Page 12

Caleb

“You got this, Ace,” I yell, banging on the wall. He misses the shot, but we’re up by three. Coach said I won’t get ice time today, and there’s not much to do except cheer my guys on.

Mason’s lagging behind tonight because of his leg. Grayson notices and watches him, clenching his jaw. He can’t do his job when players aren’t honest. Mason feels like he has something to prove and won’t sit out. Hopefully, it won’t bite him in the butt later.

Our defenseman steals the puck and keeps it on his stick for a shift change. The third line goes over the wall, and Gray descends on Mason.

Leo’s piercing gaze scrutinizes their interaction, radiating worry. Things between them are better, but Mason is skeptical. I don’t blame him since Leo broke his promises in the past.

The crowd gets my attention, and I watch the same defender shield Liska as the other team scores. He won’t be here much longer since he’s making the same mistake over and over, costing us goals. Liska’s trying not to lose his shit.

Leo and the goalie coach have their heads together. There’s only fifty-three seconds left in the second period, so I doubt they’ll call a timeout. Otherwise, they’d want to calm Liska down.

To prevent my mind from fantasizing about my best friend’s straight father, I join the crowd in chanting, “Lis-ka, Lis-ka.”

The period ends, and while I’m picking up a few drink bottles, the hairs on my neck stand up. I turn to find Leo’s eyes on me, and he tilts his head to signal me to get in the locker room.

“Get going,” he says, and my feet move quickly toward him and the team.

My life would be so much easier if I could erase my attraction. He has this hold on me, and every part of me longs to please him for his praise.

It doesn’t help that, during practice, he highlights my best plays and compliments my skills. It’s like a drug I can’t get enough of. Like, I’d do anything to get more. Except I can’t.

The way he watches me sometimes, I doubt he’s as straight as I thought. Or it’s wishful thinking. I’m not Leo’s type even if he’s bi.

During the third period, I sit next to a fuming Mason because Gray has convinced Coach he’s injured.

One second, everything in the game is fine, and the next, Liska is out of the goal, screaming at our defense. Coach calls a timeout, and Ace holds Liska so he doesn’t hit his own defender. Rarely do you see the goalie brawl with a teammate, but I don’t blame him.

“Benz, you’re in,” Coach barks, and my ears ring.

I haven’t done my pregame rituals or centering before getting in the goal. I’m not ready.

“Get out there. Now!” Coach yells, and I hop up.

Taking a deep breath, I focus on clearing my mind. But it won’t clear. I can only see Liska’s face twisted in anger and feel my confidence slipping.

If Liska can’t handle the defender shielding him, I won’t do any better.

I’ll do worse.

That thinking won’t help the team.

That’s my job—help the team.

I can’t fail them.

The well-worn ice from the game slips under my skates, and the crowd cheers. My hand raises in appreciation, knowing they’ll turn if I don’t play well.

Ace, our fearless captain, bangs my helmet as I go by and says, “We got your back, Benz.”

I hit my stick against the defender’s and mentally speak to my pipes. They’re a goalie’s best friend, and I’ll take all the help they can give me.

The bright lights are muted by my visor, and the crowd quiets as the ref gets in position to drop the puck. Drake crouches low and jumps into action, passing to Ace in a fluid motion so fast their center doesn’t react in time.

We have several chances to score, but the puck doesn’t find the back of the net. Too soon they’re on my half of the ice, and I’m not centered enough to trust my instincts. Their right wing fakes right but shoots left, and I fall for it.

They score, and it’s because I predicted wrong.

Coach calls a timeout and motions me over.

The goalie coach slaps my shoulder. “Shake it off. You’ll get it next time.”

Leo pulls me into his space so his head is half under my tipped-back helmet. His deft hand works its way between my pads to find the bare skin of my neck.

“What do you need?” he asks, low and urgent. His fingers skate over my racing pulse, making it hard to answer. “You’re not in game mode. How can I help you get there?”

