Power Plays & Straight A's

by Eden Finley

  I hurry to nod. “I-I’m a little nervous.”

  “The boys are showering, then they’ll be out. You remember the rules.”

  “Of course.”

  “Which are?”

  My face couldn’t possibly get any hotter. “Please don’t make me say it.”

  Foster’s coach laughs. “As long as you know. You boys have fun.”

  “T-thank you again.”

  He leaves, and I’m left waiting. A few vaguely familiar faces come out first, and they ignore me as they pass.

  I’m seriously tempted to run away, but after our talk last week, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. Maybe I won’t fit into Foster’s world, maybe things will be hard and it won’t work out, but if Foster always has to reassure me, it’s going to get old fast.

  I like who I am, and clearly he does too. Nothing else should matter.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” Topher asks, patting me on the shoulder.

  “I have, umm, something planned with F-Foster.”

  “Oh really?” He lifts both eyebrows as he checks out what I’m holding. “Well, have fun. But no fucking in the team box.”

  “Your coach said the same thing,” I mutter.

  “That’s because we know Grant.” He taps my shoulder again. “See you around.”

  I swallow hard and turn to find Foster watching me.

  “Look, I know I’m irresistible, but I said I’d be right over.”

  “Why wait half an hour when I can see you now?”

  “That’s what I like about you.” He drops his bag and pulls me in for a kiss. “So smart.”

  I let myself enjoy his tongue brushing mine before I pull away. “While yes, I did want to see you, I also have another reason for being here.” I lift up the ice skates I’m holding as I tug his hand to get him walking.

  “You know what those are, right?” he asks.

  “I have become well acquainted with them in the last few months.”

  “Okay, so, why …?”

  That’s a fantastic question, and the burst of nerves hitting my stomach asks the same one. I lead Foster down the stairs closest to the ice and drop into a seat.

  “The thing is, my boyfriend happens to be a hotshot hockey player.” I kick off my shoes then lean down to pull the skates on. Foster pulls his from his bag and does the same. “And while I might not be experienced with relationships, I hear it’s a good idea to take interest in the things your partner loves.”

  Foster wrinkles his nose. “Does that mean I have to take up reading?”

  “No.” I laugh and slap his stomach. Once my laces are done up, Foster grabs my legs to check that he’s happy with how tight I’ve done them. Sitting there, legs in his lap, calms my apprehension. “You’re headed for the NHL—”

  He slaps a hand over my mouth. “Shh. Don’t jinx it.” He gestures to the rink with his free hand. “Not in this house of the holy sacredness that is hockey.”

  “I’m not,” I say against his palm. He releases his hold, but I quickly grab his hand. “It’s not jinxing it when it’s stating a fact. You’re incredible, and wherever you end up, our time together will be limited. You know that, I know that, and so …” I wriggle a foot.

  “You want me to teach you to skate?” His voice is soft and full of awe. I did that.

  “I mean, it’s not like I’ve never done this before. I grew up in Wisconsin. But I’d just stand at the side, holding on for dear life. I never had any interest in trying.”

  “But you do now.”

  “I think we both know why.”

  “Spending time with your incredibly hot boyfriend is a good incentive.”

  “I think we also know I’m not a prodigy like you.”

  “Can I tell you a secret?”

  “Always.”

  Foster leans in. “When I first learned to skate, Seth was better than me. I mean, he still sucked, but I spent more time on my ass than the blades. He at least had balance.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.” He drops my legs and takes my other hand to pull me to my feet.

  Okay, steady. I find my balance and grin up at him.

  “Feeling cocky, are we?” Foster asks. “Pretty sure that’s my job. Just wait until you get off the carpet.”

  I stomp heavily after him toward the entrance, and the smile Foster’s wearing makes it impossible to regret my decision. Even if it means a bruised ass when we’re done … I’m sure it won’t take much convincing for him to kiss it better.

  “Coach is going to kill us for being in here.”

