We won.
We won, and it hasn’t fully sunk in yet.
I don’t know if I’ll ever process what this feels like. It’s a feeling I’ve never experienced before. Standing on unfamiliar ice in front of a sold-out crowd, knowing that months—years—of work are culminated in this one moment. Early practices and weight sessions and long bus rides. Literal blood and sweat. Bruises and sore muscles. The grind of showing up hungover or tired or simply not in the mood to skate. My dad’s voice, telling me to go to Stanford and get a fancy degree and to forget about the pointless exercise of playing hockey. All the film sessions in the creepy back room and the speeches from Coach K and the inside jokes with my teammates.
The last competitive hockey game I’ll ever play just ended, and I’ll be stepping off this ice as a champion.
We won, and a large part of me was convinced we’d lose.
My body is humming with residual adrenaline, thinking there’s more. Another shift to skate. Another puck to chase. Another goal to score.
This is the view from the top, and it’s strange to stop climbing. To realize there’s nowhere else to go from here.
It’s pandemonium around me. The ice is littered with the helmets and gloves and sticks that got tossed when the remaining time hit zero and that haven’t been picked up since we shook hands with Fabor. We lifted the trophy and took a team photo, and these are the last few moments before we head to the locker room.
I stare at the scoreboard that registered one of the goals that I scored. When it mattered more than ever before, when I needed to, I came through for my teammates. None of the guys who’ve hugged me so far have mentioned this morning.
Conor is so choked up he can barely talk as he skates toward me. I’m so glad he got a goal too. So relieved he won’t have to wonder if losing this game lost him his shot at the pros. He wraps his arms around me, neither of us saying anything as we hug in the midst of our jubilant teammates.
If I’d missed that goal, I’m not sure I ever would have forgiven myself.
If he’d missed that goal, I’m not sure he ever would have forgiven himself.
Those are the opportunities you never get back.
“I love you, Phillips,” he tells me, slapping my back twice. “That was a hell of a goal.”
My throat thickens. I’d do a hell of lot more than win a hockey game for Hart. He’s my brother in every way that matters. I wanted this win for me. But I wanted it for him even more.
“I love you too, man,” I say. “Yours wasn’t awful either.”
He pulls back so I can see his grin. “Empty netter? If I’d missed, I would’ve told the scouts not to sign me myself.”
I snort. “Must have been your lucky bracelet.” He’s still wearing it.
Conor rolls his eyes, then glances around. He runs a hand through his dark hair, shaking his head. “I can’t believe it. I can’t fucking believe it. We actually won.”
“Only because I saved your speech last round,” I tell him.
He guffaws, shoving me. “Well, it definitely wasn’t your wayward dick helping anyone focus.”
I turn serious. “I know. I’m sorry—”
Conor holds up a hand, silencing me. “We’re good, Phillips. Don’t apologize. We both know you’d do it again.” He smirks. “I heard you called her your girlfriend in front of Coach. Assuming he doesn’t toss you under a Zamboni, maybe we can double date sometime.”
I surprise us both by agreeing. “Yeah, that would be fun.”
“Happy for you, man.” Hart punches my shoulder, then skates away to hug Willis.
I hug Hunter next, who’s so stunned he’s hardly speaking, and then after that it’s a blur of celebrations that eventually moves into the locker room so we can all shower and change. The high of winning has fully erased any awkwardness with the team. I don’t try to apologize to any of the other guys. My goal said it all, I hope. I don’t owe any of them an explanation or justification.
Coach is another story, but this isn’t the time or the place to have a serious conversation with him. He’s talking to Willis, nodding along to something our goalie is saying with a rare smile on his face.
Rylan is in this arena somewhere. But I doubt I’ll get to see her before boarding the bus, and we’re headed straight to the airport from here. This arena is five times the size of Holt’s, and no one’s lingering around in the locker room. Everyone’s eager to get back to Washington, where we can really celebrate.
I wonder if news has spread across campus yet. Probably. There were a bunch of watch parties planned and most of the guys are on their phones, likely posting on social media. Conor has his pressed to his ear, talking to his mom. Hunter’s texting his dad.
And me?
I forgot my family was coming, until I find them waiting in the hallway outside the locker room.
They stand out among the other Holt fans who made the trip to Ohio, my mom in a sleek fur coat and Parker in a pink puffer jacket. My dad and Jameson in their designer suits. There’s no sign of the Maddens. Maybe they’re off commiserating with Fabor.
I chew on the inside of my cheek as I walk over with my hand shoved deep into my pockets.
Them coming here to see me play for appearances’ sake was cold. Walking right past them without saying a word would be colder.
And I don’t want to be always arguing with my parents. I’m sick of it. I’d rather they either leave me alone or stop bitching about my choices.
“That was a good game.” My dad speaks first, buttoning up his wool coat.
I snort at the understatement. We just won the Division III championship. “Yeah.”
“Not a bad way to end the season,” Jameson chimes in with.
I’m tempted to snort again, but I don’t. “I should go,” I say instead, hiking a thumb over one shoulder. Most of the guys are halfway down the hallway by now. “Got a bus and a flight to catch.”
That seems to wake my mom up. “I’m so happy for you, Aidan,” she says, stepping forward and giving me a hug.
The sweet, floral scent of her expensive perfume fills my nose. I don’t love the smell, but it’s nostalgic. The same fragrance she’s worn since I was a little kid.
