Quentin almost wanted to tell Henri everything in that moment. That when he’d seen Joel onstage, shirtless and sweaty, and when he’d been so close to him, singing while staring into Joel’s eyes, he’d felt something inside of him. It was so close to the irritation he’d felt for a long time, but it wasn’t exactly the same. He was afraid he knew what it was. He was afraid it was attraction, and he couldn’t let that be the case. He was looking forward to seeing Joel again soon.
The Boston Minutemen played their home games at the Regency Insurance Arena in downtown Boston. It was a large arena and had recently been renovated. It had good seats and a great rink and state-of-the-art locker rooms.
Quentin felt as at home in the arena as he did in his own apartment. The team arrived for the game together, dressed in suits and ready for battle.
The game against Québec would be a good one. They played each other several times in the season, and it was always a toss-up who would win. They were pretty equally matched in skill and playing style.
Quentin changed into his gear in the locker room, and Coach Bogdanovic gave a short pep talk to the players. He reminded them that they’d been preparing for this, that they had what it took, and that they had to give it their all on the ice that night.
When Bogdanovic was done, it was Quentin’s turn. The guys had given him some shit about his little adventure last night, but it was all in good spirits. He loved his team. They were like this family, his brothers, and he liked how they all supported each other and genuinely seemed to love each other, even if they didn’t always get along. A lot of them were hotheaded, and they had some strong personalities, but they were all incredibly talented and would put the team before their own needs whenever they had to. He was honored to be their captain, and he wanted to lead them well.
“All right, boys,” he said. “When we’re out there today, I want you to remember everything we’ve learned and practiced. Yeah, we’re playing to win. I want to crush those Canadian motherfuckers and drag ’em around the ice with the Zamboni—no offense, Bellancourt.”
Henri grinned. “Some taken.”
Quentin continued, “But we’re also playing because, at the end of the day, this is what we all love to do. Don’t forget that. Welovethis game, and we’re fucking good at it. So is Québec, I’ll give ’em that, but this is our home, and this is our ice, and this win isours.”
The team cheered. They were ready for this game, and they were ready to win.
Quentin wasn’t sure he believed in the concept of a calling, or some sort of divine or universe-ordained purpose that each person had. But, if such a thing existed, he was pretty damn sure that his purpose was to play hockey and to play it well.
He fucking loved the game.
He loved being on the ice, plotting out his moves, and anticipating his opponents’ moves, all in the space of a few heartbeats. He loved the cold air, the sweat, the adrenaline, and the intensity. He loved the camaraderie with his teammates and the angry respect of his opponents.
He loved winning.
And he was good at it. He could move like a phantom on the ice, especially when he was really in the zone, and he could dodge around any player trying to get in his way. He could find gaps to pass that no one else could, and could score goals that looked impossible. Sometimes he heard people say that he was headed for legendary status, and he took the compliments in stride. He didn’t play for the fame, but because he genuinely loved what he did. He cared less about fame and more about legacy, and he wanted his legacy to be of someone who had skill and dignity on the ice.
He respected Québec, and he enjoyed playing against them because they were just as talented as his team. Their rivalry was intense, but it only made the games more passionate and important. He loved how the fans showed up in legions, ready to cheer their hearts out and scream in joy or agony, depending on how the game went. There was so much love and passion in a hockey arena, and he knew this was something he wanted to do as long as he could.
Boston played a great game that day, and so did Québec. It was never clear who would win. The teams were equally matched, and even when things got heated, Quentin had fun, and he knew his teammates did, too. With his leadership, he never wanted them to forget that they had all once been kids who loved hockey because it wasplay. There was something magical about getting to spend your life doing something you loved so much, and he didn’t want any of them to lose that magic. He believed that sense of magic made them even better players and an even stronger team.
In the third quarter, Quentin scored a goal against Québec, and the fans lost their mind. He heard them cheering his name, just like Joel’s fans had cheered his name last night. He grinned and held his stick in the air.
In the end, Boston won, and it was Quentin’s goal that did it for them. The team celebrated in the locker room, and Henri didn’t even seem all that bothered that they’d crushed his hometown team. They’d earned the win, and they’dallearned it. Quentin might’ve been the one to score the goal, but he couldn’t have done it without his team.
Later that night, he was walking to his car, and his phone buzzed in his pocket. It was a cool night, and the city was awake around him.
He checked his phone and saw a text from an unknown number:
Bet my fans cheered louder than yours did.
The number had a Los Angeles area code, and Quentin found himself grinning. He knew immediately who it was: Joel.
He got in his car and typed out a short response:
No chance.
He was still smiling when he drove home.
Chapter 9
Joel
After the week in Boston, Joel and his team flew to Philadelphia, where he’d have his next three concerts. He slept on the plane, once again ignoring Braun, who had comments he wanted to go over about the tour and things he wanted to tweak. At this point, Joel was mostly determined to ignore anything Braun had to say. The only thing Braun cared about was the money Joel’s tour could make. Joel liked the money, sure, but it wasn’t why he did what he did.
They were staying at the Four Seasons Hotel in Philadelphia, and Joel had a large suite all to himself. He told his team he needed a day to rest and begged Harlan to keep Braun far away from him.