  “I organized it with him.”

  “You …” He shakes his head. “Of course you did.”

  “I’m a little nervous,” I confess, as Foster steps back onto the ice.

  “You wouldn’t be my Zach if you weren’t.”

  His Zach. “Are you calling me a scaredy cat?”

  “You’re afraid of a lot of things.” He tugs me, and I glide forward right into his arms. “But you never let it stop you.”

  “To stop trying is to stop learning. Ignorance is the enemy of progress.”

  Foster lets out a full-body laugh and starts to move backward, me going with him by default as I refuse to stop clutching his arms. “How did a dumbass like me ever catch the eye of someone as amazing as you?”

  I snort and give him a little shove. “You really are an idiot if you have to ask a question like that.”

  “Careful, Zachy, I’m the only thing holding you up right now. You’re completely at my mercy.”

  “Maybe I like being at your mercy.” My voice comes out way too high pitched to be as sexy as I’d been aiming for.

  “Getting complacent, eh? In that case …” Foster eases away from me, forcing me to readjust my hold to his hands again. “Let’s get you standing on your own two feet.”

  I smile as I look down.

  “Nuh-uh. Eyes up here.”

  Well, that doesn’t feel natural. Still, he’s the expert here, so I encourage my gaze away from the ice and back up to his face.

  “It’s all intuitive,” he explains. “Don’t overthink it. Feel for your balance and then push.”

  Intuitive. Balance. Push.

  Oh dear, this is far more difficult than I remembered. It takes a few laps for me to finally let up on my vise-like grip. I wouldn’t say I’m especially comfortable, but things start clicking together in my head. It’s easier to get my balance, to gain confidence, and soon I’m actually skating rather than just letting Foster pull me along.

  “Holy shit, I’m doing it.”

  “Yeah, you are. Look out, NHL. Zach’s coming for you.”

  I flip him off, and since I’m only holding on with one hand, I decide to try it solo. I don’t immediately fall over which is a surprise in itself, but when I actually manage movement, I let out a little squeak.

  Well, not a squeak, a, umm … okay. Apparently, I do squeak.

  Foster takes off for a lap of the rink and I start building up some speed. There’s absolutely no way I could do this with the pads or the sticks or the puck, but this … this is okay.

  Foster approaches, and just as I think he’s about to run right into me, he jerks his skates to the left and makes a sudden stop.

  It scares me, and I lose my balance.

  I resign myself to experiencing immense pain, but Foster’s arm loops around my waist, and he pulls me back against him.

  “I’ve got you, baby.” His warm lips find my cold cheek.

  I turn in his arms and grin up at him. “I never doubted it.”

  “This is …” He looks around the rink. “I can’t believe you’re doing this.”

  “Honestly, neither can I. But I have to. Because you’re important to me and this is important to you, and if I’m going to be your biggest supporter, that can’t just be with words. I talked to Professor Lawrence yesterday and explained that you might be signed, well, anywhere. He said once you know a location, we can look at my schedule and see if there
are any changes we can make so I can visit you more. But when I’m with you, I don’t want to be a distraction. So that means if I want you to do well, and want to spend time with you”—I tap the toe of his skate with mine—“it means I need to join you on your turf. Even if it terrifies me. Even if it’s not what I’m used to or good at, even if it means talking to people about hockey.” A shudder runs through my body. “I’m never going to change, but I am going to step out of my comfort zone. Because I really want this to work.” Foster blinks his warm brown eyes at me, and I reach up to run my hand over his stubbled jaw. “It’s recently come to my attention that even if I don’t completely buy into the concept of spontaneous emotion that perhaps I’m not in complete control after all.”

  “Aaand you’ve lost me.”

  “It’s been a while since I’ve been sure. B-but I, ah, sort of don’t know how to—”

  “I love you.”

  My heart stops. Restarts. I process the words.

  Then I punch him in the shoulder. “Excuse me, that was my line.”

