All the ruckus barely flickers in the corner of my eye; I’m focused on the field where our second offensive line is doing its best to add another point to the two goals Nate and I scored already. Right now, he’s slumped next to me, our shoulders pressed together.
We’re wordlessly turning our heads at the same time as the game rushes past us. My fingers clutch my stick tight enough to hurt, but I can’t relax a single muscle.
With all that’s been going on the past few weeks, it has become impossible for the coaches to keep our heads on our shoulders.And I don’t see that happening any time soon, because we’re well on our way to put the New Hampshire Wildcats in their place.
Nate especially is ravenous for another goal. When we swap back in, he flies over the ice, outracing anyone trying to cover him.
Usually, I’m the one to pull him along, but right now I have to haul ass to keep up. I push harder so I’m there for the quick pass he shoots me. Flicking the puck between my legs I slingshot it back over without looking, trusting that he’ll be there.
A Wildcat dives in front of me, falling for the ruse. Their outstretched stick gets caught between my legs; I stumble—
It doesn’t matter, because Nate is free in front of the net.
The lamp lights up, and just like that we’re three points ahead. I rush toward Nate, grinning broadly. We’re both yelling as we bump into each other. Our helmets clank together, and for a moment Nate’s face is only inches away from mine.
His exhilarated roar rings in my ears, drowning out the shouts of the crowd. His green eyes stare right into my very core. Then he pushes off effortlessly, leaving me to gather up my scattered thoughts as he turns toward the curve of Wildcats’ fans, hissing at them like a kitten, his fingers formed as claws.
I laugh at his antics. Seeing him taunt our opponents is unusual but definitely funny.
Two periods later, the bell rings for the last time and the stands practically explode. We managed to keep our own net clean, with the five—five!—goals we scored glowing on the board. My teammates rush from the bench, yelling and cheering. Soon, we’re all balled up in little groups, doing victory rounds.
One of those times, I’m arm in arm with Nate, grinning at him.
He grins back and doesn’t flit away this time.
***
We all rush through our showers, eager to join the crowds that have taken their elated mood to the outside of the stadium and across the whole campus. There’s no escaping the constant slaps on the back from strangers. It feels great when everyone celebrates like this, and since I’ve done my part to earn it, I’m gladly reaping the praise.
Invitations for early Halloween parties are flung at us as we’re heading back to our dorm to dump our stuff. We already know where to go though; there’s a house party thrown by our captain, so the whole team will be at his place, along with half the school’s athletes.
This time, I don’t give Nate any shit when he gets into the driver’s seat. To my surprise, he doesn’t stall the car once. Instead, he drives fast enough to make me cling to the door handle when we fly around a corner.
“Scared?” he teases, making me raise a brow.
“With you at the wheel? Always,” I throw back, but it only makes him laugh before he takes the next turn just as fast, making my heart jump into my throat.
The street is already packed with cars when we arrive, so we have to walk a short distance. The cool evening air is rich with laughter and the vibrating bass of techno music. We are greeted by the sight of Taylor emptying his stomach into a nearby rose bush. Beside me, Nate snorts.
“It’s that kind of party, huh?”
We squeeze through the crowds until we find the rest of our team. Drinks are pushed at us left and right, blurring out the happy drunk faces that are smiling up at me. Once I’m out of the throng of people, I catch sight of a couple of my classmates.
“Be right back,” I lean down to talk into Nate’s ear, nodding over to the corner. He blinks up at me for a moment, so I lean in closer, yell a little louder. I’m not sure if he understood me,because he just shrugs and turns to take a Jell-o shot from a stranger dressed like a cat.
By the time I find him again, about an hour later, Nate’s swaying. He’s laughing at something one of the frat bros standing in their little circle is saying. A twinge of jealousy bolts through me, too quick to be squashed down.
Fuck knows why, but for some reason a part of me seems to have forgotten that I’ve known Nate for three years; it’s like I’m seeing him clearly for the first time right now, in this overcrowded room, in the middle of a Halloween party: how he tips his head back as he laughs, his pale throat a contrast to his flushed cheeks, the bright glow in his eyes as he keeps listening to whatever joke is told next.
I can’t tear my eyes away and promptly run into a gaggle of girls. At least I’m given a few moments to gather my thoughts as I apologize to them.
Maybe it’s because Nate suddenly decided to explore new sides of himself. These past two weeks he dressed differently, behaved differently, and has justbeen different. I’m not used to him talking back to me and arguing over my game. It’s unexpected but also…hotto have him claim the puck, or demand a pass back, to feel challenged by him.
Or maybe it’s because we’re clicking so well on the ice—seemingly reading each other’s thoughts, tuned into every movement—that causes the treacherous flutter in my stomach.
It’s there right now, when I squeeze past the girls in their color-coordinated costumes to make my way over to Nate, who is only wearing his hockey jersey over jeans. Same as me, because none of us wanted to dress up and hide what we were tonight: winners.
“There you are!” He grins, reaching up so he can drape his arm around my shoulder. He tugs me into the group of people that I haven’t paid any attention to.
