Breaking through the Bond (Espen Jetties #2)

1. Hayes

1

HAYES

Beards. Everywhere I looked were more beards. Some of the guys’ faces seemed to be swallowed up by them. And I couldn’t talk. I had one too. I didn’t mind a little scruff, but this thing was getting unruly.

It was what players did when they went into the playoffs. Not only did we advance into those, but we were in the Stanley Cup Finals. Game five. At home. If we won tonight, we’d get the Cup.

I was leaning forward with my elbows on my knees watching our guys fight over the puck. My legs bounced slightly as energy coursed through me. I wanted to get back on the ice. I wanted my line to get their shot at the goal again.

My best friend, King, sat on one side of me, fixated on the game. I glanced over at him. I swore he oiled that beard. The thing looked better than anyone else’s on the team.

King bumped his shoulder into mine. “Quit eyeing me or I’ll start getting ideas.” He grinned.

Kingston Walker, or as most of us called him, King, was our left winger on the first line. I was the right on the same one. He was also the polar opposite of me. Where King was loud, full of energy, loved the attention hockey brought him, I wanted to spend time at home, and didn’t like cameras being shoved in my face.

But being friends with King meant going along for the ride every time we were together. Which was a lot since we lived with one another.

A fight broke out, pulling my attention back to the game. Gloves were thrown off, fists flew, and by the time it was over, we had two guys with penalties.

Luckily, it wasn’t long before King and I were skating back in with our center and captain, Devon D’Agostino, between us. The score was one to zero in our favor. And that point was hard won.

Wisconsin didn’t make it to the finals against us for being shitty players. No, they got here by decimating every team they went up against. Now we were playing our asses off, trying to keep our lead.

Devon got possession of the puck, flew toward the opposite net, but there were two guys on him. He didn’t have a clear shot, so he faked then passed to King. King rushed ahead to keep the opposing team off him but didn’t make it far before they were slamming him into the boards, trying to get the puck.

They got it and redirected but Jansen McKenna, one of our defensemen, stopped their pass. He gained possession and sent it back to King, who was able to hold on to it and got a clear enough shot to pass it to Devon.

Devon didn’t hesitate and let it fly toward the net. But the Wisconsin goalie blocked it. They took control and raced toward Leslie Knoxton, Knox for short, who was our goalie and was playing with everything he had for the Jetties tonight. We tried to get it back, but they slapped it and Knox had to drop down to keep them from scoring.

Noah Nordin, one of our other defensemen, was there to take it, handing it off to King as we raced toward the opposite goal. King passed it to Devon who took the shot, but it rebounded off the bar. I was there at the right time to slap it back and it was like everything happened in slow motion. The puck glided across the ice, and I went five-hole.

The horn blared, lights flashed, I lifted my hands up in the air to cheer along with the fans. Bodies slammed into me; hands slapped my back. King got in my face, his helmet hitting mine, his smile was so fucking wide. When they released me, I skated over and banged on the glass where the fans were as excited as we were.

We were up by two. We could win the Cup tonight. It was within reach. We just had to hold on to the lead.

When my ass landed on the bench again, sweat was pouring down my face, making my beard itch. I was going to shave the fucking thing off as soon as the finals were done.

The game went on. Lines were switched out, an injury was tended to, another penalty. Coach Bronse yelled most of the time. It was a typical game, except we were playing for it all.

The clock wound down. No one else had scored but Wisconsin kept Knox busy.

We were all standing in front of the bench. I wouldn’t be out there when the clock hit zero, as long as we didn’t go into overtime.

Seconds felt like minutes. I swore even though the crowd noise was at an all-time high, I could hear the beating of my heart. Or maybe it was that I felt it everywhere. The blood rushing through me. The adrenaline. Knowing in a few seconds, we could be Stanley Cup champions again.

This would be my second time winning the Cup if it happened. For the Jetties, it would be the fourth time the team won.

Our helmets were off. Sticks down. We were ready for this to be over. We were ready to hoist the Cup again.

I stared at the clock, held my breath, then it was done. We won.

We.

Fucking.

Won.

We hopped over the boards and skated until we slammed into our teammates, jumping, pounding on them. We were hugging one another with grins so big I’d be surprised if my face didn’t start to hurt.

We were loud but the crowd was louder. I pulled back to look into the stands, shoving my hands into the air. “Yeah!” I screamed.

Some of the fans had their phones out, videoing this moment. I loved it.

One of our guys was rubbing my head, another was hugging me. I embraced him, wanting to etch this moment in my mind forever.

