Page 15

Caleb

It’s time to get this locker room pumped up. Lucky’s busy trying not to stare at Drake, so it looks like I’m in charge of the music today. I scan my playlists and pick one to amp ourselves up to beat our long-standing rivals, Boston.

“Let’s go, dancing dudes. Get your moves on.” Standing on the center bench in the locker room, I twerk, my ass cheeks bouncing and jiggling. Lucky gets up too, and we booty bump.

This is the distraction my mind needs from Leo and our kiss.

Leo came to the apartment last night to check on Mason, since he’s out for two weeks with a hamstring pull, and we watched a movie.

I dissected his every word and move, but I don’t have any clue what he thinks about our kiss.

His gaze wandered to my legs. At least I think it did.

I’ve been texting my accountability for meals and bedtime, but he hasn’t responded. Now isn’t the time to dwell on that.

“Get over here, Ace,” I sing my words in tune with the music. If our captain dances, everyone participates and we always win. It’s a proven fact: the team that dances together wins.

Ace pulls on his compression shirt, then joins us.

“Hell yeah!” Lucky whoops.

In various states of dress, the team either dances or bobs their heads in time with the music. My goal is to get Drake to dance one day. But if Lucky can’t do it, I’m not sure what chance I have.

I feel his eyes on me as soon as he enters the locker room and almost fall off the bench. Lucky grabs my hips and steadies me. A hysterical laugh bubbles out when Drake growls, but my neck heats from Leo’s frown.

I’m unsure if he disapproves of the dancing or me or our kiss.

The temptation to hide from his stare pulls at my skin, but I resist. My team counts on me for pregame dancing.

It’s part of our ritual, and I won’t deprive the team of it because Leo might not like it.

More staff enters, and it’s time to end the party and get serious about the game.

“It’s time to show Boston who’s boss.” I do one last twerk and turn the music down, just before Coach enters. He speaks to Gray and the physical therapist. They must be giving him the injury rundown for the day.

King’s by his locker, and I realize he wasn’t dancing earlier. He’s shy but becoming more comfortable with the team. I wonder if he’s nervous about the game.

We beat Boston in the preseason, but the game was a mess.

King’s stepbro plays for them, and that’s a different type of rivalry, deep-seated and angry.

It was also the game that Richardson, our former third-line center, spoke to the press like a crybaby about how we have a toxic team.

He was the player everyone hated. We traded him for a new defender, Kenney. Best decision ever.

Ace makes his way over to King to check in.

“We’re playing your stepbrother again. Are you worried about him? Or the media?” Ace asks with compassion. King’s stepbro, Theo, targeted him with questionable hits during the last game.

“The press asks the same questions over and over. It’s like they think I’m suddenly going to divulge some big secret.

” He straightens and holds his fist up like a microphone.

“How did you handle the rivalry growing up? How does your father feel about having two sons in the NHL?” He drops his hand.

“It’d be funny to pull up old interviews and play the recordings for them. ”

“What does Finn say?” Ace puts a hand on his shoulder. Finn will lay down the law if needed.

King opens his mouth, but I don’t hear the rest of the conversation because Coach calls me over.

“Benz, I’m giving you the start tonight. Liska tweaked his back, and we’re resting him for the big road trip ahead.” He doesn’t wait for a reply, instead he claps me on the shoulder and says, “Good man.”

My brain clicks to my pregame playing rituals. As I turn, Leo catches my arm. “You’re ready for this. I believe in you.”

My heart flutters and tries to fly around the room. I didn’t know I needed to hear that until he said it. He could help me get over him by not saying supportive things. I center myself and find a quiet corner to prepare. I choose an appropriate crystal to wear for the game.

The applause is thunderous when we take the ice. Hearing my name announced is a thrill I will always appreciate. I’m so lucky to play the game I love with an accepting team.

I tap my pipes and speak to them for a minute. The energy in the crowd lifts me up. There is a rainbow of positive energy colors to fuel our success. The fans are rabid to beat Boston.

