EASTON
Frozen Four is hostedin Boston this year. It feels like fate to be playing the championships in the city I want to play for professionally.
This morning I left Maya in my bed. We spent so long saying goodbye—my lips fused to hers, tempted to sink into her—before three of my teammates banged on the door with warnings to get going. She curled up with a book and the cat, wishing me luck. Well, I had to kiss her one last time after that, didn’t I?
It took four more guys knocking and barging in to get me to leave.
They’re just lucky Maya pulled one of my t-shirts on while I got my stuff together, or we’d be down in players if they’d seen her naked.
The coaching staff gets us checked in at the hotel once our bus arrives, then we’re told to meet back downstairs for a team dinner. We’re up against Denver in our bracket of the semifinal tomorrow night. Whichever two teams make it through to the top two will face off Sunday night for the national title.
After dinner, Coach stops us in the hotel lobby.
“We’re meeting at ten tomorrow.” He dips his chin, surveying each of us. “Don’t go wild tonight or stay up too late. I expect you ready for tomorrow’s game.”
“Yes, sir,” I answer for all of us.
He nods, waving us off. We split up at the bank of elevators, me, Theo, Cameron, Madden, Noah, and the rookie piling into one.
“We’re gonna kill it tomorrow.” Noah stretches, folding his hands behind his head, his suit jacket straining to contain his bulky muscles.
“If I’m honest, I thought Penn State had us,” Elijah admits sheepishly. “It’s crazy we made it to the top four.”
“You gotta have faith, rookie.” I slap him on the back. “Let’s keep this going, right?”
“Right,” Madden answers with a burning look of determination. “All the way.”
“That’s what I like to hear,” I say.
They exit the elevator in pairs, Theo and Elijah leaving first, then Madden and Noah when we reach their floor.
“We’ve made it here again,” Cameron says when it’s just us left.
We shoot each other matching grins, clasping hands to bump our shoulders together. He said something similar back in freshman year, sounding bewildered compared to the pride he has now.
“Hell yeah, man. Three years running. I wouldn’t want it any other way.”
“Let’s do this.”
“Let’s fucking do it,” I echo confidently.
I’m not nervous. If anything, I’m strangely at peace, my mind clear and eager to get on the ice to prove myself.
The elevator reaches our floor. We exchange a look as the doors open. Smirking, I dart forward. He moves at the sametime. We snort and choke back laughter, wrestling each other down the hall until we reach the room we’re sharing.
He gets me in a headlock and I nudge my elbow into his side before we manage to unlock the door and practically trip through it.
“I win,” he crows.
“Like hell you did.”
He waggles his brows, backing further into the room. I flick on the light, loosening the tie I wore to dinner and undo my top button.
“It’s not too late yet. Should we watch something?” I grab the remote, surfing the channels.
He’s absorbed in his phone. Muttering to himself, he freezes. His eyes widen, then he rushes for the door like he’s diving to save a loose puck.
“Dude, where are you going?” I call after him.
