35. Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Five

Cody

He’s the last person I see before they take me off for surgery. His broad smile of encouragement sends me off with his repeated promise of ‘ We’ve got this, ’ and ‘ I’ll see you soon, baby. ’ And although I’m scared shitless, I don’t feel the usual anxiety pulling at me, turning my body inside out, spinning me out of control. It’s a strange feeling. Having someone in your corner like this. Someone who’s there for you unconditionally, no strings attached, with no hidden agenda. With my mom, there have always been strings. I’ve felt like a marionette all my life, moving around to her tune of more, better, and worthless.

Yesterday still has this surreal blur surrounding it; Luke telling my mom off, basically throwing her out of our condo. He pretty much stated his claim right in front of her. ‘ I’m his boyfriend. ’ And then, those words that have always seemed so impossible and beyond my grasp: ‘ I’m the guy who loves your son more than anything. ’ At that moment, he was my fucking hero. He is my hero. And he loves me. Luke loves me.

When I open my eyes, he’s there. I sense his presence even before I realize where I am and remember what’s happened. His familiar scent, his strong fingers wrapped around mine, his soothing voice.

“Hey, baby. You did good. You did so unbelievably good. Everything went great.” His voice shivers, just a tad, and I know he’s been worried. For me. Because he cares. About me. Once the haze of grogginess starts to lift, I can make out his individual features, like putting together pieces of your favorite puzzle. Or drawing a map of the most beautiful place on earth. Because he is. He’s my favorite place. From his wild dark hair as it falls into his forehead to his deep chocolate eyes that hold such care and what I now know to be love—for me. His pointy nose and the swell of his cheeks that are now a deep pink because of lack of sleep. The slope of his rounded chin, a light stubble covering it. All in all, he’s just a kid like me. We’re just kids, playing the game we love and falling for each other while doing so.

And as usual, he knows what I need. He takes my mind off what’s coming next; several months without hockey and probably six months before I can pull on my navy jersey with that teal number 8— my number—on the back during a game. Because Coach assured me it’s my jersey, my number, and it will be waiting for me until I’m ready. Luke’s chattering away, his hands gesticulating wildly, his face in the cutest frown, as he recounts how the guys are currently annihilating Montreal. It’s the second period and we are ahead 3-1.

“Buckhammer is doing a great job,” he says. I knew he would. Buckhammer is a good goalie and a great guy. They all are. Even Crane, that asshole. And when I start crying, he’s there, halfway on the bed next to me, wrapping his arms around me. “It’s okay, baby,” he says. “I know you wanted to be there. You will be again.” And I believe him. I do. Because Luke doesn’t lie. He’s the one constant in my life that I can always count on.

We watch the rest of the game together on Luke’s phone, the private hospital room quiet and dark around us. As we destroy Montreal with 5-1, he’s got his arm wrapped securely around me, my head resting on his chest as he plants kisses on my head at brief intervals. It’s still unsure if we’ll be making it to the playoffs, only time will tell, but next year , we agree, smiling against each other’s lips, kissing until we’re breathless or Luke’s phone goes off or whatever.

And then Riley’s goofy grin shows up on Luke’s phone and he’s not alone. The entire team is with him, beside him, behind him, all around him. And they’re hooting and hollering and smiling like they really did make the playoffs. And they’re just kids like us. Boys who love what they do, playing the best game there is.

“Look,” Virtanen yells, pointing at his front teeth. “I was fixed!” And it’s true. He got his tooth fixed.

“What about Greta?” I croak, half from laughter, half from pent-up emotions. Virtanen smirks, licking his lips, residue beads of sweat from the game trickling down his temples.

“I learn new trick,” he winks, and I don’t even want to know, and I tell him exactly just that, “I don’t even wanna know, dude.” I so don’t. “You’re still an ugly motherfucker, Finland,” I grin at the screen and Virtanen growls before he howls with laughter. And then Caps appears in front of the screen, pushing Virtanen out of the way.

“How you’re doin’, Mitchell?” he drawls, his voice heavy with fatigue.

“I’m okay,” I mumble, swallowing back a whirlwind of emotions. Happiness, gratitude, and remnants of fear. And envy. Yeah, I’m envious, but I know it will pass and turn into something else now that I’ve got Luke and the team in my corner. Hope. And a relentless stubbornness that will get me through this.

“You take good care of our boy now,” Caps tilts his chin at Luke. Our boy .

And then the tears come again because I miss them all so damn much. I miss the horrid smell of a post-game locker room and the mindless banter. The teasing and the goofing around. I miss it all. I miss Nowak’s awful jokes and Tanner trying to catch Badura’s attention by sneaking up on his lap.

Then Coach appears out of nowhere like he always does and grabs Riley’s phone.

“Mitchell,” he booms, and it’s like the guy is in the room, right beside me. “This one was for you, kid.”And I swear, there are tears in his eyes. Luke did tell me, and I didn’t believe him at first. That I’m Coach’s favorite. But I kind of see it now as the usually stoic giant wipes at his beard awkwardly. “We all agreed before the game,” he mumbles . “That this one was for you, Mitchell.”There’s shouting in the background, a growing rumble of unintelligible voices at first, until I make out the two syllables. “Mitch-ell. Mitch-ell. Mitch-ell.”

Then Buckhammer sticks his face in front of the screen, and he blushes adorably when I congratulate him on the game. And I realize I mean it. I’m not bitter, just sad.

“Just keeping the goal empty for ya,” he grins. I shake my head.

“You’re a good goalie, Texas,” I rasp, wiping at my eyes. And he is. He, too, has grown, becoming a solid goalie by now. And then there’s a lot of commotion in the locker room because Nowak has pulled some kind of stunt involving a Gatorade and some baking soda, and we end the call.

“You okay, baby?” Luke murmurs against my temple as I try to suppress a yawn.

“Just tired,” I mumble. “Just happy for the team,” I murmur. And it’s true. I am happy for them. For us . Because they are my team, my mates, and the best one of them has just jumped from my hospital bed and is now trying with all his boyish charm to convince the nurse to let him stay for the night. And as much as she’s shaking her head, repeating, “I’m sorry, sir,” I can’t help laughing because I know eventually he’ll win her over. Because he always does. Just like he did me. He won me over, too, and a world where Luke and I aren’t together, even for one night, is just inconceivable.