Page 22 of Sin Bin (BU Hockey Season 2, #1)

To be fair, Leo looks less than thrilled with the name, but I think it’s a good one.

“Hmm…” Blue’s squinting at Leo as though the perfect name is going to leap off young Santos’s face and right into Grover Halliday’s mind. “I’m thinking Chimney.”

Ok, I was not thinking that, but Wagner beats me to the punch.

“What the hell? Dime I kinda understand, and Flow works with the hair, but Chimney? Now you’re just saying words. Why don’t we just call him Table and be done with it? Or maybe Lawnmower because there’s grass outside.”

JT laughs and Calla joins in. I feel like I should back Blue up here since we just found common ground, but there’s no way in hell I’m calling a guy Chimney unless he smokes four packs a day.

Blue sighs. “Santos, Santa, Chimney…ok, not my best work. We’ll come back to you Baby Santos.”

“Or you could just call me Leo,” he says, earning him a high five from Wagner.

Clearing my throat, I get everybody’s attention. “All right, so almost all of us have nicknames?—"

“Except you,” Mickey interjects. “How do you, of all people, not have a nickname?”

“It’s a cruel twist of fate,” I agree. “But the cardinal rule of nicknaming is that you can’t nickname yourself. And none of you fuckers are creative enough.”

“Until now,” Blue says, leaning back in his seat and smiling like the villain in an old cartoon.

“What really needs a name is this house,” I say, hoping that picking a name for our new place will bring us together, at least a little bit.

Flow raises his hand like he’s in elementary school. “Can’t we just call it the hockey house?”

“No,” I answer. “That was our old place. This house needs its own name.”

Wagner snaps his fingers and nods. “That’s right. What happened to the old house? Oh, yeah, Mouse burned it to the ground.”

“Technically he just burned the living room” Deano says, doing his best to be helpful. “The rest of the house was fine until we used the stairs as a ski slope. Then everything started to crumble.”

This little walk down memory lane isn’t helping anything, so I try to steer us to safer ground. “We need a name. Any suggestions?”

“Hockey House Two?” Jenksy volunteers.

“That’s dumb,” Wagner comments, and I can see the vein bulging in Jenksy’s neck. What is it about Dutton Wagner that makes him want to piss people off at every available opportunity?

“How about The Rink?” Dime asks.

“There’s no ice here, dumbass,” Jenksy responds. Yeah, he’s that guy. If he doesn’t get his way, nobody else will get theirs.

“Didn’t this house have a name before the hockey team took it over?” Blue asks as we start clearing our dishes.

“Yeah,” I tell him. “It belonged to Booker and Fallon’s family. Their great-great-great grandfather founded the college, and he was a pastor, so they called it The Chapel.”

Wagner barks out a laugh. “That name no longer applies.”

It doesn’t, not really, but I see where Blue’s going with this. “I’ve got it,” I say. “It used to be The Chapel, but now it’s the Holy House of Hockey.”

“Fuck yes,” Blue says with a grin on his face.

“No way,” Mickey complains. “That’s too long. Who’s gonna say all that? ‘Where do you live?’ ‘Over at the Holy House of Hockey’. Yeah, no one’s doing that.”

Dime raises his hand once again. “You could just sound it out. Then you can tell people you live at the HHoH.”

Even Mickey laughs at that. “Fine, I can handle living at the Ho.”

“So, Captain Ollie,” Jenksy starts, “what’s next for this team? Are you cooking for us every week?”

“Nope,” I answer. “We’ll all take turns. But I do have plans for a little team outing.”

Wagner sets a stack of dirty plates on the counter. “Team Outing? Hell no. That sounds awful. Are you taking us all on a field trip to see how a Zamboni works or some shit? I’m pretty sure we’re all familiar.”

“We are going to an ice rink, but not for a tour. It just so happens that one of our favorite alums is starting in his first AHL game next week. So pack your bags, guys. We’re going to Vegas.”

The room goes quiet for a minute—even Calla doesn’t make any noise.

