Hayes: Okay, still weird, but continue.
Hutch: No, no more continuing. As the captain, I’m telling you all to drop it for today. Leave him alone. We’ll talk to him tomorrow IF he’s ready to talk. Got it?
Lawson: Ugh. Fine. Aye aye, Captain.
Hutch: No, please. Don’t.
Hayes: Aye aye, Captain.
Fox: Aye aye, Captain.
Locke: Aye aye, Captain.
Hutch: I hate you guys.
Lawson: Stop flirting with me. You’re almost a married man.
Hutch: Because Keller isn’t here to say it, I hate you most, Lawsy.
Lawson: I love you too, Cap.
CHAPTER 8
KELLER
“Hustle, boys! Gotta go faster because Edmonton is the absolute definition of it.”
I push my legs harder, relishing the burn of my quads. It’s exactly what I need after the events of the last two days.
Practice couldn’t come soon enough today. Being cooped up in my apartment suddenly became my worst nightmare, and I tried everything to distract myself from texting Chloe again. I played video games, scrolled through countless streaming apps for something to watch, and even bought and assembled a new cat tower, even though Percy didn’t need one.
None of it worked. I couldn’t stop thinking of her, so when my alarm went off this morning—the one I was already awake for—I sprang out of bed and got dressed in record time before hopping into my Audi R8. Sure, pushing the car to the max speed limit I could manage on Seattle streets was nice, but it’s nothing compared to being out on the ice and feeling that cold air against my cheeks.
Like every Canadian kid, I grew up loving hockey with dreams of making it to the show. I worked my ass off for it, so when I was passed up the first year I was eligible for the draft,I accepted that my dream would likely never come true. I made peace with it.
Then, unexpectedly, it happened the next year—I was drafted by New York. Even then, I still didn’t think I’d make it. If I were lucky, I’d play a few years in the minors and call it a career. But that’s not what happened. I kept working on my game. I committed to getting better. And in my freshman year, I had a breakthrough. I wasn’t just racking up points for Denver, I was getting noticed. I was making a name for myself. By the summer before my senior year, it paid off.
I remember getting that call saying I’d be signing a two-year entry-level deal, and I recall the look on Chloe’s face, too. She was scared. The possibility of me playing was always there, but it never felt within reach. Suddenly, it was real, more real than anything else had ever been until that point.
She thought I’d leave her and never look back. It couldn’t have been further from what was going through my mind, which was exactly why I got down on one knee and proposed to her in my shitty apartment, which I shared with too many of my teammates. And it’s why she said yes, too. She was afraid to lose me, to lose us.
Sometimes I wonder if everyone was right to call us crazy back then, because let’s face it—we were. Then I remember how I felt in that moment, like everything I ever wanted was clicking into place, and it wasn’t just because of hockey. It was Chloe, too. I still feel that way about her, and I still feel that way about hockey.
“Keller!”
I snap my head up, looking at our assistant coach, who is waiting for me to join the scrimmage. I don’t bother apologizing; I just dig right in and get to work. I battle against my teammate for the puck. It might just be practice, but we still give it our all, which is why we’re both cursing and sweating by the time I get itfree. I zip it over to Locke, who is not-so-patiently waiting for it, and he shoots it toward Fox. He catches it easily, then chucks it to the side.
We start all over again. The team runs drills until we’re all gasping for air, then gathers in a circle around Coach Smith.
“Great practice, boys,” he says. “Playing hard, which we need more than ever right now. Every point before the break counts. I know some of you have big plans for it”—he looks at Hutch, who is finally marrying his billionaire fiancée—“but we can’t forget about getting ready for what’s to come after it. So, these next few weeks mean a lot. It’s the difference between playing hard until the last game of the regular season and being able to breathe and give a couple of guys a rest. So, let’s play smart, yeah? Fight hard. We fucking got this.”
A few cheers go up in agreement, but I stay silent. I’ve been so distracted by Chloe showing up that I almost forgot how much work we still have to do to get into a better playoff spot. Sure, we’re sitting pretty right now, but Coach is right—every point matters. Every shift, every game. I don’t have time for distractions…but I don’t think I could stay away if I tried.
“All right. Let’s call it for the day. Hutch, my office in ten. The rest of you check in where needed before you leave. You know what to do to be ready to play tonight.”
We acknowledge that we’ve heard him before he skates off the ice. A few guys break away to work on other aspects of their game, while others head straight for the dressing room, likely meeting with trainers and checking in with medical before taking off.
I stay. I spend another thirty minutes out there, pretending I don’t notice the way several of the Singles are waiting around for me. I saw their texts in the group chat last night, and I know they have questions. I wasn’t ready to answer them quite yet, and I’m still not.
