Page 77 of Hard Check

"Lucky." The word tasted bitter in my mouth. "Right."

Coach entered, clipboard in hand. "Gentlemen, we're up two-one, but that doesn't mean shit if we come out flat in the third. Augusta's gonna push. They'll try to goad us into retaliation and taking stupid penalties."

He fixed his gaze on me. "We don't take the bait. We'll play our game and stay disciplined. Follow Carver's lead."

The words hit like a shot to the chest. My lead? I was the guy with the notoriously short fuse.

"Carver showed us something out there," Coach continued. "Showed us what it looks like to put the team first when everything in your body is screaming to do something else."

Every head in the room turned toward me. I wasn't used to respectful attention. I'd come to expect the eye-rolls that followed another unnecessary penalty.

TJ spoke up. "That's captain shit, Carver."

The words nearly knocked the breath from my lungs. Captain shit. Coach had instituted a rotating Captain system since Dane got called up the season before. I never considered myself in the running.

Mercier added his voice. "Agreed. Been saying it all season—Carver's the guy we look to when things get ugly." He pushed up his goalie mask to reveal a rare smile.

Before I could process the wave of positive sounds and stick taps, Pike stood. "He's right. What Carver did out there wasn't about being soft or backing down. It was about knowing what mattered more than his feelings. That's the kind of leader this team needs."

A murmur of agreement rippled through the group. For the first time in my six seasons with the Forge, I felt like more than a role player filling space between the real stars.

Coach clapped his hands, breaking the spell. "Alright, enough group therapy. The third period starts in three minutes. Pike, Monroe, Jameson—you're line one. Carver, be ready. Let's finish this thing."

As the room emptied toward the tunnel, Pike stepped to my side. "You okay?"

I nodded. "Processing. Not used to being called leadership material."

"Get used to it. Some of us have been waiting for you to figure it out."

We won 3-2, grinding out the kind of ugly victory that felt more satisfying than any blowout. I sat in my stall, slowly working through my post-game routine.

Around me, my teammates celebrated in their own ways. TJ was already on his phone, probably texting some girl about his assist on the game-winner. Mercier methodically cleaned his mask, the way he did after every game, win or lose. Monroe sprawled across the bench, still catching his breath from a shift that had left him gasping.

Pike emerged from the trainer's room, freshly showered and changed into street clothes. The butterfly bandage above his eyebrow had been replaced with a smaller strip, barely visible unless you knew to look for it. He moved carefully, favoring his left side where Kozlov's shoulder had found its mark.

"Clean bill of health?"

"More or less." He began packing his gear with methodical precision, the way he did everything. "Doc wants me to ice the ribs tonight, but nothing's broken or displaced."

"Good." I turned back to my skates, working at laces that had somehow tangled themselves into an impossible knot. "Scared the shit out of me when you went down."

"Yeah, well, welcome to my world every time you drop the gloves."

From across the room, Sanders—the rookie defenseman—snorted. "Speaking of dropping gloves, what was that about, Carver? Thought you were gonna hop the boards and murder Kozlov right there on the ice."

The comment was casual, meant as ribbing, but something in his tone rubbed me wrong. There was an edge to it, suggesting that my restraint had been weakness rather than strength.

"Probably should have," Sanders continued, pulling on a clean shirt. "A guy like that needs to know he can't just run our skill players without consequences."

I felt my jaw tighten. "Like Coach said, the game was more important than my ego."

"Sure, but—"

Pike's voice cut through the conversation. "But nothing. You don't get to talk about him like that."

Sanders blinked, caught off guard. "I wasn't—I mean, I was just saying—"

"You were just running your mouth about something you don't understand." Pike took a step forward. "Carver's more than just a linemate, and he made the right call out there. The smart call. It was the kind of call that wins games instead of losing them to stupid penalties."

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