by RJ Scott
He pulled me closer until I was tight to his side. Then he ran his fingers over my jaw. “Benoit, you’re as far from a nobody as anyone could ever be. You’re an incredible young man standing on the cusp of greatness. I’m honored to be able to be beside you as you reach for the stars.” He yawned then, a jaw-cracking thing, and his eyes began to flutter shut. Within seconds, he was snoring lightly. I had questions for him, about that key and what else he had kept from me, but as I lay there watching him sleep, I knew the answers would come eventually. Just not this morning. Eyes closing as his breathing soothed me, I dropped off quickly, my sleep deep and thankfully void of replays of the night, the crash, and the shining madness in Dom’s eyes.
Sixteen
Benoit
The next game of the series against the Ohio State Otters, I sat out. It made me incredibly frustrated, but the team ophthalmologist had wanted to give my eye another week of rest. So, I rested my eye as I sat on the bench and watched my team crush the Otters. Sitting sucked. It gave me too much time to mull things over. My social media guy, and yes, I now had a guy because of the explosion that had taken place over Dom, the crash, the notes, the stalking, the cops putting cuffs on me, you name it, and the Internet had discussed it to death over the past seven days.
My social media guy, a young dude named Ulysses Shane, who had come recommended by Layton Foxx, was buffering as much as he could, spinning things to the best of his skills, but still, the furor raged on. Slurs and taunts from trolls were met with slurs and taunts from my defenders. It was, as Ryker had predicted, a shitstorm. And amid all of that, I had a boyfriend back in a cast, my family who’d been tracked down by the press, and reporters hounding me and the team wherever we went. Maybe sitting out for a few more days was a good thing. It would get my head into the place it needed to be for the final game. Maybe Edmonton hadn’t seen any of this mess. Maybe I could concentrate on classes. Maybe I could be in net the night we went up against the Montana U. Mountain Goats for the NCAA championship. Maybe it would all have blown over by Saturday when we played the Goats at the Lake Key Arena in Buffalo, New York. And maybe scallops would fly out of my pants to quote a famous cartoon crab.
It had not blown over by Saturday. But the credit for my focus and ability to slough off the media blitz was down to one person: Ethan. Well, maybe four people: Ethan, my mom, sister, and Dad. They’d flown out, on Ethan’s tab, to see the game. That had meant so much to me that I cried when they arrived at the hotel in Buffalo. That weeping spell had purged all kinds of toxic crap. With my family, my team, and the man I loved crutching along at my side, I could do anything. The team ophthalmologist had cleared me for play, and we were now standing in the hallway outside our locker room, waiting to be announced to the over fourteen thousand people who had showed up. Due to the stories surrounding me, the game was actually being carried by a major sports network. Most NCAA hockey games weren’t, so everyone was doubly nervous. Guess some good can come from bad stuff if you look hard enough.
I could taste the energy, excitement and adrenalin in that corridor. I’d already worked the ice, my mom making sure to bring me some fresh water from my home lake. There was nothing to do but wait and share in the routines. When our team was announced, we hit the ice, the fans rising to cheer us on just as the Montana U fans had. I went to my net, lowered my head, and listened to the anthem being sung, the madness of the past two weeks drifting away as the words to the song rose to the rafters. I took Dominque Wells and put her into a nook. The press and social media madness went into another nook. My father’s health? Into a nook. My grades also into a nook. The fact that I’d been nominated for the Mike Richter Award and came second, which was damned amazing? Into a nook. Everything that wasn’t this game went into a nook.
I worked my ice up, staring down at the beautiful blue under my skates, and felt my mind clearing, like by a gust of soft cold air over a pristine frozen Canadian lake. Serenity settled into my marrow, the upheaval of my life carried away. I inhaled the smell of ice and hockey, and I knew I was ready.
Good thing too, because the Goats had come to play. From the first puck drop, both teams were challenging each other. Wild momentum shifts caused by takeaways kept both us goalies on our toes. The defense on both sides were having issues with the faster skaters. For the Goats, it was a sophomore winger, Julian Peterson, who had moves that would rival Tennant Rowe in a few years. For us, it was Tennant Rowe’s stepson, Ryker Madsen, who kept sneaking through gaps to take blistering shots on the Goats goalie. Ryker was going to light things up out in Phoenix in the fall. I prayed I’d be doing the same a little farther north.
