Page 99 of Cross Ice

The crowd was louder than usual, or maybe I was just more aware of it. I caught the signs in the lower bowl during warmups: a rainbow flag in Section 112, a hand-lettered poster that said WE GOT YOU, BRIGGS in block letters, a kid in the front row holding up a number seventeen jersey with both hands like an offering.

I didn’t let myself look too long. But I saw them.

The moment the puck dropped, my head cleared. Detroit came out strong, we matched them, and for sixty minutes the only thing that mattered was the puck, the ice, and the five guys on the ice with me. I scored in the third with a rebound off the right post, the kind of goal that happens because you’re in position and paying attention. Clean and simple.

We won 3–1.

In the locker room after, nobody made a speech. Nobody needed to. Thompson cranked the music. Fortin dumped a water bottle on the rookie’s head. It was exactly like every other winning locker room I’d been in for eight years. I stood in the middle of it and realized that this was still the same locker room, and I was still the same person in it. André caught my eye across the room and nodded once, just that, and I nodded back.

That was enough.

I texted Evan from my stall.

Nico

Kept looking for you in the stands.

The response came while I was dressing.

Evan

Congrats on the win. Saw your goal in the third.

Nico

Wish you’d been there.

I sent it and put my phone away. His answer was waiting when I got to my car.

Evan

Me too.

I sat in the parking lot and read it twice.

It wasn’t the same as having him there. But it was honest, and honest was what we’d promised each other.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Evan

Sunday night, Nico texted after the game.

Nico

Kept looking for you in the stands.

Evan

Congrats on the win. Saw your goal in the third.

Nico

Wish you’d been there.

I stared at that for a long time before responding.

Evan