Nick

My favorite thing about Mink Arena is that you can hear the crowd from the dressing room.

You know the fans are out there, waiting, hopeful, excited, ready to scream their fucking lungs out to cheer us on to victory.

I was four the first time I had a hockey stick in my hand. Five the first time I stood in the crease. I didn’t even know what the crease was, but I knew if I could play goaltender in hockey, I could be tougher than any shitheads who wanted to shove me around on the playground and tell me my mom slept with the mailman.

Fuck, I didn’t know what your mom slept with the mailman meant then either, but I got the feeling it was something worse than everyone having happy nap time like we had after lunch every day in kindergarten.

But tonight?

Tonight, there are seventeen thousand people up there, waiting for us to take the ice and kick some Minnesota ass.

Ares is getting his ankles taped.

Sokolov and Jaeger are trading Pokémon cards.

Don’t mock it.

Habits are habits and superstitions are superstitions, and they’re both on fucking fire this year.

“You shaved again,” Lavoie says, sitting down and pulling on his skates—right skate first. He’ll put the left on before he ties the laces on either, because it’s what he does.

“The beard wasn’t cutting it this year.”

He eyeballs me between tying his laces. “Looks like you found your game brain.”

Coach said the same earlier today.

I’m trying to not let it go to my head, but I feel different tonight. Like I could fly if I wanted to.

Coach comes in for our final pep talk before the game, then we all pull on our jerseys and line up to hit the ice.

Our entrance song starts when we enter the tunnel. The spotlight’s spinning over the doorway, lights flashing, announcers booming.

Felicity’s out there somewhere. Heard she was pulling a stint in the announcer’s booth with Thrusty tonight.

And Kami should be sitting right next to the home bench.

I knew she was pissed at me when the seats I bought her for our previous games were empty. She and Felicity and Maren and Alina don’t pass up good seats for anything.

Never have.

I lead the pack and stop so everyone can rub my helmet on the way out onto the ice. They file past, and I hit each of my guys with their normal complicated handshake if we have one, which is fucking ridiculous with all our gloves on, but it works. The crowd roars louder with every one of my teammates that skates out onto the ice, and when I join them, it’s pandemonium.

Don’t feel like I deserve their loyalty this year, but I’m fucking grateful for it.

I circle our half of the ice, stick gripped tight, one arm lifted in a wave to the crowd, and then I find what I’m looking for.

There’s Kami, front row, right next to the bench, hollering and cheering with Alina, Muffy, and her aunt.

She’s here.

I’m going to fucking kick ass tonight.

I flip my helmet down and head to my spot at the net, digging in good to get ready for that biscuit to drop. “Hey, Jaeger!” I call.

The second-line forward skates over and flips his helmet up. “Yeah?”

“Your girlfriend’s over there with her mom. You should toss her a puck.”

I nod toward Kami, and swear on my left skate, the dude goes pink in the cheeks. “You’re such a fucker,” he mutters, but he bends over, grabs a puck that Zeus just sent flying my way, and carries it over to toss it over the boards.

Muffy’s eyes go huge, and she catches it, clasps it to her heart, and sinks into her chair.

Thank you, Kami mouths to me.

I wink at her, then reach out to grab one of the pucks flying at me from Ares, Lavoie, and Frey, who are lined up and taking practice shots.

“Head in the game, eh, Murphy?” Frey says with a grin.

The crowd fades away as we count down the final seconds to game time, and there’s just the ice left.

Just the ice, the enemy, and me standing between them and the goal.

Lavoie, Frey, and Ares head to the center line.

Zeus and Sokolov skate over to me, and we trade fist bumps.

“Got your back, Murphy,” Zeus says.

Sokolov nods.

“Your wife here?” I ask Zeus.

He grins and points behind the bench, where Joey, Gracie, and the baby all wave.

“Don’t embarrass her, okay?” I tell him.

Sokolov laughs. Zeus punches me in the arm, but he pulls it so I don’t even waver from where I’ve dug in at the crease.

“Let’s play hockey, bitches,” Zeus says.

And that’s exactly what we do.