We won the conference championship by a score of 2-0. I didn’t score either goal, but Coach Collins gave me a significant amount of credit for keeping the puck on our opponents’ side of the rink for most of the game. We needed to protect our lead, and the best way to do that was keeping the puck far away from our goal.

I was part of a massive celebratory pile-up of our team members on the ice after we qualified for the national championships. It was my second time reaching the playoffs. The team qualified in my freshman year, and I went mostly as a bench player. I was the Jordi of that team. We were eliminated in the quarterfinals, but it was exciting to be a part of all of the hoopla.

Jordi and I became good friends after my speed skating experience. I went with him to the track two more times and then decided to put it all on hold until fall. I was curious about a trip to Milwaukee, and I wanted to save up some of my own cash to make it a comfortable experience. Jordi said he would come with me, and we agreed not to mention it to Eric. Jordi said, “He will be there anyway, but he’ll be too busy to tell us stories when we’re at the ice center.”

Jordi lay right on top of me in the on-ice pile-up. I wrenched myself to the right, and he went tumbling sideways along with at least three other players. The coaches skated out toward us, and Coach Collins said, “C’mon and get up. We don’t need any injuries from overzealous celebrations.”

Jordi was laughing his head off by the time he stood up. He looked at me and asked, “Are you okay? You were almost on the bottom.”

I winked at Jordi and said, “Maybe that’s where I like to be.”

He rolled his eyes. “I don’t think I need to hear about that.” Then he spontaneously hugged me and nearly knocked me down again. He said, “Fuck, James! We’re going to the championships! You’re going to play there. That’s amazing!”

I said, “You might get a chance, too. I suspect Coach will try and squeeze you in at some point just to get the experience of playing in a big game.”

Jordi reached down and straightened out his pads before gliding off the ice at my side. He said, “That’s awesome. I can’t believe this is happening.”

When we entered the locker room, the whole team was still celebrating. In place of champagne, a few of the guys were spraying sparkling grape juice all over the place. Before one of the seniors got the chance to say the janitors were going to kill them, I heard a comment that they agreed to clean up the mess.

I took off my pads and began pulling my street clothes out of the locker. I thought about taking a shower first, but then I decided I would do that when I got back home. Jordi said, “You’re not as excited as I thought you might be. Is there something wrong?”

I knew what was wrong. I hung my head slightly, and I turned toward Jordi. “Do you remember that Dutch speed skater I told you about? He was the one I met over Christmas break.”

Jordi nodded. “Yep, it sounded like it was a lot of fun racing him in Chicago. I think it’s cool that he got you interested in speed skating. You’re a double threat in winter sports now.”

“I wish I could tell him about us making it to the national championships.”

I saw the confusion spread across Jordi’s face. He asked, “Why can’t you?”

I stopped myself from plunging ahead. Jordi knew that I was into guys, but I didn’t share details about my romantic connections. I said, “We had a falling out. We’re not in contact with each other. I can’t tell him.”

Jordi put his arm around my shoulders, and he said, “That sucks. Sometimes I wish I could tell my grandpa about what I do on the ice. He played on a minor league hockey team, and he died before he was 50, but my grandma has told me a lot about his dreams. I’m living some of them.”

I speculated about Lucas’ dreams while I listened. I leaned my head in toward the sometimes squirrelly freshman and said, “Jordi, you’re a good guy. Don’t let any of these guys in here ever tell you otherwise. I’m proud to be on your team.”

* * *

We advanced to the quarterfinals, and I wondered if Lucas was paying attention on his side of the world. I was tempted to email links so that he could follow our progress. A couple of great action shots of me appeared online when I set up the winning goal that moved us into the quarters.

My parents were in the stands, and Michael took off from school to watch me play. He pulled me aside and whispered, “Big brother, you’re my hero. I mean that, seriously. I love you even when I’m taking you down and pinning you to the carpet.”

I laughed and gave him a shove. Then we both hugged. I said, “I love you, too. I’m looking forward to seeing you quarterback in a bowl game.”

My dad watched our antics from a distance and shook his head. He was overflowing with pride in both of his sons, and I knew we were experiencing sports success that he dreamed about when he was in high school.

Lucas wasn’t the only person I wished was around to see the championship games in person, but I knew that Meredith was watching from somewhere. There was no doubt about that. I wasn’t so confident about Lucas.

The game leading into the quarterfinals was a hard-fought one. It was tied 2-2 into the last minutes. The last forty-five seconds were crazy and pivotal. One of our veteran defensemen wrenched an ankle and had to leave the game. It was Jordi’s opening, and he subbed in.

Jordi immediately skated up to me and whispered, “I’m so fucking nervous, James.”

I slapped him on the shoulder and said, “Just do your job,” before I skated away to take my position.

Good fortune smiled on my team when we resumed play. I stole the puck, and a well-placed slap pass across the rink set up my fellow forward for a shot on goal. We were suddenly up 3-2 with only thirty seconds left in the game.

Unfortunately, it looked like karma was going to bite us in the ass when our opponents stole the playbook with a breakaway of their own. I watched Jordi mixing it up and trying to clear the puck away from our goal. I said my own quick prayer that his first time on the ice in a playoff game wouldn’t turn into a disaster.

We had one of those moments when it felt like time stopped as the last seconds were ticking off the clock. I watched a forward from the opposing team push the puck in front of our goal. His partner slapped at it, and the puck sailed toward an unprotected spot in the corner of the net.

At the last second, a stick appeared and slapped the puck free. It caromed into the boards, and I threw my arms in the air along with the rest of the team. The stick belonged to Jordi, and he saved the game with his first playoff appearance.

I was the first to grab him, and I held on tight when the rest of the team knocked us to the ice. I heard Jordi shout, “I did it!” right before the team buried him in a mass of celebrating bodies.

That was our last hurrah of the season. Our march was stopped in the quarterfinals once again. We were behind in the next game from the very beginning. The team that defeated us went on to win the national championship, so it wasn’t too painful of a loss. Jordi played the entire third period, and he saved a few more goals. He was on the path to being a starter in his sophomore season.

As we exited the bus when we returned to campus, I asked Jordi, “So how does it feel to be a hockey hero?”

With his usual humble attitude, he asked, “Me a hero?”

“We wouldn’t have won that game without you. Ninety percent of the people in the arena thought that shot was going in the goal. Then, at the last minute, your stick appeared as if by magic and swatted it away.” I threw my arms in the air again and made sounds like a cheering crowd.

Jordi laughed. “I guess it feels good, but I never see myself as a hero. I’m just happy to help out.”

I threw my arm around his shoulders. “Maybe it’s time to aim higher my friend. You have talent. I think the coaches are starting to take notice. I think it’s better than even money that you’re starting next season.”

He said, “I’m just happy to be on the same team as you.”