Page 29

ANDY

W ELL, IT’S AN honour to finally watch a game with you, I say.

Jacob scowls at me, since his grouchy exterior covers an even grouchier interior.

However, once he gets started on his passions—hockey and anime—he’s a great source of knowledge.

I have no interest in Japanese cartoons, but I still want to know more about hockey, partly for my sports editing, but also because I want to understand Jack better.

Since Jacob loves to test me, we’re currently perched on a scary catwalk, high above the arena.

I have a death grip on the metal railing, and my voice quavers. Has anyone other than the maintenance staff ever been up here before?

The higher up you get, the easier it is to see what’s going to happen. The game basically unfurls in front of you. But if you’re too scared…

Stop. I already know you’re not an asshole, so you can stop trying to be one, I say.

He chuckles. Okay, let’s watch the first period up here, then we can go downstairs.

When the game begins, it is easier to see the plays develop. I’m able to see the gap when a Mustangs defenceman lunges out of position for a body check, allowing a Lakeview College player to score the first goal.

Now I understand why Coach Norman yells on the bench, I say.

O.D. likes to hit. But you have to pick your spots, Jacob says.

Oh, was that Tom O’Donnell? Jack never talks about him, but he always tenses up when the big defenceman is around. I’m sure there’s something going on.

What’s O.D.’s story? I ask casually.

Jacob gives me a sidelong glance. You mean, what’s the story between O.D. and your boyfriend?

Is it ridiculous that I get a little thrill each time someone calls Jack my boyfriend? I nod.

O.D. is a bully. There’s only one way to deal with guys like him, Jacob says.

And Jack isn’t a person who feels comfortable standing up for himself.

He wants to get along with everyone, so his approach is to turn up the niceness.

But Jacob is right, some bullies won’t stop until you push back.

Ironically, if I were the one O.D. was bullying, Jack would defend me in a nanosecond.

As I turn back to the game, Jack passes the puck to Big Z, who does some fancy stickhandling and draws two Lakeview players to him. Then he sneaks the puck to Mats, who immediately shoots it high. Unfortunately, the goalie saves it.

That looked promising. Like something the coach drew up, I say.

Hockey is a unique combination of structure and improvisation, Jacob replies.

So philosophical. Can I steal that for an article?

Not if I use it first. He tries not to preen, but Jacob likes praise as much as every writer.

Have you read any of the comments on your game stories?

Not many, but they’ve been positive, thank goodness.

Both Jacob and C.J. have been doing an excellent job covering our home and away games.

Bryce ignores the sports section now that things are going well, and that’s a huge bonus.

It feels like everything is under control, so I’m starting to look for ways to expand coverage to intramurals and prepare for track and field.

Jacob snorts. As a former troll, I know better.

God, were you an actual troll? I’ve always wanted to meet one. Tell me, why bother? What’s the point?

It’s fun. That’s all the explanation he gives me.

This aloofness fits with Jacob’s personality.

He won’t admit that he enjoys writing the hockey stories, even though Mats told me he does.

Jacob lets me know how lucky I am to have him on board, and regularly threatens to quit.

But he’s not the only stubborn one around here.

Besides, who cares what his motivations are? Tonight’s my chance to ask all my burning hockey questions.

I mentally review my list. What happens to players after they graduate? Will any of them go on to play professional hockey?

Well, nobody’s going to the NHL, if that’s what you mean. But there are other leagues. The best players might play in the SPHL, the Southern Professional Hockey League.

Is that the league below the NHL? I ask.

Jacob’s derisive snort suggests that I’m an idiot.

It’s at least two leagues below, if you don’t count all the European leagues.

Monarch College plays in Div III. Div I is where the top players are, the guys that have already been drafted by NHL teams, as well as guys who will go on to play in the better professional leagues.

I wish I could take notes, but that would require releasing my iron grip on the railing. I’ll recap later and hope for the best. So, we’re below Division I and Division II?

