Page 32 of Roman and the Hopeless Romantic
“But our season is not done yet.” He pointed to the door. “Out there, another team has come into our rink, our home, thinking we’re an easy win. They expect us to roll over and prove our last win was a fluke. But, guess what, gentlemen and lady… we are not a fluke. You are not a fluke. You’re the Gulf City Hurricanes. Let’s go show them what a hurricane really does.”
The guys—and Charlie—yelled to each other as they stood to file into the hall. Jesse, as captain, led the stream of amped up hockey players, leaving only Roman, Charlie, and Damien behind.
Charlie flashed them a grin as she finished tying her hair into a knot on top of her head and slid her helmet and face cage into place.
When she left, Roman followed Damien out. “Does it bother you?”
Damien didn’t ask what Roman meant. Until Charlie joined the team a few weeks ago, the top line featured Jesse at center with Roman and Damien on his wings. “Nah. I’m cool.”
Roman didn’t know the underclassman outside of being on the same team. “But you lost your spot.”
“I didn’t lose it, Rome.” Damien slid his helmet on with one hand. “I’ll get it back next year.” He shrugged. “Sometimes we just need to be patient with the things we want most.” He patted Roman over the crest on the front of his jersey and stepped out onto the ice.
Roman considered his words as he skated out. Damien was a sophomore, but no one could tell unless he told them. And he was surprisingly wise. “Wise.” Roman grumbled to himself. Who was he? Roman Sullivan didn’t call people wise. He rubbed his face before pulling the cage down.
Sometimes, he envied the professionals who played the game without metal in their field of vision, but then he saw them in interviews with all their missing teeth and the jealousy snapped away.
The team circled their half of the ice, lobbing pucks at the goalie. On the opposite end, the other team did the same.
By the time the puck dropped, Roman was ready for it, ready to disappear into the game. Out on that ice, nothing else existed except him and his team.
The real world couldn’t touch him for sixty minutes of play.
And that was a powerful thing.