“Thanks, Mom,” I mumble.
They came, I guess. Regardless of the reason they made the trip, they were here to see me win. It doesn’t mean as much, but it means something. And maybe…maybe this is the only way they knew how to come.
My mom doesn’t even complain about the wet drops from my hair landing on her fancy coat. Impressive, since it was passed down from her mother and I’ve been personally subjected to a lot of lectures about how carefully the heirloom needs to be handled before.
“I’ll see you guys at the wedding, I guess,” I say, readjusting my bag on my shoulder.
My mom’s eyebrows rise. “We’ll be at your graduation, Aidan,” she tells me. “I already made a dinner reservation at that Italian restaurant we ate at before. It wasn’t too terrible, and I couldn’t find any better options.”
“Oh,” I reply, genuinely taken aback. My parents haven’t visited Holt since freshman year. Neither of them mentioned attending my graduation, so I just assumed…they wouldn’t. “Okay, then. I’ll, uh, see you then.”
My mom nods, then steps back.
My dad holds out a hand next. We shake, his expression somber as he claps a second hand around mine. “Most exciting hockey game I’ve ever been to.”
Considering he hasn’t been to many, it’s not the highest of praise. But he’s trying, so I do too.
“Probably never would have started playing if you hadn’t taken me to one. So…thanks, I guess.”
There’s a glimmer of a smile on his face. “You’re welcome, son. Safe travels back to Washington.”
I glance at Jameson, but neither of us says anything. Parker hasn’t spoken a word, and I don’t even look at her. She’s not part of my family, yet. And it’s the best congratulations she could give me, staying silent. Letting me have this moment with my mom and my dad and the guy who’s technically my brother, even if he stopped acting like it a while ago. I’m startled—and relieved—by the emptiness I feel toward Parker. No regret or resentment or anger. She’s just a girl, standing next to Jameson.
My eyes return to my mom. “Can you add one more to the dinner reservation?” I ask her. “I’d like you guys to meet my girlfriend.”
Her eyebrows arch, showing her surprise. That I’m dating someone or that I care about them meeting her, I’m not sure.
She recovers quickly. “Of course.”
I nod. “Great. I really gotta go.”
The rest of the team is long gone. At least that means they didn’t witness this whole awkward reunion with my family, but I’ve caused enough problems today. I don’t need the guys all annoyed I delayed departure. If we miss our flight, or something, I’ll never hear the end of it.
I say goodbye, kinda sorta including Jameson and Parker in it, and then hurry down the hallway and through the double doors that lead into the rear parking lot where the bus parked. I spot it ahead, the profiles of my teammates visible through the tinted windows. Everyone else is already seated. My steps quicken.
I’m halfway across the lot when I hear her voice.
“Aidan!”
I look to the left.
Rylan is running toward me. Sprinting, really, from the direction of one of the few cars parked in the special access lot. A dark-haired woman is standing by the sedan, talking on her phone. Rylan’s mom, I’m guessing.
As soon as she reaches me, Rylan kisses me for the whole team to see. Arms around my neck, legs around my waist kind of enthusiasm.
My world narrows down to her. Her smell. The heat of her body as she clings to me. The pride visible on her face as she pulls back to beam at me.
I’m pretty sure I can hear the hollers on the bus from here. Hopefully that means Coach isn’t on board yet, witnessing me make out with his daughter.
“That was an amazing goal,” she says, giving me one more peck before she lets go of me.
I grin. “Thanks. It was the good luck blowjob you gave me last night.”
She shoves me for that comment. “It wouldn’t have done shit if you got benched today.”
Coach K wouldn’t have done that. And that’s the reason the disappointment he voiced earlier stung so badly. Because he’s a good man—a fair man—and I let him down.
I wince. “How mad is your dad?”
Rylan’s lips press together in a subtle grimace. “Mad. Mostly at me, for not telling him. I talked to him after the game, and I’m sure we’ll have more conversations about my ‘irresponsible behavior’ on this trip. But he’ll get over it. He wants me to be happy. And you—” She smiles. “You make me very happy, Aidan Phillips.”
The three words are right there, waiting, on the tip of my tongue.
But I don’t want to tell Rylan I love her for the first time in a parking lot, breathing exhaust fumes.
So I kiss her again, instead, trying to convey how I feel about her wordlessly.
Until a bus horn honks.
“Is your dad on the bus?” I ask Rylan.
“Yeah, the whole team’s been on there for a few minutes,” she says. “My mom and I were about to leave, but then I saw you walking over.”
I drag a palm down my face. I would have still kissed her, sure. But probably for a little less longer and with a lot less tongue.
Rylan nudges me. “I thought you didn’t care my dad’s your coach?” she teases. “He’s not anymore, technically.”
“I know,” I groan. “It’s worse. He’s my girlfriend’s dad.”
She laughs. “I gotta go. I’ll see you soon, okay?”
I nod. Kiss her again, because what’s one more at this point?
Then head for the bus.
The whole team starts clapping when I board, which is a massive improvement from this morning’s reaction. But I don’t think they’re cheering because of my goal on the ice, and a risky glance at Coach’s impassive expression suggests he’s surmised the same.
I sink down in the seat next to Hart, who grins and elbows me, then pull on my headphones.
And start listening to “Brown Eyed Girl” as we drive toward the airport.