“I’m serious,” I tell them. “I cleared it with Coach, and he’s coming along. They’re even bringing the new head of PR. I guess it’s great publicity for the school that Booker’s gone pro. His game is right before our season opener, so we can’t stay long, but who cares? We’re going on a road trip.”

Chatter fills the kitchen as everyone makes plans and figures out schedules and rides to the airport.

Once we’re finished with the cleanup, the guys scatter before we’ve had a chance to decide who’s cooking next week. But I’m not gonna stress about it. We all ate dinner together. The fire department wasn’t called, and neither was an ambulance.

You know what? A win is a win.

Coach Novotny calls a Turn and Burn drill and we all skate into formation.

I can feel the sweat running down my back because we’re nearing the end of practice, but playing at this level requires us to find fuel in the tank even when we’re exhausted.

When I see Wagner glaring at me across the ice, I’ve got all the motivation I need to finish strong.

Yeah, the guy’s kind of a dick, but he’s a phenomenal player—the kind that makes you better because you have to rise to the challenge just to play against him.

I’m lined up with Blue and when Novotny blows the whistle, Wagner, Baby Santos, and Dime race for the puck.

That’s our cue to gap up, so Blue and I skate backwards to defend the net as the forwards work to move the puck to the middle of the ice.

They’re passing, communicating silently as the battle against us, forcing Blue and me to do the same.

I’m used to sharing a line with Santos or Mickey, so it’s taken a minute to adjust to another player’s style, but that’s what’s going to make us unstoppable.

While Blue and I work to kill the play, Novotny blows the whistle again, skating into the zone.

Blue and I exchange a glance before skating backward toward the goal.

It’s like I can hear his thoughts. I’m getting used to playing with him and picking up on his signals.

Wagner’s, too. So, when the man I silently call Sparky in my head skates down the ice toward Coach, I cut to the left and block him when he pivots back toward the net.

By the look on his face, I can’t tell if he’s shocked or impressed.

Maybe both.

Twenty minutes later, we’re lumbering into the locker room when Van calls for our attention.

“Hold up, we’ve got a little team business to attend to,” Van says, clipboard in hand.

I’ve got to admit it’s pretty cool to watch my former teammate take charge.

“This will only take a minute and we’re doing it old-school style.

The time has come to vote for a captain.

Before you hit the showers, see Coach Novotny to fill out a ballot. ”

I stand at my cubby, stripping off my gear, trying not to overthink the vote that’s about to take place.

“Dude, you’ve so fucking got this,” Mickey says, sidling up next to me like he can read my mind.

I shrug because I’m trying—and failing—to play it cool.

“Look at me, Olls,” he says, so I give him my full attention. Yeah, Mickey can be a hyperactive ball of energy sometimes, but the guy’s got a heart of gold .

“No matter what happens with that vote—hell, if everybody votes for Flo because he’s got great hair—I need you to know one thing, okay?

You’re the leader of this team. I’m dead fucking serious.

No matter what name Coach announces, you’re the one we all look to, the one we all count on. And that’s facts.”

My only answer is a genuine smile because I’ll be damned if I’m gonna get all choked up and miss my chance to cast my vote.

We all migrate over to Novotny and then to the showers.

It takes an excruciatingly long time for him to count the ballots.

Seriously. It’s at least five minutes before he calls us back to the benches in front of our lockers.

Coach emerges from his office, glances at what Novotny has written on his clipboard, and nods.

The man betrays no emotion as he addresses us.

“Gentlemen, as you know, I’m not one for long speeches. And you don’t want to hear me drone on, anyway, so I’ll get to the point. You’ve elected a captain in a unanimous vote. Congratulations, Jablonski, you’ve got yourself quite a crew.”

The guys are cheering, and I see Blue slap me on the back. I shake Coach’s hand, but the whole time, my mind is spinning. One word is playing on a loop.

Unanimous.

Holy shit. My teammates all agreed on something.

And it was me.

That feels pretty damn good.