  Foster shrugs. “You snooze. You lose.”

  “I was supposed to say it first.”

  “Ah, but you didn’t. I did. So now I’ll always have bragging rights.”

  “That’s … completely, ah—”

  “Zach, I think the words you’re searching for are I love you too, Foster.”

  I scowl. “Well, now I’m not so sure.”

  “Repeat after me: I love you, Foster.”

  “Do I?”

  His smile ignites a flutter in my gut as he cups my face and leans down. “You do. Because you’re on skates. Ready to face a future that is so fucking uncertain I’m sure it’s giving you hives. Yet, you’re doing it for me anyway.”

  “I am.”

  Foster’s lips brush mine. “Say it.”

  And how can I not? How can I hold back something so big that it both confuses me and seems blindingly clear? “I love you too.”

  “Of course you do.” Foster’s lips find my ear. “But I loved you first.”

  Epilogue

  FOSTER

  * * *

  Hey, Foster, what are you doing tonight?

  Oh, you know, just playing in the Frozen Four final. Only the most important hockey game of my life, and it happens to be at TD Garden. No biggie. This is an everyday occurrence for me. Nothing to see here.

  I’ve had an offer from a West Coast team that’s still on the table, but Damon said to hold out. He’s in talks with a few other teams he knows I’ll jump at. I’m stupid to think The B’s will want me, but fuck, walking into their territory, playing on their ice … I feel at home.

  We killed the competition in the first game, even with me skating around blinded by awe for half the night.

  Our arena at school is impressive, but it’s nothing compared to a professional stadium.

  We’re one game away from not only breaking the CU curse, which we already did by making it here, but smashing it completely.

  If we go home with the W tonight, every single member of this team will live in Colchester history as the team who did the unthinkable.

  The last few months have been an insane schedule of studying, working out, practicing, and Zach.

  I don’t care how I’m with him, where I’m with him, or what we’re doing. I’m happy to crash out from exhaustion while he sits on his computer writing his thesis.

  I’m going to miss it.

  It’s not only that I’m graduating and moving on.

  Everything is going to change after tonight. Whether we walk away with the championship or not, this is it for my college career.

  Come the end of summer, I’ll be jetting off to some new town in some other state, and I’ll begin the next phase of my life.

  I want Zach with me always, but I won’t stop him from doing what he loves, just like he won’t stop me.

  I keep holding out for a miracle. For that single phone call to tell me a team—any team—within a two-hundred-mile radius wants me. Or, better idea, maybe it’s about time Vermont got themselves a professional hockey team. I could take it to the NHL heads.

  Hey, I’d really love it if you created a new team so I can be close to my boyfriend and blow him on the regular. Great idea? Thanks.

  All I know is, no matter what, Zach and I have promised ourselves to each other. Maybe it sounds stupid and naïve for college sweethearts who have been together for less than a year to promise big things. We’ve vowed to do everything we can to make it work, but we’re still realistic.

  It’s going to take a lot of communication, something Zach still struggles with, and patience—which I struggle with. We’ll have to compromise which is new for both of us.

  Hockey used to be the only thing in my life that mattered. Now it’s a juggling act between the ice and my man, but I’m willing to do it. Because I’ve never met anyone like Zach.

  And I don’t think it’s totally selfish to ask for everything I want.

  A Frozen Four win, my boyfriend at my side, and an NHL deal that’s millions of dollars past my worth as a rookie.

  Okay, I’ll settle for any NHL contract. The money doesn’t matter.

  See? I’m already compromising. I’m an adult and mature and shit. Go me!

  As we enter the locker room for the final, there’s a mixture of emotions on each of the other guys’ faces.

  We’re excited, the adrenaline is flowing, but we’re all nervous as fuck.

  I’m the captain. I got us this far. “Hey, guys?”

  Everyone’s attention immediately goes to me. That’s a first. There’s usually a lot of, Hey. Hey. Stop fucking talking and listen to me.

