9. Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

Cody

Despite Coach stressing that there’s no time for slagging off or hitting a bar, most of the guys are pumped after today’s win. It’s like a dam has broken and all the pent-up frustration they must’ve felt as a team is finally transformed into carefree relief. I feel it too, and with all the ‘ Good game ’ and ‘ Well played, rookie ’ thrown my way, I feel lighter and happier than I have in a long time, catching myself smiling like a loon non-stop. So, despite exhaustion grabbing at every limb and bone, it doesn’t take much convincing to join the rest of the team at the local sports bar, Puck Around the Clock.

A couple of the guys’ girlfriends join us, but aside from that, it’s just us players tucked away at a long table in the back. There was, of course, the expected number of cheers and praises sent our way from the other patrons when we entered the bar, followed by a few mandatory handshakes, autographs, and selfies, but it seems in a small town like Aurora, it’s code to leave the players to themselves pretty soon. Or perhaps fans just know that they’ll soon enough run into one of their favorite players at the grocery store or the local coffee shop.

My teammates quickly fall into what I assume are their usual spots around the table while our two right wings, Tanner and Nowak, go on a mission to get the first round of pitchers without a word being exchanged between them. I wonder about that, and Greta, Virtanen’s girlfriend, must notice my puzzled expression, because she leans in, chuckling, “Right wing duty. The first round is always right wing.”

“Really?” I can’t help laughing. All teams have their quirks and unspoken rules and in the locker room previously, I already discovered bits and pieces about my new teammates. Like our Canadian center, Riley’s little ritual of knocking on the bench three times before he headed out. Or Bardét’s lucky charm, a small toy mountain lion, hanging from his key chain. I noticed Luke rubbing a small emblem hanging from a chain around his neck, but I couldn’t make out what it was. Even though I’m not superstitious myself, I still have a little quirk of my own that I’ve implemented as part of my pre-game routine. Just part of getting into the right mindset, reminding myself what’s at stake and why I’m doing this. As I rub the tattoo on my hip, I close my eyes and repeat to myself three times. I know who I am, and I know where I’m going. I’m not sure if it’s 100% true, but I do feel that the words ground me and keep me focused.

“Sure. These guys have weird rules for just about anything,” Greta shrugs. “Left wings are next,” she shakes her head, her blond curls tumbling into her forehead. “You’ll find out soon enough,” she bumps my shoulder, her deep blue eyes twinkling in the dim bar lighting.

“What about you guys? On the women’s team?” I like Greta. She’s nice and forthcoming, and I feel my initial nervousness dissipating just by being in her company. She projects the same laid-back attitude as my Scandinavian teammates; their humor, as I’ve noticed, differs slightly from the American. There’s this constant edge of self-irony that I like, their smiles genuine and frequent.

“Oh, man, you don’t even wanna know,” she laughs, shaking her head. “This,” she motions around the table, “is kids’ play compared to the girls.”

“Yikes,” I laugh back, just settling in against the back of the booth.

“So, how does it feel having played your first NHL game?” Greta bumps my shoulder. How does it feel? Like winning the fucking lottery, that’s how it feels. The moment I pulled on my navy-blue jersey with the teal sleeves, it felt like shedding my old skin and being reborn as a roaring mountain lion. From afar, I’ve watched the team—which is now my team —play game after game in those navy-blue jerseys with the mountain lion on the front and those bright teal stripes on the sleeves. And when Caps handed me mine earlier this evening with a bright teal number 8 on the back, I had to pinch myself while I waited for someone to yell, ‘ Oy, imposter, get the fuck outta here !’ No one yelled, though, and even my mom’s voice dissipated like heavy rain clouds, giving way to the sun. The dream had become real, and my new uniform had become my superhero costume. But I can’t word-bomb poor Greta with all that, so I just settle on, “Great. It felt really great.”

Greta flashes me the Swedish version of a million-dollar smile and nods in understanding as she murmurs, “I know, right? I remember like it was only just yesterday.” She gets a dreamy look in her eyes, a soft expression coasting across her face, as if she, too, is partly in disbelief over living the dream.

