Page 66 of What We Knew Then
We’re playing an away game and we’re in the locker room, getting ready to take the ice. I’m fucking pumped. Playing at home? Yeah, it’s great. There’s this chaotically desperate energy you feel from home fans, especially when your team is solid—they’re always waiting for the next goal, check, Or steal of the puck.
But do you know what’s always been a strong motivator? The silence when you’re crushing a fan base's dreams. You score on their goalie and it’s like a collective punch to the gut—I swear you can feel the breath all the way down on the ice when we’re celebrating. You break up one of their plays and the cheers that were once hanging on their team getting a shot on goal turn into a deflated balloon.
When it comes to hockey, I love crushing dreams.
Before I can think of something funny to say back to Leo, Coach comes in. “Five minutes and I want your asses out on that ice,” he shouts, holding a clipboard up. “You know the game plan. Have to execute tonight. No sloppy mistakes.”
In unison, all the guys respond with a bold, “Yes, Coach.”
Grabbing my phone, I make sure it’s turned off—an old habit from my previous team. It’s not a rule here at Great Lakes U, but feels right. Before I do, I see a notification for an unread text message.
Peaches
good luck
have a checkbox in my planner for a GLU win
It’s impossible not to grin at the thought of that. Cora keeps anything and everything in that thing, and I know how much it will bother her if she can’t check it off.
Me
we’re winning tonight
bet on it
don’t think we can bet on something we both want to happen
fine, bet I score in the first
fine
what are the terms?
Me: if I score in the first
Me: you’re waiting for me in my bed tonight
deal
but if you don’t
I’m still waiting for you in your bed
I text her the code to get into my apartment and turn off myphone.
I’m in serious trouble. Fuck. I wish she was here. This is one of the only games she won’t make it to—it’s a weeknight and we’ll get in late from the team flight.
My mental to-do list is now trying to wrestle hockey, school, workouts, and then here comes Cora. Fucking Cora. I changed her name in my phone as a joke and then she kind of insinuated it was a good idea to do as well, in case any teammates saw her phone. Or her dad.
Coach. Who is waiting for me. My stomach flips; I do my best to push it aside and get the rest of my equipment on, our five minute warning almost up.
We’re waiting in the tunnel and the energy is something I could practically reach out and grab. Shoulders roll, necks stretch, and a smile is starting to creep over my lips.
It feels like I’m about to hit my stride. I’ve been on my absolute best behavior when it comes to the team—showing up the way they expected me to—and it feels like tonight’s the game where it will all come together.
Troy cuts through the thoughts. “Maxwell. You ready for this shit? An Ohio team? Not yours, but think of it as a practice round.” He smiles and it’s something that used to bother me. Like, how is this guy going to lead us like this? Where’s the aggression? The fight? The drive. It’s clear that Troy has his own way and it works. He’s just one switch from being a terror on the ice.
“Yeah, I’m ready.”