That snaps me out of my muddled thoughts. “Calm and focus,” I reply and shut my eyes.

The clear pond comes into view in my mind’s eye, and I concentrate to make the image sharper. I visualize my negative thoughts as toxins, washing them away in the cleansing water.

I hum and Leo hums along with me, so the vibration bounces between us, increasing in strength and doubling my energy and clarity. Once again, Leo circumvents my downward spiral.

The timeout is about to end, and my hands gripping his forearms drop as he steps away.

“Wait.” Leo grabs a water bottle. “Watch.” He squirts the water in the air, a goalie trick to reset your mind. “Again, this time, watch one drop.”

I do as he asks because it engages my eye-tracking ability.

“Great job. Trust yourself.” Leo smiles, and I’m ready for the game. All my negative thoughts are left on the bench.

They try the exact same play they scored on, but I’m ready for the fake and the puck lands in my glove. I’m in tune with their movements and can predict their plays and track the puck with precision.

The crowd cheers wildly every time I make a save. My confidence grows exponentially, and I have the same giddy feeling I got last season when I played in Liska’s absence. I will be the Enforcers’ starting goalie. It’s inevitable.

This is what I was born to do. The ice talks to me and tells me how the puck will slide, the pipes deflect the puck every chance they get, and I’m unstoppable.

At the end of the game, the team surrounds me. Hands smack congratulations on my helmet, back, shoulders, and jersey. No part of my upper torso is left untouched by their gratitude.

By the bench, Mason wraps me in a hug. “Dude, you played out of your mind. So many shots should have gone in, but it’s like there was a spell on the goal repelling them.”

I laugh, not because it’s ridiculous, but because it feels true.

Leo waits for me outside the locker room with a beaming smile.

“I’m proud of you. It’s hard to redirect your mind after getting scored on.

I’m impressed with how fast you dropped to save the quick shot between your legs.

He usually shoots over your left shoulder, and even I wouldn’t have saved that goal. ” His hand rests on my upper arm.

All-Star, record-holding, shutout king Leo Griffin told me I made a save he wouldn’t have. It’s not malarky. That’s not how Leo operates. I could walk on the clear water of my pond right now. I’m flying.

Mason returns from the treatment room, glancing at me enough that I can tell he wants to say something. “What? I’d ask if I have food on my face, but that’s impossible.”

He chuckles. “Nothing is impossible when it comes to you and food.” His gaze swings around the locker room to ensure no one is listening. “He really helped you today, didn’t he? My dad.”

He’ll know if I lie. “Yeah. I wasn’t ready and…” I trail off because Mason understands my pregame mental prep.

“He knew how to get you in the right headspace.” His shoulders droop.

I nod guiltily. It sucks that they don’t get along. It sucks that Leo gets me. It sucks that I have to pretend I’m not a middle school boy fawning over his crush.

“Don’t feel bad. Him knowing his shit makes it better and worse at the same time. Ya know?” He plops down on the bench, and I sit next to him.

I do know. It validates the reason Leo’s here, but it makes it hard for Mason to accept.

“I’m going to tell him to keep his job.” Mason sits tall and looks me in the eye.

“Don’t do it for me.” I worry that he’ll resent me later.

“There’s no better reason than you. And it’s for me too. It’ll suck answering a thousand questions about a falling-out with my dad.”

“Are you sure?” I hope they can work past Leo’s mistakes.

“Yeah. I’ll text him and ask him to go to dinner. Will you come?” he asks.

Although I’m dying to spend more time with Leo, they need to work through this without me.

“Nah. I’ll come next time.”

Leo is going to be thrilled. My stomach is all fluttery at thinking of spending the season with his praise.

I push the guilt aside and tell myself it’s the best thing for my career. My heart laughs but won’t object.

Later that night, I get a text.

Leo: I hope you’re in bed

Me: All snuggly waiting for you to check wink emoji

He doesn’t respond, but I hold my phone to my chest all night waiting for the impossible.