Page 17 of The Hockey Player and the Tutor
I look down at my texts one last time before I put my phone away in my locker to take the ice. There’s a message from my dad wishing me good luck.
Pops: Give ‘em hell, son! Make your old man proud.
My dad has always encouraged me to do what I love to do, even when it meant hurting him financially. As the sole owner of his auto shop, he’d many times have to close early to take me to games or practices, or weekend tournaments when I was on select teams. There’s not a day that goes by when I don’t want to play as hard as I can to make him proud of me and to show him my appreciation for all the time and investment he’s given me.
I’m about to close my locker when my phone pings with another text. I reach for it and see it’s from Brin.
Brin: Just wanted to say I’m here and I’ll be rooting for you! Have a great game.
Brin: Can’t wait for our date. Good luck.
I grin stupidly as I type out a quick text back.
Me: TY I’ll look for you in the stands.
A tap on my shoulder pads grabs my attention and I snap my head to see it’s Breckin. I give him a nod.
“Sup? You ready, bro?”
He gives me a crooked grin. “You fucking know it. We are going to crush these guys and afterwards go celly. You coming with us to The Abandoned Ship tonight?”
This is the bar and grille a block off campus where the majority of our team and fans meet up after home games to either celebrate our wins or drown our sorrows.
“Nah. I’ve got a date.”
Brecks snaps his wide eyes to me and lets out a long whistle. It gains the attention of a few guys in front of us who turn around to see what’s up. “Say what? You? A date?”
He bumps my shoulder as we head side by side down the tunnel, grabbing our sticks and gear along the way before shuffling out onto the ice amidst the loud cheers of the fans.
I take my spot on the bench next to Brecks and Conrad, shoving my stick between my legs. Tonight I’m not starting, but I’m on the second line behind our starting center, Charlie Cotts.
I lift my head to scan the BNU student section on the other side of the ice in search of the familiar face I hope to see there in the crowd.
When I finally spot her, our eyes meet. Brin waves, her hand covered in a pink glove, and she stands up and swivels around. She hooks her thumbs and points to the back of her jersey.
She’s wearing my number.
Fuck that is the best thing I’ve ever seen. My heart swells in my chest with pride.
I lean over to Brecks and finally answer his question right before the horn blows to start the game.
“Yes. A date. With a fucking amazing girl.”
* * *
Holy shit! I am still riding that glorious wave after I scored a goal in the first fifteen seconds of my shift in the third period. It was the game-winning goal and when the final buzzer went off, my teammates all surrounded me in a group celly. I thought my smile would freeze in place and never come off.
After a rousing speech in the locker room from Coach, we all showered and changed, each of us ready to go out and enjoy the win.
And I was ready to meet up with Brinly. She’d texted me right after the game indicating that Lola would wait with her in the front of the ice house and I should take my time getting the congratulatory fanfare.
I leave my bag behind in my locker, ditching my dirty gear into the laundry bins as I grab my jacket and walk down the corridor toward the exit.
When I step outside, there are a bunch of fans waiting for me and the team. A few parents shove their hockey-playing kids in my direction.
“Nice goal tonight, Dahl,” says one guy, his young daughter standing in front of him wearing a team beanie hat.
“Thanks. I appreciate it.”
