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Crew

C oach Palmer was a scary dude when he was mad. I’d seen that unforgiving, savage side of him plenty of times over the last few years.

But when he was panicking , he was fucking terrifying.

We weren’t dressed in our uniforms yet, but it was almost that time. What would usually be music playing and conversations going while we stretched and started warming up our muscles, was instead the opposite.

The locker room was entirely silent, other than the mutters and expletives coming from coach as we watched him pace back and forth. He’d been doing this for ten minutes straight.

When we boarded the bus without Lane, I instantly had hundreds of questions chucked my way. I had my fair share of low anxiety throughout my life, but this level of stress was nothing like I’d ever experienced before.

Everyone was turning to me, waiting for an explanation while their own anxiety slowly began settling into their bones. I didn’t have an explanation to give them though.

I answered every single person the same.

“Lane had a quick emergency to tend to, and he’s going to meet us there.”

That was the best I could do at the moment.

At first, Coach had studied me, staring into my soul like that would provide him with more answers. If this was any other player besides Lane, this probably wouldn’t be allowed. The school’s rules were that we were all supposed to travel together to away games. But since St. Paul was only an hour away, and this was the star player we were talking about, Coach accepted it.

It didn’t seem like he was accepting it now though.

Ever since we’d gotten set up in the locker room, Coach had asked me at least five times where Lane was. And every time he asked, the pressure only increased.

Hiding my phone in my hand, I snuck out, dialing Lane’s number for the hundredth time today. He’d been ignoring all my calls, and I was fed the fuck up. I’d been covering for him all day, and he couldn’t even answer my calls? Couldn’t even send me an update as to what the hell was going on?

“Hello?”

“Where the actual fuck are you!” I screamed. Great, now I was pacing.

“I’m almost there.”

If it was possible to overdose on anger, I’d probably be rushed to the hospital right now for carrying a lethal dose in my veins. I wished Lane could see the uncontrollable trepidation that he was causing his team right now.

This was the worst headspace for us to be in going into this tournament.

The roar of my voice echoed through the tunnel outside of the locker room. “’Almost there’ isn’t fucking good enough, Lane! I’ve got everybody asking about you. Coach is about to have a fucking aneurysm and is breathing down my neck, and—”

“Did you tell him?” Lane panicked.

“No,” I growled through clenched teeth. “I’ve been covering for your dumbass this entire time!”

“I’m sorry.”

“Just get here,” I hissed, grip tightening around my phone. “How far are you? We’re forty minutes away from warmup.”

“Forty minutes,” he replied.

“Well, you better make it thirty,” I threatened.

“Alright, I’ll see you soon... Oh wait!”

Letting out a heavy exhale through my nose, it felt like my eye was starting to twitch. “What?”

“Is Bridget there?”

If there was something, literally anything, around me to kick or punch or throw, I would’ve done it. “Are you— How the fuck am I supposed to know?”

Lane’s voice was too smooth for my liking. I wanted him to be frantic, shaking, breaking a sweat like all of us here were. “Has Kota said anything to you?”

Jesus Christ. I’m going to kill him.

My scoff sounded more like the deep roar of a bear. If this conversation was happening in person, my hands very well might’ve been around his neck. “Lane, I’ve been in the locker room for God knows how long, getting ready for a national tournament , you fucking idiot. Do you think I’ve spoken to her recently?”

I could hear his sassy tenor carry through the phone. “Alright. See you shortly.”

“You fucking better,” I hung up.

Rubbing his hands together, Coach scanned over the room, brown eyes darkening to black when I walked back in. It was the same old shit for the next forty minutes while we got suited up for warmups, but now, it wasn’t just Coach giving me dirty looks. It was everyone.

I’d been glancing at the door ten times a minute since I got off the phone with Lane, waiting for him to walk through it.

“Everyone start heading to warmup,” Coach demanded. His finger landed on me, shooting flames in my direction. “Besides you.”

Fucking great. I was about to get my ass handed to me.

I watched everyone scurry out of the locker room like they couldn’t get out fast enough; I gulped.

Coach leaned forward and rested his hands on his knees, inches away from me. I was trying to focus on not wearing my fear all over my face, but it was pretty damn hard to when his expression broke into that of a beast.

Voice low and gruff, his jaw ticked. “Where is he? Where’s Lane?”

Struggling to keep eye contact with him without loosening the stoic expression on my face, I responded, “I don’t know, sir.”

“Bullshit,” he seethed with a single nod. “Where is he?”

“Coach, I don’t know.”

“Nicholas, I fucking swear to God.”

Just take me out of the game at this point, Coach. I won’t throw my brother under the bus, even with how much I wanted to kick his fucking ass right now.

Shooting me a sickened glare like he was fighting the urge to backhand me, Coach stepped back. “Get on the ice for warmup,” he mumbled, walking away.

Everyone had their eyes on Jonah during warmups.

With Lane being AWOL, Jonah would have to take his spot on our line for the time being. And who the hell knew how long that would be for?

Jonah was an incredible talent, and he’d improved drastically since the start of the season from being guided by a team that was primarily filled with veterans.

But even with Jonah’s speed, accuracy, and sharp passes, he still wasn’t Lane.

Western Michigan defeated us in the tournament last year, and we were either going to get redemption or feel a heavy sense of déjà vu tonight.

Warmups were a bit shaky for me, I’d admit. I used the time between warmup and puck drop to try to clear my head, but it was fucking hard to without Lane here. Not to mention that not hearing him give a captain speech before the game was throwing a lot of us off. Our routine had been disturbed, and we could only hope that it didn’t affect how we played.

Shifting side to side in my skates, I stood between Jett and Cody in our straight line, helmet at my hip as we stood for the national anthem.

I can’t believe I’m about to play this tourney game without him.

Sliding into position to the right of Jonah, I took in a puff of air so cold that it burned the back of my throat.

We were playing at the Xcel Center, home to the Minnesota Wild, which was a little ironic with our current situation. The arena was over four times the size of ours back at Cedar, and almost every seat tonight was full. Immaculate energy swarmed from each side of the arena, and I tried to focus on that instead of focusing on the fact that Lane wasn’t next to me.

To the left, an entire section was full of Stallions fans, painting the space a sea of silver and black. Even through hundreds of faces, I could spot Kota. It was like Kota’s presence alone was strong enough for me to pick her out of a lineup with my eyes closed. She stood when she saw me looking at her, waving her arms frantically through the air as she repped my name and number, dulling my anxiety. I smiled and waved back.

With just over a minute left until puck drop, Coach’s screaming pulled me away from the moment, and as I turned, I spotted an ashamed Lane skating forward, head down.

Our entire line, ready and waiting on the ice, breathed a sigh of relief as Lane replaced Jonah.

Even with how relieved I was, it didn’t stop a scowl from taking over my face. “Look who made it.”

“I’m sorry,” he stared at the ice.

Stealing another glance at Kota, I sighed, softening. I couldn’t even blame him. If the tables were turned, I probably would’ve done the same thing. “Did you at least find her?”

“I did.” He was still studying the ice, still afraid to look me in the eyes and see the leftover rage that had been waiting for him all day, but I could make out the trace of a smile on his lips, letting me know that everything was going to be okay.

“Good. Now you have no excuse to suck tonight.”

Lane shook his head through a chuckle, and for the first time today, I was actually excited for this game.

We’d been working all season for this moment. All our lives for this moment. To be one of sixteen lucky teams in the NCAA tournament.

And now here we were.

Round one of four.

We wanted that fucking title more than anything, but even if we didn’t get it, at least I got to close out my college career alongside my best friend.