Our crowd boos Theo O’Keefe, King’s stepbrother. They watched the preseason game, and the blog sites went wild with how O’Keefe got away with playing King and not the puck.

I intend to shut down his attempts to score. The new defender, Kenney, practiced with the team this week, and I have high hopes. He played internationally in Juniors and is young but driven.

Drake secures the puck at face-off, and the game starts fast. From the opposite goal, I see the plays develop before they happen. So does their goalie. He’s good and saves the first two shots. The puck has remained on his end of the ice, and we’ll wear him down, beating him with the unexpected.

King takes his shift on the ice, and I can immediately tell he’s missing Mason. The two have great chemistry and combine well for assists and goals.

O’Keefe thrusts his stick out, intending to trip King, but he agilely leaps over it and keeps the puck on his stick. O’Keefe’s momentum takes him out of position, clearing the way for King to shoot and score.

“Thanks for that,” King taunts him as they skate to their respective benches. I can’t hear O’Keefe’s response, but Drake must because he looks furious.

The puck makes it into my half, and with a shift of their left wing’s eyes, I know he’s going to pass to the center, who will immediately dish it to the right wing. I’m ready for it, but before the right wing gets the pass, Kenney intercepts it and races down the ice.

I’m ecstatic and disappointed I didn’t get my first save.

Getting the first save under my belt sets the game on the right path.

The anxiety presses on me from the inside out, making my pads tight.

It’s only a matter of time before I make a save, but we’ve already played ten minutes, and it feels like forever.

Sensing Leo’s stare boring into me, my eyes automatically find his. He lifts his chin, and it settles me. Later, I’ll unpack how strange it is that, as screwy as things are between us, he willingly fulfills my needs.

I laser-focus on the puck and track each tiny movement that gives away each player’s intent.

They smash into the boards and battle for the puck. Boston’s winger wins it, and I’m certain the puck will shoot over my left shoulder. I’m correct and catch it without a problem.

My first save of the night. I inhale deeply and exhale slowly.

“Quick hands.” Kenney skates into the crease, surprising me with a bear hug.

“Way to set the tone.” King smacks my helmet.

My teammates on the ice congratulate me, and each word of praise increases my resolve to win for these men. I roll my shoulders, ready for whatever comes next.

Again, my eyes are drawn to Leo, who has a knowing look and a wide grin. He looks younger somehow, like he could skate out here and not miss a step. I’d like to think I have something to do with that. Helping him have some fun.

Hockey’s a competitive sport, and winning is worshipped like a god, but I couldn’t play if I wasn’t having fun.

Boston’s out for blood, but their anger makes them sloppy, especially O’Keefe. He’s sent to the sin bin, and Ace scores on the power play.

“Ace right in the five-hole,” I shout, and celebrate by clanging my pipes to cheer us on.

It’s one of those nights where everything seems to go our way. The team is in sync, and we’re finding holes in their defense to score.

Their left wing comes at me on a breakaway, and I’m certain he’s going to shoot, but he flicks his wrist to their center and I throw my body in front of the puck and drop on it so they don’t get another shot.

Relief flows through me. Even though I miscalculated, I made the save.

At the end of the first period, we’re up by three and they’re not on the board yet.

Mason greets me at the wall with a hug and a bottle of water.

Leo takes me by the shoulders, and although it’s impossible, I swear I can feel the heat of his hands stirring my blood. “You’re doing a great job anticipating and getting into position. You went the extra step to ensure they didn’t score on the rebound by covering the puck. Good work.”

At least when it comes to hockey, I don’t feel inferior to him.

I’m glad he can’t see auras because mine’s bright red, giving away how passionate he makes me feel.

It’s not only about him, but his love for the game combines with mine and multiplies.

It’s heady, and there’s a connection between us, swirling in the air.

I return to the locker room, roused from my Leo bubble.