He shrugs. Eh. There used to be a Div II, but it’s basically dissolved now. And to be honest, there are guys on this team who could play Div I.

Like Big Z? Even I could tell from the first game how good the team captain is.

Yeah. He played Div I in his freshman year, but there was some kind of incident and he transferred here, Jacob says.

Oh, gossip . What happened?

No idea.

I’m not sure if he genuinely doesn’t know, or just doesn’t want to tell me. I move on. Who else?

Matsumoto, definitely. Not sure why he’s here, especially since his brother is in the NHL. Scouts love all that bloodline shit.

His brother is in the NHL? I’ve never heard anyone mention that before. It seems like something guys would brag about.

Jacob doesn’t repeat himself, so he says nothing.

Anyone else? I ask.

Maybe your boyfriend could, Jacob allows. Sinc’s already the most improved player on the team. Besides, there are never enough right-shot defencemen. It’ll probably take him at least a season or two at this level, but he’s got potential.

Jack explained the whole concept of defencemen playing specific sides of the ice, so I have a vague understanding of what right-shot means. To my untrained eye, Jack looks like one of the best defencemen on the team, but I’m biased. Though I have noticed that his playing time is increasing.

We watch Jack strip the puck from a Lakeview forward and lead a rush up the ice.

Why do you think he’s improved so much? I have my own theories based on how hard Jack works, but I’m no expert.

Jacob shrugs. A combination of factors. Understanding a new team’s systems. Coaching. Confidence. He smirks, so some insult is coming. Or maybe because he’s getting some.

Pfft. That’s what the guys who aren’t getting any say.

Oof, she bites back. He laughs. Actually, you’ll probably be the only person interested in this. I was trying to figure out why no other colleges had tried to recruit Sinc, so I looked up his record in junior hockey. You know what I found out?

I shake my head, but feel a thrill of anticipation. Personality-wise, Jack is an open book, but he’s very modest about his hockey accomplishments.

When Jack was eighteen—his draft year—he was only 5’10” and 160 pounds.

He was a good skater, but too small for a defenceman.

When he got taller and stronger, it took a while for his game to catch up.

Jacob points down at Jack’s silky skating.

What we see now is Jack Sinclair in his fully evolved form.

College-level coaching will help even more.

So maybe he could be one of those players who gets signed out of college? I ask.

Jacob chortles. Oooh, someone’s been doing her homework. Are you hoping to become an NHL WAG?

My life-long dream, I drawl.

Sinc’s not going to the NHL, but he’s got a shot at another league. His chances will be better if the Mustangs make the playoffs and scouts see him. If not, Coach Norman has some connections.

Jack wants to play hockey for as long as possible, and I’m happy that he might get a chance. The buzzer sounds to end the first period. I stretch my legs and flex my tensed hands. Then we make our way down to safer ground.

After a 2-1 win by the Mustangs, I go with Jacob to check out the game video. Alex, the video guy, now treats me with a wary respect. Apparently, being the sports editor is worth something.

Jacob has already dictated his game story to me.

His latest party trick is doing period-by-period summaries, which I edit in real time.

This system allows us to have two-thirds of the story ready before the game is even over.

Of course, a crazy third period could necessitate a complete rewrite, but generally our stories are posted quickly, usually within an hour of the game ending.

The readers love it, and we’re both free early.

Jacob can work on video analysis for the coaches, and I can have a social life.

As soon as we’ve filed the story, I rush over to wait for Jack.

At first, I hated waiting in the hallway with fans, family, and girlfriends.

I felt intimidated by women like Mats’s girlfriend, the icily perfect Lana, or Big Z’s ever-changing carousel of glamorous dates.

However, watching games with the other girlfriends turned out to be fun.

The beautiful girlfriends turned out to be human and likeable.

I’m ashamed of the stereotypes I held on to for so long, especially since I bristle anytime someone judges me based on my Asian features.

