I think the other guys are already here. I’m usually the last one to join anyway, as I’m the last one off the ice and out of the locker room. So, that would track.
The boys are in our section, one that has grown over the last couple of years since a lot of the guys have partnered up and always have a plus-one at their sides.
“There he is!” Alec Kostelecky, our captain and center on the team, welcomes me with a little wave, his wife, Laura, smiling in her chair next to him.
“Yeah, yeah.” I chuckle softly.
“About time,” Jensen Donnelley, Nighthawks defenseman, chuffs, pulling out the chair to his right.
Lainey, Jensen’s fiancée, smiles at me from the other side of Jensen. “Great game, Matt.”
“Thanks, Lainey.” I nod, my chest warming at her compliment.
She leans over Jensen to get closer to me. “How’re your hips feeling?”
That question might seem random if Lainey was just Jensen’s girl, but she is also one of the team’s physical therapists, who has been helping me with some hip flexor tightness lately. But it’s been getting better.
“Good.” I shout over the song change, the volume jumping a thousand decibels.
Offering me a thumbs-up and a grin, she leans back in her chair and turns to mingle with her friend and WAG Morgan Dove. Cam Costello, or Costy, is one of our forwards. He’s happily married to Morgan. In fact, everyone at this damn table is happily in a relationship. Alec and Laura. Cam and Morgan.
Reed, one of our defensemen, and Charlotte. Brett, a power forward for us, and Piper, Coach Hartwell’s daughter. Jensen and Lainey. Even Luca, Lainey’s brother and Jensen’s best friend, found love after he transferred in at the end of last season.
I’m the only one in our tight friend group to not find their person. Most of the time, I laugh it off, knowing that my only focus right now is my game play and my team. But sometimes, seeing how happy they are, how they have someone to lean into when everything becomes too much, I’m envious.
But I don’t have time to get caught up in relationship drama now more than ever. We just secured our place in the Stanley Cup playoffs. I can’t change a single thing about my routine and schedule because I’m not about to risk pissing off the superstitious gods for my love life.
I’ll find love in the offseason or next season. Or maybe never. Who knows? What I do know is that hockey is the most important thing in my life, and nothing is going to change that.
A drink appears in front of me, courtesy of Hannah, one of the bartenders. She’s worked here as long as I’ve been on the team and we’ve been coming here. Most of the guys don’t always get the same drink. But I sure do.
Same exact order every single time. I drink the first half in three gulps and sip on the rest. I only ever have one drink, aside from special occasions.
“Aww, Alec, did you hear them?” Laura coos, looking over at the table of rookies, mixed with some of our younger players. “They’re talking about going to Fireflies.”
Fireflies is a club in New York City that’s been booming with business the last few years. Our group has gone there a few times, and it’s always a blast. That’s where Cam and Morgan actually first met.
The bar is noisy, as always, and our table is heavily contributing to that, their convos drowning out in my ears. I listen intently, jumping between different broken-off topics. Eventually, I get bored, instead replaying game moments in my head and watching clips on my phone from social media.
This is usually how I spend my celebration after games—decompress for a few minutes, then get right back in the saddle to get better. We won tonight, but the Norsemen were still able to put three points on the board, which was more than I’d like.
Two of the shots were earned, no doubt about that. They just outworked our guys, and at some point, there’s only so much you can do about it that isn’t pure luck.
Swiping out of the highlight reel the league’s page posted, I search our team and click into the most recent post that went up only eleven minutes ago. The caption reads:Denied by Big Mac.
The video starts, and I immediately remember the play. Eighty-Four on their team stole the puck from Cam, before breaking away down the ice toward me. The footage I had studied of him didn’t serve me with any assistance because he didn’t shoot five-hole like he typically did nine out of ten times on breakaways. Instead, he quick released it and tried to sneak it over my shoulder. But I read that move as soon as he made the decision to act, maybe even before then.
I gloved it with ease, denying their go-ahead goal. The very next face-off, Alec took a shot from the blue line and Reed Larinski tipped it in, giving us the lead—four to three—saving us from going into overtime when the clock ran out only a minute later.
Liking the video, I open the comments, mentally preparing myself for any ugliness waiting for me. Pride blooms in my chest as I read the first few comments.
He’s unstoppable!
MacArthur’s going to take us all the way!
I’m a fan of the Nighthawks because of this guy.
Big Mac! Big Mac! Big Mac!
