Asher
The Warriors were on fire, rattling off three wins in a row with our new top six. Coach had paired Theo and Hutchison as our starting defensemen. Theo was playing both sides—jumping into the rush and dropping back to cover—like a true two-way defender. Team after team crumbled beneath our relentless pressure. With Theo acting as a bodyguard for our wingers and me, our offense was unstoppable. His physical presence, combined with the chemistry McKenzie, Quincy, and I built through passing, left opposing teams frantic—trying to track the puck while also battling against a six-foot-six freight train barreling down the ice.
I’d always played well with Theo; we could read each other’s body language on the ice perfectly, but it had evolved into something much more beautiful. We played with an unstoppable connection. I felt a tether to him that never snapped. Throughout each game we played together, it was like a force connected us, sending telepathic messages back and forth. We both knew what the other one would do instinctively. Just a look was all I needed to know exactly what to do next. I wasn’tjust playing to win anymore; I played because being out there with him was almost spiritual. The love we had for one another was magnified on the ice, making the experience more than just a game. We were a single force that nobody could defeat.
We were wrapping up a 3-0 shutout against the Falcons, spirits high as we headed to the locker room—everybody ribbing each other, celebrating our streak.
Well, almost everyone.
Mason’s presence was like a dark cloud, growing heavier with each point I’d scored. Every faceoff win, goal, or assist seemed to deepen his scowl every time he saw me, and tonight was no different.
It was a home game, and his dad was in the stands. He’d been bitching before the game about how pissed he’d be if his dad didn’t get to see him play.
Mason played—he’s our second-line center, and I get it: I can’t play a whole damn game without some rest. But he didn’t perform like I had. Mason was exactly what Coach said he didn’t want—an overhyped showboat. He’d sacrifice plays to be the star, and we suffered as a result. Every time I stepped back out there, something good happened, and I did it through teamwork. By the final period, I could hear the crowd chanting my last name.
Mason’s hatred toward me was like a tangible force. Every time he approached, I felt it in my chest—muscles tightening, nerves sparking. I did my best to brush it off.
As we walked to the locker room, a man who I assumed was Mason’s father called for him. I usually tried to avoid looking at Mason for fear of making eye contact and seeing that disdainful stare of his, but I took a glance when I heard his name called out. Mason’s eyes were closed, and he took abreath, as if bracing himself for something. He walked away from the group toward the man. I couldn’t hear what was said, but I could tell you there was no “good game” or “nice job” leaving that man’s mouth. He lowered to Mason’s level and spoke in a hushed tone. Mason’s shoulders fell in defeat as his father talked to him. It was very clear to anyone with half a brain that he was getting chewed out. A little part of me felt sorry for Mason. Despite how shitty he’d been that whole season, nobody deserved to be treated like that after a game. I knew firsthand how awful it felt to not have a parent’s support.Poor guy.
I shook my head in disgust as the team made its way to the locker room. Just as we reached the door, a guy I didn’t recognize called out.
“Lachlan! Moretti! Got a minute?” he called.
He looked official, wearing one of those white-collared polos with no buttons, tucked into a pair of black trousers. I’d played enough hockey to know the “I’m important but playing casual” look.
Theo and I glanced at each other with raised eyebrows, and together we stepped closer as the man extended his hand to each of us. “Scott Howard. I’m a scout for the Reading Royals.”
Fucking hell.
My heart hammered, and Theo released an audible gasp. Mr. Howard explained what that meant, as if we weren’t already shaking with excitement at the mention of the name. “It’s a team in the ECHL—a farm team for the Flyers.”
Theo tried to speak, but only gibberish came out, while I nodded frantically. When I finally spoke, my voice cracked like a thirteen-year-old’s. “We know who they are, sir. That’s—that’s incredible. It’s so nice to meet you!”
I started rambling like a fool until he raised his hand to stop me.
Please, save me from myself.
“You two have some serious chemistry out there.” He turned to Theo. “Moretti, a two-way defender is an asset for any team, but your quick thinking on the ice puts you in a league of your own.” Then he looked at me. “Lachlan, you’re fast, smart, your passing’s phenomenal, and you’re not afraid to scrap when it counts. We could use guys like you.”
My eyes widened, disbelief flooding through me.
They needed a guy like me?
It was like an earthquake hit—adrenaline rushing through every nerve.
The Flyers… this was our chance! Could Theo and I honestly play for the NHL together? On the same team? It was like a freaking fairytale.
Theo continued failing at forming coherent sentences. I managed a shaky thank you, and Mr. Howard smiled. “I’ll be watching you two all season. Keep it up. I’ll be in touch.”
He handed each of us his card and patted our shoulders. Mason walked past at the precise moment. I couldn’t see his face, though, I was too busy freaking the fuck out that a scout was giving me his card.
Damn! This is crazy!
“See you out there,” he said with a nod, then turned and walked away
Theo and I just waved, watching as Mr. Howard left. Once he was fully out of earshot, we slowly turned to look at each other. I imagine my eyes were just as wide as Theo’s. Without thinking, we both latched onto each other—hugging and laughing—as the reality of what just happened sank in.
That was the dream when you joined a league like PCSHL. Not only was I getting noticed, but it was a scout for the Flyers’ farm team who saw us.
