“It’s called hockey. You won’t get any points for being holier than Maine.”
“And you won’t get a chance to advance past them if we lose tonight.”
I shrug at his conclusion, grabbing a handful of popcorn as I settle back into my seat. “Never claimed to be on your side, Xanxan.”
I don’t know what the coaching staff did to convince the Mother Teresa of hockey, but a few minutes into the second period Xander checks the left defender into the boards with absolutely zero reservations. I wince in sympathy, although the sentiment is short-lived when Nate gets the puck, hammering it toward the net. It rebounds from the pipe, but it finally breaks the spell.
With one minute left on the clock for the second period, the Bats swap their first line in again. Maine’s center fucks up a pass, and the puck hits Nate’s tape instead. He sends the rubber disc flying to Xander, who breaks off in a mad dash.
The Maine defense is closing in on him immediately, Nate and Baker too far away for a passing opportunity.
I bite down hard on my thumb as I balance on the edge of my seat. A risk-averse player like Xander is not going to make a shot from this position, but he’s about to lose the puck and–
“SHOOT! Shoot, godfuckingdamnit, SHOOT!”
There’s no way Xander heard me over the noise of the crowd, but the moment the words leave my mouth he lifts his stick and slaps the puck, with no finesse and a lot of raw force. The buzzer goes off and the dark green corner around me explodes.
For a moment, Xander looks completely befuddled by his own goal. He just stands there, stick held loosely in his right hand, staring at the net, as his teammates swarm him with hugs and shoulder pats.
I laugh, surprised and still in disbelief when he skates over to me, pounding his fist against the plexiglass.
“Today’s Wordle,” he calls out, his voice muffled by the mouthguard, “was SCORE!”
I snort when he takes a few strides back and has the audacity to point his fucking stick right at me.
***
The third period drags on like cold molasses. The game is only playing out between the blue lines, with the Bats fiercely defending their lead while Maine presses on with all they got. In the end, St. Bernard’s takes it home. It’s not a pretty win, but it’s worth two points.
I wait in the parking lot for Nate when Xander slides into the passenger seat of my car.
“Sure, make yourself at home, why don’t you,” I snort.
“Nate’s gonna get out in a minute anyways,” Xander tells me, stretching out his long legs with a comfortable sigh.
I look over to my brother who is stuffing both of their duffel bags into the trunk.
“Yup. Party at the Delta’s house. I would ask you to come but I know–”
I wave him off before he can finish that sentence. For my last semester I have a full schedule on Friday mornings.
“Go easy on the drinks!” Xander calls after my brother when Nate exits the car a moment later.
My brother gives him a mock-salute, then tracks up the lawn to the frat house. Silence falls over us like a heavy curtain while we watch him disappear into the building.
I bite the inside of my cheek, realizing this is the first time Xander and I are alone since Christmas break. Somehow the string of DMs we exchanged over the past few weeks feels meaningless now, neither of us getting a word out.
“Do you know how to get back to the dorms from here?” he asks the moment I put the car in reverse. His voice is scratchy, probably from bossing his teammates around on the ice. Yet it reminds me of his husky moans when I entered him from behind.
“Yes,” I murmur, then clear my throat to repeat louder, “Yes.”
“Good.”
The answer is curt and sharp, a verbal piece of broken glass. Xander’s head is turned away from me as I navigate the dark streets of St. Bernard’s Campus. Every time he shifts in his seat, a whiff of his shampoo fills the air. For some reason, the soft citrusy smell always takes me back to that bus ride after the game against the Grizzlies.
“Can I ask you something?”
I blink myself back into reality, then roll my eyes at him.