The first period ended with both teams unable to score. The pep talk from Coach was loud, upbeat, and aimed at containing the breakaways and turnovers. With a defensive mindset, the Eagles went back out for a twenty-minute span of choking defensive play. The Goats coach must have filled their ears with the same speech. Shots on goal fell dramatically, and all the activity seemed to be in the neutral zone. I faced five shots in that period, the Goats goalie only four. The second intermission pep talk was similar to the first. Coach liked to see a tight D, and I wasn’t about to complain. Twenty-two shots on goal in the first period versus five in the second? Yeah, I’d take that anytime. I was on top of my game as we went out for the last twenty minutes. All the distractions of life were tucked into my nooks. I’d have to send Stan Lyamin a thank-you note. Once I’d figured out what he’d meant, I’d been able to compartmentalize better.
The only glimmer of non-hockey life that snuck in was a short memory of the kiss Ethan had given me outside the locker room before the game. Right in front of my family, friends, and the press. Everyone knew we were a couple due to everything that had happened, so why hide it? That memory warmed me, and I eased back onto my heels in the crease, feeling the pipe resting on my back and knowing that the next twenty minutes were going to go my way. How could they not? I had Canadian ice under me, my family and friends cheering me on, and the man I loved sending me all the good vibes he could. The damn fool was probably waving his crutches in the air. He’d painted them Eagles brown and gold and was so damn proud of his work.
The shot on goal from the face-off woke me up. It was an easy shot to stop, right to the chest, but it signaled a drastic change in the game. With two fat zeroes on the scoreboard, both teams were playing out and out balls to the wall. The fans were fully engaged, and the action began in my end with a mad flurry of shots. Several were quality attempts, and I was relieved to see the puck race down to the Goats’ end for a spell. That was how it went, back and forth, end to end, until we had three minutes left and Julian Peterson broke free in the Goats’ end and went coast-to-coast, his snapshot a blur that skipped across the rutted ice. I watched it racing toward me, calculated where it was headed, then began shifting to the left. The puck hit a groove in the ice and bounced in the opposite direction. I had a split second to throw my leg out. The tip of the skate was the only thing keeping that puck from sailing into my net.
The Eagles fans erupted and cheered my name. Ben-Wah! Ben-Wah! Ben-Wah! I was already past that save, my attention on the puck as Ryker picked it up in the corner, then passed it out of our zone. Some incredibly tight forechecking took place for about forty-seconds, and then it happened. A small mistake, a lack of communication, and the Goats coughed up the puck in their end. Ryker found the puck on his stick after a wobbly pass from Brandon Reynolds, who now played first line in Scott’s place, at the blue line. He could have taken a wild slapshot and hoped for the best, but he didn’t. He moved around a defender, made a hard cut to the net, and took his shot. The goalie was screened well, and the puck skimmed the edge of his blocker, rising high and clattering off the crossbar, then dropping down behind the goalie and rolling serenely over the line into the goal.
I leaped up and down in a lonely celebration dance as the rest of the line fell on Ryker in jubilation. They took their time getting back to the fist bump line. My heart was thun
dering. I glanced at the clock over center ice. One minute and fourteen-seconds left. I hunkered down and began whispering to the ice under me. Asking it to keep the pucks out of the net. I’d have dropped down and kissed that frozen water if I could have. But there was no time to smooch ice. The Goats pulled their goalie and the final seventy-four seconds was total bedlam in front of my net. Players were in front of me, in my crease, pushing and shoving and whacking at the puck as it was shot at me over and over. Ryker gave up his body once, taking a puck to the wrist that made his eyes water, but he refused to leave the ice. He was fine he said and shook his hand, his grimace worrisome.