We each moved around, making sure to hug everyone. I didn’t care how long any of these guys played tonight, we won this as a team. Not a single player. Not a single goal. One team.

Fans hit the glass behind me, then the next person I got my arms around was Devon.

“We fucking did it,” I told him.

“We did. Congrats, man.”

“You too. You played your ass off like you always do.”

King came over, slamming into us. “Look at you both. Two goals, one scored by each of you.” He hugged us at the same time.

Jansen, who we called Kenna, came over and pulled Devon into his arms. Fuck, we were all so happy.

King hugged me again. A little tighter this time. When he pulled back, his eyes held mine. “I wouldn’t want to win this with anyone else.”

I slapped his shoulder. “Ditto.”

Once we were done congratulating one another, it was time for the Stanley Cup to be brought onto the ice. Two men in suits with white gloves carried it to the podium made to hold it. We were standing shoulder to shoulder, our arms around one another as we formed a line facing the Cup. King was on one side of me, Knox on the other.

The NHL commissioner came out, made a speech, and presented the Cup to Devon. They each held one side while their picture was taken repeatedly. Then it was Devon’s chance to hold the Cup on his own. He hoisted it overhead, shouting out to our team with a huge smile on his face. He dipped the Cup down to kiss it then pushed it high overhead again as he skated toward us.

One by one we took turns hoisting the Cup, kissing it, shouting out our victory. We each skated with it. The fans kept cheering.

Glancing over, I saw a camera and microphone in front of Devon. We’d be out here for a while as everyone took their turn with the Cup. The coaches got it after us. Kasper Warnes-Wilder, our owner, came down to celebrate. He’d hoist it as well.

Cameras were all around, capturing this moment for us and for our city. Espen wasn’t where I grew up, but it was where I called home. There was no place I’d rather be. Sure, I missed Ontario. It held my childhood memories, but here, right now, this was where I was meant to be.

There was only one thing missing. One person. My mom.

I couldn’t think about her right now. Not if I wanted to keep the smile on my face. She was gone and hopefully somewhere looking down on me, happy with what I’d accomplished. This win was for her.

Next, the camera was in my face. I did my best to smile, say the right things to the reporter asking the questions, not that there was anything wrong to say. We did amazing tonight. It wasn’t an easy win. We played hard the whole game. The victory was well earned.

Finally, we all gathered together for the picture of the team, coaches, and management with the Cup. King sprawled out in front of me like he was a model at a photoshoot. Before I knew it, he was pulling me down to sit in front of his thighs while he was on his side.

King was the type of person who loved his friends fiercely. Worried over them. Only wanted the best. He loved hugs, gestures of warmth. He had a big family and even though his parents were divorced, they still got along well. Somehow, they stayed friends and raised their kids together. They never lacked for love. They were in the stands cheering along with us.

Patting me on the back, King said, “We did it, Hayes. How do you feel?”

Happy to have won. Sad my mom wasn’t here. Knew when this was over tonight everyone would go home with their families: spouses, kids, parents. And I’d go home with none of that. Yes, I had King. But there was no one here supporting me but my teammates. I had no wife, no girlfriend.

“Good, King,” I responded. I couldn’t say what was going through my mind. “I feel really good.” I looked over my shoulder and grinned. He returned it.

The photographer called for us to face forward and we smiled as we did so. This moment would be remembered. It was to be cherished. I was with my found family. The guys who always had my back. And while I was sad not to have more, I still had plenty. More than some people got. For that I was grateful.

That night when I was lying in bed, thinking about everything that had happened today, it still felt like a dream. My muscles ached; I was bone-deep tired. But I couldn’t calm my mind enough to sleep.

King went out with a few of the single guys, but most of the others went home with their families. He tried to get me to go. Usually, I gave in. King was known for loving the bars and clubs. He didn’t drink to get drunk, he just liked having a good time. And for him, celebrating after a win was the best. He’d no doubt find someone to go home with. Man, woman, he didn’t care. King was bi and everyone knew it. He never had a shortage of people desiring him.

I could be out there with him. Finding someone of my own to be with. But it wasn’t the connection I wanted. I didn’t want a one-night stand. I wanted something serious. Something special. At twenty-eight years old, I was over hookups.

King had tried on numerous occasions to set me up with women. None stuck. Sometimes I envied him. He didn’t seem to want to settle down. He was happy to have fun with whoever caught his attention.

I put my arm over my eyes. Tomorrow I could rest. Take some time off. Shave this damn beard. Be with my best friend and forget about everything else. I needed this break.