“Oy, goalie,” Virtanen booms from the other end of the table, his face scrunched into a mean expression. “You steal my woman, you owe me an elk! That’s how we do it in Finland.” He fails to bite back a smirk. Yelling and loud ooohhhs erupt around the table, Persson slapping his hand against the wooden surface, while Greta sighs, hiding her face in her hands.

“An elk?” she shakes her head fondly at her boyfriend. “Really? You’d trade me for an elk?”

“A big one,” the Finn grins stupidly as he blows her a kiss like a lovestruck fool, that ridiculous gap between his teeth showing, leaving the trail of a slight whistle. Maybe he is. Lovestruck. A sour taste emerges in my mouth, my chest tightening. I was in love once, and our D-man sure looks as smitten as I used to be. Shaking off the memories, pushing Leo’s face out of my mind, I brace myself, clearing my throat.

“As lovely as Greta is, I know better than to make a move on a teammate’s girl,” I throw back across the table at the same time Tanner and Nowak return from the bar, placing four large pitchers on the table, beer sloshing all over the place.

“For fuck’s sake,” Badura groans, shooting daggers at Tanner. “What did I tell you last week?” Tanner gulps a few times, wiping furiously at the pool of beer with some paper napkins, just making a worse mess of things.

“I know, man. Sorry.” He shrugs apologetically, pouring the huge winger a generous glass, his hand shaking.

“And?” Badura raises a brow at him as he reaches for the offered glass.

“Uhm…” The right-wing rubs at his forehead. “You have to treat your beer like your woman?” he starts while Badura nods, taking a long sip from his glass, sighing with clear satisfaction.

“Go on.” He motions with his other hand, eyes slightly hooded.

“Okay… uhm… delicately and with respect?” Tanner speaks wide-eyed.

“Jesus Christ, Badura. Lay off, will ya?” Luke calls across the table, pouring himself a glass and then one for Walker, sitting next to him.

“I only joke,” Badura hums, a semi-evil glimmer in his brown eyes. “Tanner knows I only joke, right brother?” There’s a solemnity in the Czech’s voice, his face mirroring the same seriousness as he looks intently at Tanner.

“I know,” the right-wing beams as he leans in, and bro knuckles Badura. “I know, bratr .” There’s something special about the moment, the fond exchange between these two rough hockey players both with thick beards referring to each other as brother, a wet sheen in their eyes, and I suddenly feel like a stranger looking in, stealing a glimpse of an intimate moment that isn’t mine. That will maybe never be mine. I’ve never had that kind of close relationship with another player, never referred to a teammate as brother or bratr , which I assume is Czech for brother , and I instantly recognize the sensation coursing through my chest. Envy. Because I want that so badly. This feeling of belonging somewhere. Of being part of something bigger than me. Like a real family , that needy voice whispers at the back of my mind. Yes, like a real family. Because you had one once and you never forgot what it felt like.

I know I have difficulty trusting people, opening up, and making myself vulnerable to getting hurt. If I paid a therapist a shit ton of money, they could probably tell me it stems from parental abandonment and that I suffered a trauma when my dad and Danny disappeared from my life. It doesn’t take a professional to see the connection. I know it. I just don’t know what to do about it. And I sure as shit can’t talk to my mom—the only one who has lived through the breakdown of our family with me—about it. She’ll just tell me to suck it up and get on with my life. But it’s hard to move on when I still don’t understand what caused my dad to cut me out of his life back then. It’s hard trusting that people won’t eventually leave if I let them in when my own father didn’t deem me worthy of sticking around for.

There’s shuffling around the table, glasses being filled and passed around, and as soon as everyone has a full glass in front of them, Walker rises next to Luke, raising his glass in front of him as he addresses the team.

“Good game tonight, guys!” his deep baritone spreads around the table. “Let this be the first win out of many. Let’s get our fucking groove back, lions,” his gaze sweeps around the table. A round of cheers and fuck yeses erupt, the guys saluting Caps and each other. Once the ruckus settles somewhat, our captain turns in my direction, as he speaks, “And you, Mitchell.” My stomach sinks, despite knowing that I played a decent game, my mother’s words echoing through my chest. You’re slagging, Cody. You wanna be just like your dad? Just another deadbeat loser? Then I feel a knock on my shoulder and see Greta smiling at me knowingly.