The clock ran out during a mad rush of players. I heard the horn just as I fell over the puck, trapping it to the ice with my catcher and my blocker. Confetti guns loaded with brown and gold bits of paper went off, fans shouted, and my teammates piled onto my back. It was fucking fantastic! I lay there on the ice, laughing and crying, with twenty-some men rolling around on top of me. Ryker pulled me to my skates. We hugged. He was crying too.
The handshake line was tough for our opponents. But there can only be one winner, and that was us. We happily accepted that beautiful wood-and-glass trophy, holding it high over our heads and whooping it up. We rolled into the home locker room, riding a wave of sheer joy, our sweat-soaked jerseys still worn over our game-worn pads. No way were we seniors ready to take off our sweaters yet. This was our last game. We were prolonging the final hour. Then we’d take them off forever. Talk about a bittersweet moment. The celebration went on for as long as we could make it; lots of nonalcoholic champagne was popped. Finally, when we could put it off no longer, the press was permitted in for a bit. I gave them a short sound bite, then went to the showers, leaving them with a practiced reply that Ulysses had sent me after the news of the win reached him. After the presser was over, the showers filled quickly. We were all eager to get to our friends and family and then celebrate with the Eagles fans who had come all the way to Buffalo.
The first person I saw when I left the locker room through the throng of people waiting in the family lounge was Ethan. He was balanced on his crutches, and the man was beaming. Face lit up like a lighthouse. My mom and dad were on either side of him, my sister off talking to some freshman forward who was leaning in a little too close for my liking. I pushed through the friends and family, skirting around the hugging parents and kissing girlfriend-boyfriends, to reach my folks. Dad kissed me on the cheek, his eyes red-rimmed from crying, his left hand firmly on his cane. Mom moved in next, weeping joyously and blabbering on about the proudest day of her life. Ethan smiled at me over her head as I held her close.
“Okay, okay, I’ve hogged you enough. Go give your man a hug.” Mom patted my cheek, then nudged me to Ethan. I slid into him, my arms going around his waist, my lips finding his. We weren’t the only LGBT couple sharing a smooch. Jacob and Ryker were wound around each other like creeping vines, Ryker’s head resting on Jacob’s shoulder, his grin wide. The man had a lot to smile about, Mr. Hobey Baker trophy winner. His future in Arizona was set in stone. I bet he even made the team right out of college. No minors for him. You could see the stardust settling on his shoulders. Maybe some of that sparkly stuff would fall on my head as well.
“You look lost,” Ethan said when I pulled back to stare into those beautiful blue eyes of his. “Eye bothering you?”
“Nope, nothing is bothering right now. Right now, everything is about as perfect as it can be.”
“Yeah? What about Charlie Wilkes over there chatting up Tamara?” He winked as he said it, knowing I took my role as big brother seriously.
“Well, that’s not perfect, but everything else? Yeah. Everything else is damn fine right now.”
Seventeen
Ethan
I wasn’t the kind of person who got star struck. Certainly not when faced with my best friend’s little brother. Not only did I know Ten socially, a little anyway, but I’d played against him in a few games over the past couple of years. I’d even made the same top hundred best players list two years back. Of course he was third on the list, and I scraped in at ninety-eight. Still, it was the same list. Last time Boston had played the Railers, we’d had dinner with him and Jared, and it ws Jared was who I was star struck over. I hadn’t managed more than two words with Jared Madsen over that meal, but that was mostly okay as I was down at the opposite end to him. He was one of the D-Men I’d respected the most, and I was gutted when he’d had to leave the game, always hoping that one day we’d, by magic, end up playing on the same team, and better than that, I could be his defense partner.
Me and Mads as a defensive pair? That would have been the coolest thing to happen in my entire hockey life. Only, of course, it never did happen, and it was really one of my only hockey regrets. Maybe it was that intense desire to play alongside him that had me hovering behind a tree right now, watching Mads, Ten, and Ryker huddled together and chatting.
“You have to go over there at some point, y’know.”
I nearly jumped out of my skin and hobbled around to face Benoit, who was evidently more than a little amused at the fact that I was using the tree as protection.
“No. I don’t,” I said firmly. “I’ll watch the entire graduation ceremony from here, safely behind my tree.”
