He tells me about the fog that rolls in off the ocean in the mornings and how he sits on the porch with coffee and watches it burn off until the water appears.
“I can’t wait to see it,” I tell him.
“You’ll love it,” he says.
But I know I’ll never love anything as much as I love him.
11
Logan
The tunnel at the United Center in Chicago is narrow and cold. We're lined up single file, helmets on, sticks taped, waiting for our cue. Cole is at the front, and I’m right behind him. The noise from the arena above us is a deep, rolling thunder that vibrates through the floor and up through my skates.
Twenty-four hours ago, I was on a plane with a dead engine descending into Pittsburgh, gripping Blake's hand. Now I'm standing in a tunnel about to play a hockey game, and I’ve never felt more alive in my life.
The horn sounds and we hit the ice. The roar from the crowd is enormous. Eighteen thousand Chicago Chargers fans on their feet, not booing, not jeering, but applauding. The arena announcer's voice booms through the building.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the United Center and the Chicago Chargers organization would like to welcome the New York Renegades. We are grateful that all players, coaches, and staff are safe following yesterday's emergency landing in Pittsburgh. Let's show them how Chicago welcomes its guests.”
The ovation lasts a full minute. The Chargers players tap their sticks on the boards. Their captain skates over to Cole at center ice and shakes his hand, and the crowd gets louder.
Hockey is a brutal sport. We hit each other, fight each other, and talk shit about each other's mothers. But in moments like this, we're all the same. We're all men who go home to the people we love, and yesterday we were reminded that none of that is guaranteed.
When the puck drops, I’m flying.
My legs feel ten years younger, and every read I make is half a second faster than it should be. I close gaps before the Chargers forwards can think about entering the zone.
I step up at the blue line and strip their center clean and transition the puck to Liam in one motion. I lay out their power forward with a clean open-ice hit that sends him sliding into the boards, and the crowd groans.
Blake and I are in sync the way we are on our best nights, moving without speaking, covering each other's blind spots, switching seamlessly on zone entries.
In the second period, I take a point shot through traffic that deflects off a Chargers defenseman and trickles past the goalie. The red light goes off. My first goal in fourteen games.
The boys mob me against the glass. Liam jumps on my back and screams in my ear. Jake is yelling something about buying me a drink, and Torres, the rookie who was praying on the plane yesterday, is grinning so wide his mouth guard is falling out.
I skate back to the bench and sit down. The arena is loud and hostile, but I don't care.Jasmine loves me.Every single thing about this night feels like a second chance I don't deserve, but I'm taking anyway.
Third period, we lock it down. Cole scores on the power play, and Liam adds an insurance goal late. The Chargers push hard in the last five minutes, but our goalie is a wall, and Blake andI kill off a penalty with two minutes left by blocking everything Chicago throws at us.
Final score 4-2. The buzzer sounds, and the team pours off the bench. The celebration is louder than usual because every Renegades man knows that twenty=-four hours ago, we weren't sure we'd play this game.
In the locker room, the music is blasting, and Liam is standing on a bench conducting an invisible orchestra. Torres is FaceTiming his mother, who is crying and laughing at the same time. Theo is on the phone with Olivia, holding up the phone so Maya can hear the noise.
Cole finds me at my stall. “Hell of a game, Shaw. That goal was big.”
“Felt good.”
“You look different out there tonight. Lighter.”
“Almost dying will do that to you.”
Later, we head gather in the private dining room the hotel has reserved for us on the second floor. I sit between Blake and Theo with a plate of steak and potatoes and a beer I'm nursing slowly. The room is loud and warm, full of men who are happy to be alive and happy to have won and processing both of those things in the way hockey players process everything — by giving each other shit.
“I'm just saying, when the captain tells you to stay calm, you stay calm,” Jake says, pointing his fork at Torres. “You were over there saying Hail Marys.”
“I was praying for all of us,” Torres says. “You're welcome.”
“I was calm,” Liam says. “I was perfectly calm.”