“Welcome to the team, rookie,” Caps continues, his green eyes connecting with mine. “Great fucking game, man!” his voice increases in volume as he raises his glass at me. The other players do the same, words of praise flying in my direction, genuine admiration in their eyes. While my hand shakes, I raise my glass and make a half-assed attempt at saying something that eventually comes out as a squeaky ‘ Thanks .’ No one seems to notice, though, as random conversation and laughter erupt and flow easily around the table.

I exhale deeply, taking a large gulp from my beer, the bittersweet liquid hitting my tongue and then trickling down my throat. Shit. I did it. I played my first NHL game, and I did well. Scratch that, I did great. We won, and the team is pumped. I know it won’t always be like this. That there’s bound to be losses too down the line and that there will be games where I won’t hit my form. But tonight, I’ve shown my talent and what I’m made of. I didn’t fail the team, and that’s a small win in itself.

It isn’t until Luke clinks his glass against mine that I realize my roomie is sitting right next to me and that Greta has left my side and gone to the other end of the table to camp out in Virtanen’s lap.

“Hey, you good?” his usual easy smile spreads across his face, cheeks flushed, that constant rebellious lock of dark hair spilling into his forehead. There’s this ever-present air of calm around Luke. As if anything could happen and he would still be okay. Like a meteor could be heading our way and he would still be exuding confidence and calm. The earth could quake beneath him, and he would still be standing. I’ve always been envious of people who meet the world with this attitude because the smallest thing makes me anxious and tips my world on its axis. Still. It’s hard to be jealous of someone who’s just so genuinely kind. And sweet .

“Yeah, I’m good,” I manage to reply, licking my dry bottom lip. I really need to get a ChapStick . Maybe Luke knows where I can find a drugstore.

“Pretty overwhelming, huh?” His gaze softens, his honey-brown eyes not leaving mine. I feel my body relax into the seat, the knot of nervousness in my chest slowly dissolving, my limbs buzzing from the aftermath of the game.

“You can say that again,” I chuckle.

“Just wait until the press notices that we’ve got a new golden boy on our team.” Shit , I haven’t even thought about that. Of course, the press is going to have their eagle eye on me, ready to sing my praises when I do well and just as ready to tear me back down when I mess up. I must’ve said the shit out loud because Luke sniggers next to me, repeating, “Oh shit, indeed” back to me, a wicked glimmer in his eyes.

“Welcome to the big boy’s league, my man,” he smiles, his eyes growing darker, like two deep pools of chocolate. “You’ve officially landed.” He takes a long sip from his beer, his Adam’s apple bobbing behind the pale skin of his long neck. With an outdrawn ahhh that goes straight to the small hairs at the back of my neck, he places his glass back on the table, wiping his lips with the back of his other hand. Tipping his chin in my direction, he seems to ponder something, a seriousness flickering across his face. Then he’s back to his usual cheery self and I can almost convince myself that I just imagined it.

“Glad to be here,” I murmur, because I feel like I should say something to acknowledge how welcoming Luke has been to me since I first arrived in Aurora. And then I do something that I usually never do because it mostly just backfires. I let my guard down just a little. “It still blows my mind, to be honest. Fucking scary shit.” I throw my gaze down at my glass, clenching my fists at my sides. Next to me, Luke reaches out and before I realize what he’s doing, I feel a heaviness on my right shoulder, Luke’s large hand squeezing it gently a couple of times.

“‘ Be happy for this moment. This moment is your life ,’” he speaks quietly, a strange familiarity to the words, their origin eluding me. All too soon, his hand leaves my shoulder, and I realize I want nothing more than to chase his touch. Chase this feeling that I’ve been searching for since I was a kid. The feeling of being connected to someone, the closeness of another person grounding me, quieting my mother’s voice inside my head for however brief a moment. And perhaps not just any person, but someone who understands me. A friend, perhaps. Someone like him . “Just embrace it, man,” he continues. “That’s all you can do. That’s what we all try to do. In the blink of an eye, it can all be gone.” As if on cue, he blinks, his dark eyelashes fluttering, the tips golden in the sparse light of the bar. And I find myself mesmerized, my eyes fixated on his vibrating lashes as if they’re trying to send the meaning of the universe to me in morse code.

Tearing myself away, I swallow, the sound so loud inside my head, “I’ll try,” I smile back at him.

I’ll try.