He chuckled and laced our fingers, and for a moment I thought he was going to kiss me, which was good because I needed all the kisses I could get. It was hot in the early Minnesota summer. My suit made me feel as if I was in a costume, and my leg ached like a bitch. Only there was no kissing. Instead, the little shit tugged me away from the tree, and given I was working on only one leg, I couldn’t stop the motion, and there I was, in all my stupid ass glory with Jared freaking Madsen staring at me as if I was an idiot.
Which I was.
Then he strode toward me, his hand already extended, and I took it, and we shook hands firmly.
“Ethan, hey, shit luck with the leg,” Mads began, Tennant and Ryker ambling over to join us.
“And your heart,” I said, and then closed my mouth because… what the fuck? Who brought up heart issues. Not that Mads seemed upset. Instead, he shook his head ruefully.
“I always hoped that one day we’d end up on the same team,” he announced and shrugged. “There was one chance, maybe five years ago. Boston was interested apparently, although that could have been my agent bullshitting me because there was no way they could have both of us, right? Imagine the salary cap hit on that.” He elbowed Ten in the side and then Ryker. “Can’t afford fancy overpriced centers like these two if a team spends all their money on defense.”
I realized I was staring, and for an awkward moment, there was silence, and Mads stared at me with expectation.
“Who are you calling overpriced,” Ten groused good-naturedly.
“I wish I was overpriced,” Ryker added.
Then it all spilled out from me as I ignored both Ten and Ryker. “I feel exactly the same. You’re one of the only D-men I regret never having skated with.” There, I’d said it and felt a hundred times better.
Mads gestured at my leg. “Get that fixed, and we’ll set up a game.”
We chatted for a while then until it was time for Benoit, Ryker, and Scott to head off for the ceremony. Benoit looked particularly fine today, in a dark suit, his robes graceful around him, and he was smiling. He hadn’t stopped smiling since the last day when he’d handed in his thesis and taken his final exams, and he was done with college. He’d be heading to training camp soon, had passed with flying colors, and was now on a two-way contract with Edmonton. With the fact that the team was down a goalie maybe, just maybe, he’d be back up for the NHL team instead of the minors. Who knew?
“This is it,” he murmured, and he hugged his family close.
His dad was obviously tired, but he was on a new drug regime, and it seemed to be helping with his sarcoidosis. Of course, Benoit didn’t know it was me funding the program, and I’m not sure I’d tell him until that perfec
t moment when I knew his pride wouldn’t get in the way. I was doing it for his dad, and the secret was his and mine to keep. Although given the way Benoit’s mom kept looking at me as if she was going to burst into tears, then clung to me in the tightest mom-hug ever, it might not stay a secret for long.
Then it was my turn. I tugged him close to me, held him tight.
“I’m so proud of you, Benoit. So proud of everything you’ve done, and of what I know you’re going to do.” He pressed a kiss to my hand, smiled at us all, then jogged to catch up with Scott, falling into pace next to him as they headed for their chairs.
I kept it together for the ceremony, my chest near bursting with pride when the dean called his name. He grinned at the audience, right at where I was sitting with his family, Hayne, and a super emotional Jacob, then let out a whoop and punched the air. He and Scott did this weird-ass dance. Then Ryker joined in, and the three of them ended up in the crowd of undergrads taking photos, shouting, laughing, celebrating everything that was utterly perfect in this moment in their lives.
“You know, I think I might want to do this college thing,” Mads said as we watched. “I missed out.”
“Me too, but we still had one hell of a ride without it.”
We exchanged thoughtful smiles, both of us onto the next steps in our life. For me, the next big thing was deciding on a career path. I knew where I was going, and that was anywhere Benoit went, but doing what, I didn’t know. I’d put out feelers with several contacts in sports representation, including signaling interest in a couple of positions with Edmonton. One of them in particular, as the video coach, was something I was really interested in, only I had one worry I couldn’t shake. Maybe it wouldn’t be right with Benoit playing there. What if they didn’t like that? Not every team management was as enlightened as the Railers.