Page 172 of Unloved

“I like the fan club over there.” My captain slaps my helmet and shakes me. “No one deserves it more, Freddy. Let’s go win a hockey game.”

I’m playing the game of my life—barely into the second period. Sweat soaks my uniform, hair wet as I readjust my cage and hop the boards for another face-off.

Rhys wins it easily—he’s nearly perfect on face-off wins, shooting it to me quickly. I pass it back to my captain, but one of the opposing players scoops it away. I hard stop on my skates, shaking my head and trying not to get too caught up in the anger.

I can’t help but flick my eyes toward Archer, seeing his concentrated gaze on me—always on me.You got this, kid, he shouts when I get close enough to hear. It pumps in my blood like a shot of pure adrenaline.

You’ve got this.

One of the guys on the other team makes a bad pass and it bounces off his defenseman’s boot, swinging right toward me. I check my placement—there’sno onearound me, most in the middle of a change.

So I take it—racing toward the net on a breakaway. I can hear the screaming ratcheting up to immeasurable levels, only spurring me forward.

My shot is a goddamn beauty, soaring in glove side, high.

Cheers erupt from all around as my entire line excitedly slams into me, but I’m looking at them—Archer, arms around my girlfriend in a hug as they jump up and down and scream for me.

They’re here for me.My family.

Is this how it feels for Rhys when his parents show up? For Bennett with Adam Reiner in the stands? I can’t imagine they’re riding this kind of high every game. AndGodis it a high—having the support of people I love, people who love me, cheering me on at the game I love. At the sport I’m fucking incredible at.

It’s the best game I’ve had. And I owe it all to the girl I love.

We win.

I score my first hat trick of the season, racking up points. My third goal is on the side where Archer sits and I slam face first into the glass, like I can hug him through it.

It’s a highlight reel night.

The boys award me the trophy—a frayed rope of nets cut and tied together. A sacred tradition for the Wolves. I can barely speak, because I’m too excited to see my… my family.

I give a quick speech, showering and changing out faster than I ever have before. My whole body is tense and twitching, thrumming with energy as I dismiss myself and head through the exit where friends and family—and fans—wait for us to leave the arena.

It’s early enough that there are only a few lingering nearby, but I bypass them, eyes flicking around until I spot him.

Archer, hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans, standing down a little hallway, away from the commotion of the crowds exiting.

Part of me wants to run to him—hug him, if only to expel someof the bundled nervous energy I’m carrying. Instead, I hurry toward him and stop, getting his attention immediately.

“Hey, kid.”

His voice is exactly as I remember, soothing and soft, deep. I’ve never heard him raise it in anger—as a coach or as a man. He looks the same, too: black hair, a beard of wisps of silver and gray, deep olive skin, and a nose that looks like it’s been broken one too many times. Brown eyes that are kind and empathetic, that look over me now with a watery gaze.

“You were incredible out there, Matty.”

“Thanks,” I manage to push out, eyes glistening. “For coming.”

Archer smiles and shakes his head. “Thank your girl. She and her parents got me out here. But, I’m glad that…” He clears his throat, like he’s feeling the clog of emotion stuck there the same way I do. “I’m glad that you wanted me here.”

There’s a pause then, where we both stare at each other, unsure. Apprehensive.

But then his head tilts toward my collar. “Do you remember when she got that chain?”

I remembered everything about that day. She’d gone through each myth that was depicted on all the pendants in the store, telling me each story, patient with all my questions.

“But this one is my favorite,”she’d said, fingers ghosting over the Psyche and Cupid carving as she told me their story, her hand on my arm, Archer’s hand on her shoulder.

“Yeah.” I nod. “On the beach trip, after Granddad’s funeral. I was like five or—”

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