  They’re all looking at me for guidance and reassurance.

  “There’s only one thing you have to remember while you’re on the ice. We’ve already made it. We’ve gotten the furthest our school ever has. We broke the curse. The rest is icing on the cake. So let’s go out there and have fun.”

  “Fun?” Jacobs looks like he wants to rip my head off. “Fun? Are you insane?”

  “The last thing we need is to let the pressure get to us and choke out there. UMass is going to be scrambling for the win. Fighting for it.” I grin. “We’re going to take it from them.”

  All the guys smile wide.

  “Simple as that?” Cohen asks.

  “Yup.”

  And for a while, it works.

  For the first two periods, we’re calm and collected but strong as we shoot down any chance they get on goal. But the same goes for them.

  It’s a scoreless game, which makes it a boring game for the spectators but a tiring game for us because both sides are fighting as hard as they can.

  It’s disheartening every time we set up the perfect play only for their goalie to deny us the point.

  To the audience it probably looks like we’re having bad games, but the truth is, both teams are playing well. Our goalies are on hot streaks. Our defenses are working overtime.

  “Are we having fun yet?” someone mumbles when we hit the locker room before the last period.

  “Don’t give up,” Coach says. “All we need is one shot. This is some of the best hockey I’ve seen in my life, boys. Don’t let it come crumbling down in the third. Keep fighting. Keep it up.”

  We go back out there with Coach’s pep talk in our minds, but it’s more of the same.

  All we need is one shot. All we need is one shot.

  I get a chance and send the puck sailing into the goalie’s glove.

  Jacobs gets a shot, and it bounces off the goalie’s pads.

  You know what I’m starting to think? We don’t need one shot. We need their goalie to break a leg.

  And then the unthinkable happens.

  UMass manages a fluke and scores, lighting up the lamp for the first time tonight.

  We’re utterly dejected, and I feel the remaining hope in the team dwindling away.

  And no matter how much I try to tell myself the same thing I told the
team—we’ve already made history, everything else is just icing on the cake, a runner-up position is still the best position our school has ever gotten—it’s not enough for me.

  It’s clear it’s not enough for Jacobs either. As if the very real chance of losing this thing lights a fire under both our asses, we somehow pull off the play of the year.

  Flying down the ice, we bowl our way past defense.

  We’ve done this countless times tonight, only to be denied by the goalie. We need to mix it up.

  Jacobs has been on my line since his freshman year. We’re closer than teammates. It’s as if we can read each other’s minds. He nods to me and then at Beck, who’s open.

  I don’t hesitate.

  They’re expecting me to pass back to Jacobs or Simms, my other winger, to attempt the same shot we’ve missed over and over.

  So when I pass to Beck, a D-man, and he takes his shot, it sails right past the giant wall in front of the net.

  I rush Beck and throw my arms around him along with the other guys on our line except for Jacobs who’s ready to get back into it.

  Our job’s not done yet.

  I glance up at the clock. Under two minutes left.

  I really don’t want this to go into overtime.

  This needs to end right now.

  Play smart.

  Play hard.

  Pray like hell for a fluke.

  At the face-off, my reflexes are fast. The whole play takes less than twenty seconds. I pass to Jacobs and skate around my opponent toward the net. Jacobs passes back, I shoot …

  I have no idea where the puck is.

  And then the lamp lights up.

  Holy shit.

  Holy fucking shit.

  I fall to my knees, but Jacobs picks me back up.

  “We’re still not done.”

  I swear I hold my breath for the entire one minute and fifteen seconds left on the clock.

  Only when we hear the buzzer signaling the end of the game do I suck in a gasp of air.

  And for the first time tonight, I let myself glance in the direction of my family and Zach while my team celebrates around me.

  Zach has his hands cupped around his mouth, screaming along with my brother who’s jumping up and down.

  We lock eyes, and my boyfriend smiles. I bow as if I had the game in the bag the whole time.