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My first year of college, he came to one of my games where we won, but I had two minor penalties and then got thrown out with two minutes left for back-checking their star center into the boards. Coach wasn’t happy with me, but I didn’t think it was a huge deal. We won. I led the team in hits and had two blocks. So what if I also got kicked out?

Afterward, Mike took me to a diner where they served breakfast all day. I scarfed down eggs and bacon while Mike sipped a malt.

I didn’t notice how quiet he was—probably because I was running on a post-game high—until he said, “You’re playing against ghosts, Cam.”

I almost choked on my eggs. Immediately defensive because I knew he was right, I started to argue. But when he shook his head, I noticed he had tears in his eyes. That shut me up.

“You’re playing against ghosts, which means you can’t win. You will always lose,” he told me. “Every time. The only way to win is to stop playing against them. Let the ghosts go.”

I didn’t want to listen. I didn’t want to recognize the truth. In fact, after Mike dropped me off, I met up with my teammates and drank myself into oblivion.

But I woke up the next day with a pounding headache and an unignorable clarity: I didn’t want to fight the ghosts.

That one talk changed not only how I played hockey but how I lived. I still felt—and feel—hurt and rejected and confused. But I didn’t let those feelings be my fuel. I stopped fighting the ghosts.

And I never got to tell Mike that because soon after is when everyone found out about his affair. His life imploded, and it felt like the wrong time to thank him. We sort of drifted apart then. Nothing like what happened with my parents. We still talked, but he came to fewer games, and we didn’t have any more heart-to-hearts.

He was, I suspect, ashamed of his actions. And I was still just a kid, probably too focused on my own self to know what to say.

Anyway, tonight was the first time in years I thought about my parents not being here. But instead of those wounds reopening and being any kind of motivation for my play, I simply recognized the hurt and let it go.

Naomi and Liam being in the stands, being there for me was like a balm, soothing over those past scars.

I know this is probably too much weight to place on them. I’m moving too fast, wanting too much.

But it doesn’t seem possible to staunch the flow of my feelings. So, I just … gave in.

I didn’t even know what the score was for most of the game. I just knew I needed to win every battle along the boards, clear the zone, and hit anyone who had the puck. Each shift on the ice was about doing the work. For them.

The by-product, I guess, is that my teammates are thrilled.Yay.

“You’re coming over, right?” Felix asks.

Though a handful of the guys have already cleared out, our goalie still hasn’t showered. After a game, he sits in front of his stall for at least thirty minutes, stripped down to his bare chest up top but still wearing his goalie pants and pads. He’s never said why or what he’s thinking about when he sits there, but I suspect he’s trying to replay every shot on goal and his response.

Goalies are weird.

“I’ll be there,” I tell him. If I ever get out of this locker room. I’ve changed back into my game-day suit, which I probably will change out of as soon as we get to Felix’s. But I was in such a rush earlier, I left my other change of clothes in my car.

I don’t really mind wearing a suit in front of Naomi. She’s only ever seen me in beach clothes, hockey gear, and casual clothes.

“Are you bringing Naomi and Liam?” Eli clasps his hands together like he’s begging. “Please say yes. We need to thank them and see what we can do about getting them to every game so you play that well.”

“We promise not to embarrass you too much.” Van smirks.

“The rest of us promise that,” Logan says. “Van absolutely will embarrass you every chance he gets.”

“Consider it a test,” Van says with a shrug, finally pulling on some pants. “If she sticks around afterward, she’s worth it.”

“She’s totally worth it. Did you see this guy lay out their pretty-boy rookie?” Tucker asks. “It was glorious, man.”

“Yeah, you can’t jeopardize that,” Dumbo says, and Tucker gives him a high five. “Maintain the status quo.”

Dominik rolls his eyes and says something in Russian. Tucker looks down at his phone, then cackles.

“Dude, you shouldn’t say stuff like that about his ears. Or his mother.” When Dominik looks at him, confused, Tucker holds up his phone. “I got a translator so I could figure out if you were actually insulting us or not. Spoiler alert, everyone: he absolutelyisinsulting us. Dumbo, he said your big ears come from a mother who?—”

Tucker gets cut off when Dominik tackles him, grabbing for the phone. Dumbo piles on top, and I step around them all, straightening my tie and ignoring the scuffle.