season still.It’ll be us on the ice at Frozen Four for sure after we kick ass for the next thirty games to make the playoffs.”
An enthusiastic cheer ofhell yeahechoes around the locker room from our teammates. Even though we lost against our rival school’s team, their morale isn’t as low as mine for costing us the win. They voted unanimously to pick me as team captain during summer training. I’m letting them down if I can’t pull myself together.
“What’s your go-to postgame pick-me-up?” Noah prompts, phone poised to capture the response.
“Porter,” Madden growls from his seat on the bench at the gear cubby next to mine.
He’s shirtless, face mottled with red splotches while he hurries to tug a hoodie over his head.
“Chill out, Graves. It’s called creative cropping.” Noah smirks and shoots me a wink over the top of his phone. “You know what I keep telling you. Any exposure is good exposure.”
Noah’s the only one of us with sponsorship deals he’s secured through flashing his winning California beach boy smile, blond hair, and perpetual golden tan on social media.
Madden ducks his head, thick dark hair hanging in his face as he scowls at his lap. “I’m just here to play hockey.”
“And with that winning attitude, who wouldn’t want to sponsor you?” Noah quips. “So? Give us your postgame recovery ritual. What about you, captain?”
“Not right now,” I say. “Ask us tomorrow.”
Ruffling my hair, I cast a glance around the room. The whole team is here. None of them have left yet, though Coach Lombard cut us loose. I clear my throat and step to the center of the room, thinking of the things Dad would say to me after a loss that I need to hear myself right now.
“Don’t let tonight weigh on you. A season isn’t defined by one game. We’ve got a long road to go.”
The guys thump their feet on the floor and clap. My chest tightens as the lingering tension in the room breaks.
“Let’s come back strong tomorrow,” I say. “See you all there ready to work.”
“Go blue!”
The team shouts our chant as one before they begin to leave the locker room.
“You coming?” Cameron asks.
I pause, weighing my options. “Is everyone going out? I might head back to the house with anyone who’s not.”
“We need this tonight so we can hit the ice tomorrow with a clean slate,” he reasons.
I nod slowly. “Yeah.”
He bumps his fist against mine. “Good man. Let’s go. Come on, rookie. You too.”
Elijah points to himself, green eyes wide. I wave him over so he’s not hovering at the edge of the group.
The five of us head out of the arena and start the short trek from the far side of campus to the local sports bar. After a game, The Landmark is where everyone goes. The blast of cool, late October air feels good. It’s helping clear my head during the walk through town.
This is a big part of hockey, too. If you don’t know your teammates, all the practice in the world can’t take you the last extra mile that sparks from the camaraderie built outside the rink. We live together off campus, eat together, and go out together. I see them more than I see my mom and little brother, but it’s okay because my teammates are my family at Heston.
When we make it to The Landmark, the place is packed with students and townies that attended the game. They commiserate together with pitchers of beer and the best wings in the state. It smells fucking heavenly. I wish I could cheat on the plans theteam nutritionist gave me to enjoy some of that tonight, but the best I can get away with is a couple of beers.
Hambone, the owner’s white and tan dog weaves through the room, sniffing around for any scraps of fried chicken that fall. He trots over and I kneel down to greet the pitbull with a scratch behind his ears.
“Hey, Hammy. You making out good tonight?” I chuckle at the way his whole body wiggles when he wags his tail. “Yeah? Good boy.”
“Our usual spot’s full,” Noah says when I stand up.
