“Carina spoke with Keeley. You were right. She’s been struggling,” Gauthier murmured under his breath to me.
We were standing in the private lounge at Austin-Bergstrom International, waiting to be ushered onto a bus that would take us to the barn for tonight’s game. It was the second to last preseason game. Most had been held in smaller arenas in cities without teams. Austin had the AHL, the Dallas Stars’ feeder team, so tonight’s game was on their turf. But I was the home-grown boy, and the crowds loved me.
“She was pretty upset when I spoke with her yesterday.”
“Carina and Rusty are going there this afternoon. They’re taking Hannah for a few hours.”
I smiled, but jealousy ate at me. I wanted us to be the people who helped her—Spencer and me saving the day.
“Thanks for checking on her,” I grumbled.
Gauthier bit back a grin, and I narrowed my eyes. “What?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all.” He chuckled and shook his head, then walked away.
“That’s horseshit,” I muttered under my breath. There was more Gauthier wanted to say, but he was already moving on to a conversation with Rossi and Dupont.
***
The visitor’s locker room was the same as virtually every other changing room I’d been in. Bench seats ran the length of the long, narrow room, with cubbies built into the walls. They were grey, completely devoid of personality. The Seals’ rooms were a bright purple, with flags hanging from the high roof and a vibe you couldn’t match. The visitor digs were a way of psyching out the opponents.
It didn’t matter, though. We were sitting pretty so far. One loss, three wins, one of which was a shutout. Tonight we were going to make it four wins. Y’all, it was too early to tell, but I felt a vibe. This team was going to do it.
I tightened my laces and slid the bucket onto my head before following the team down the tunnel. We were about to be announced. Imagine Dragons’ “Whatever It Takes” started, and I looked around at the boys. They were surprised. It wasn’t the song we were used to opening to. But it worked.
Kuznetsov bopped his head, and Gauthier and Minns danced. Hux cracked his neck, and Rune stretched his back, looking like a padded wall of muscle as he rapped the lines about being born to run.
Mironov clapped me on the shoulder and asked, “Any of the Stars on your shit list?”
“Not yet, but I’ll let y’all know. You gonna let any of them score?”
“Wash that mouth out, new guy,” Rune chirped back.
“Hey, I’m not dissin’ your abilities—”
The announcer called us out, and Mironov shouted, the sound somewhere between a battle cry and howl. Rune followed, hyping us up. We rallied together, slamming our sticks against the padded floor as we burst out of the tunnel and straight onto the ice. We were laughing big, our smiles splitting our faces. This was why we played—the adrenaline, the high from winning.
And win we would.
***
“Let’s go, let’s go,” Gauthier shouted, earning another slap of sticks on the ice.
The game was brutal. The Stars were fast on the ice, easily matching our pace, and unlike the Grizzlies, they had finesse on their side. Their forwards were precise and their defense in the right place at the right time. Every time.
But we were outclassing them.
I deked left, then slapped the puck to Mironov. Gauthier broke away, streaking down the ice. I followed, keeping the angles open for him to pass back even as the Stars choked his angles. Gauthier crossed the blue line and slung it to Hux, who immediately passed to Minns. They tic-tac-toed it straight to within shooting distance of the goal while I came up the inside, ignored by their defense. Their goalie shifted, leaving his left side exposed. Minns wound up. Texas’s goalie bit. But instead of shooting, Minns shot it to me. The puck struck my tape. I dug my blades into the ice. Then I tipped it up, lifting the biscuit right into the net.
The buzzer sounded, and I threw my hands up. “Yee haw,” I cried. My first goal as a Seal. My teammates surrounded me, backslapping me and rapping their knuckles on my bucket.
“You’ll do,” Mironov teased and I grinned back.
“Y’all love me already,” I shot back, grasping his hand and butting our heads together. Fuck, it felt good being on the ice with this group of men. The Blizzards were a great team. The head coach and all the support staff were professional. There were cliques on the team that made it feel like camaraderie, but it wasn’t like this. It wasn’t whole team celebrations when the new guy got his first goal.
I flipped the puck over in my hand, then tossed it to the team medic. “Trisha, put that somewhere safe for me?” I asked.
“You got it, Miller.”