As with any group, some people are more simpatico than others. My favourites are Rosie, Connor Wahl’s girlfriend, and Anna-Lee, who dates Grant Schmidt. Both girls are seniors like me, so we bonded over our impending job uncertainty. I wind through the crowd and greet them.

Andy! Where were you tonight? We were looking for you, Anna-Lee exclaims.

I watched from the catwalk with Jacob. He’s still educating me about hockey, I explain.

I’ve watched hockey my whole life and I still don’t know enough to understand what Connor is talking about, complains Rosie.

Goalies are more analytical, I think. They have to watch the entire game unfold, says Anna-Lee.

I thought goalies were famous for being weird.

Connor is the most superstitious person I’ve ever met.

Once I moved his water bottle on a game day and he flipped out.

Rosie laughs. But then he ended up getting a shut-out, so now I have to move the water bottle before every game. He’s crazy, she says affectionately.

I’m intrigued. What other superstitions does he have? This might make a fun story for a player profile—if Connor is willing to talk. He’s not the most effusive guy.

Rosie motions to herself. I have to wear his jersey. And this necklace that he got me for Christmas last year. Thank god he’s never noticed what underwear I have on after a big win, because I’d probably have to wear them every game—without washing them.

We all giggle, but I feel a twist of guilt. Jack would like me to wear his jersey too. He’s never asked, but I can sense it. But I worry that the sports editor shouldn’t favour one player over the others. Or maybe I’m overthinking things again.

Hey, Andy. Jack’s deep voice cuts through the noisy corridor. When our eyes meet, his handsome face glows brighter than the harsh fluorescent lighting. Jack’s delight in seeing me makes my Grinch-heart grow three sizes. He’s even happier tonight, since the team won.

He swoops me up in a bear hug and gives me a quick smooch. I straighten my jacket when he puts me down, wishing I didn’t blush so easily.

You played so well tonight, I say as we wind our way out of the arena. Jack’s arm is draped over my shoulders, and I lean into him. After a Saturday game we usually head to the pub with the rest of the team.

Really? And what did I do? he quizzes.

You stopped those two Lakeview players all by yourself. What’s the hockey term for that?

Jack grins. Broke up the two-on-one.

Got it. Also, you were your usual stud defenceman self. His eyes widen in mock surprise. Have I ever told you how hot you are when you talk hockey? You’re such an expert now.

I studied with the best. I jab him with an elbow.

You sure did. He squinches one eye. Wait, wasn’t tonight the night you watched the game with Jacob? Did he feed you those lines?

I laugh. How dare you. I thought everything up myself. Although I did rehearse ahead of time. But, speaking of Jacob, he said some interesting things about you.

Like what?

Like how much you’ve improved. And how you could be playing at a higher level. He’s surprised you weren’t scouted more.

Jack shrugs. I’m still learning. Coach Norman is teaching me a ton.

He lifts my hand and kisses the back of it. I also play better now because of you.

You’re going to have to explain that. I recall Jacob’s theory. Unless it’s just because you’re getting some.

He throws back his head and laughs heartily. As magical as our sex life is, it doesn’t affect my hockey. But knowing that you’re there, supporting me—that makes me feel more confident.

I stare up at him in surprise. That’s such a beautiful way to describe a relationship: that the person you’re with inspires you to be better. I reach up to kiss him.

You do the same for me. Your unwavering support gives me the wings to fly higher.

Jack stops and leans his forehead against mine. You make things sound more poetic. I’m not sure how I make you better, but I’m grateful that I do.

Our faces are so close, I can feel his warm breath against my skin as he speaks. Everything about Jack is like a comforting hug.

It’s perfect that we each think we’re the lucky one, I say softly.

Would you two get a room? hollers Ethan as he passes us to enter the pub.

Oh, we will. In fact, this could be our new routine: game, pub, then back to my room for some addictive sex.