Coach Roberts addressed the team briefly—emphasis on the positives, areas to improve, move forward to the next game. Then he left us to our post-game routines.
I showered and dressed in my suit for the flight home. I boarded the bus with my mind cataloging every mistake, every missed opportunity, every way I’d failed tonight.
The bus pulled away from the arena, and I stared out the window at Vancouver’s lights, thinking about my father and legacy and the impossible standard I could never quite reach.
Whether anyone else compared me to my father didn’t ultimately matter. I was the one doing it, measuring myself against his shadow. Tonight, it had cost us. My distraction, my desperate need to prove something in Vancouver, had affected my performance on the ice. I’d sabotaged the team by sabotaging myself.
My phone buzzed, breaking me out of my grim thoughts.
Wesley
Tough loss. You played hard even if the bounces didn’t go your way. Proud of you anyway.
Wesley. Of course.
Another text followed immediately:
Wesley
Also, I missed you when I woke up. You snuck out, you sneak.
Despite everything—the loss, the pressure, the failure—a small smile tugged at my lips.
Griffin
Sorry. Fell asleep and woke up just before dawn. Had to get back to my room before people started moving around.
Wesley
I understand. Still wished you’d been there when I woke up.
Griffin
Me too.
I stared at the screen, then added:
Griffin
We’ll have to be more careful next time. Can’t risk falling asleep like that again.
Wesley
Next time?
Griffin
Yeah. There’ll be a next time.
Because despite the terror of this morning’s escape, despite knowing road trips were a minefield of potential discovery, despite every logical reason to maintain distance when we traveled, I couldn’t imagine not having those unguarded hours with Wesley.
The risk was worth it. He was worth it.
Even if it meant navigating an impossible situation every time we left Portland.
The bus took Oak Street toward the airport, and I leaned my head against the window, exhaustion finally catching up. We’d fly home. Tomorrow we’d review tape, practice, prepare for the opening game.
And eventually, there’d be another roadie. Another hotel. Another opportunity to be reckless.
