Page 89 of Last Boy

Link walks into the room, gazing around at his team. As the team captain, he’s led his team here tonight. To this Frozen Four.

“This is really it.” He sighs. “This is the last time a lot of us will be sharing the ice together. Because after four years of proudly wearing the colors gray and blue as a Wolf, this is my last season.”

He nods toward Hunter. “Thompson’s headed to the NHL, and I have no doubt he’s going to kill it.”

His eyes find mine, and his lips turn up the slightest bit. “Our rookie turned out to not be so much of a rookie after all. And I wish so much that y’all, whose career here at Brooks isn’t over, had him coming back next year.” He nods. “James, I know I was tough on you, but it’s because I knew you could take it. I knew the second you stepped onto our ice that you were the real deal.” He shrugs, shaking his head. “Cam Hardy’s skates are some fucking ginormous ones to fill. But you did it. You did it with grace too.” Walking toward me, he claps my shoulder. “Good luck with my pain-in-the-ass brother though, my man.”

Stepping toward Watson, he smiles. “Like me, you’ve decided to be a Wolf for all four years even though that spot with the pros was secured. It’s not an easy choice to make, but you did it so that your mom could see you graduate. You’ve made Brooks proud, Gentry. It’s been an honor to skate with you.”

He goes around to each player in the room, saying a few things about them all. Things he noticed that maybe the rest of us didn’t. The way a real team captain does.

He stops at Cade Huff, who decided when he returned from rehab that his spot on the team wasn’t in skates, laced up. But on the sidelines, coaching.

“Broke my heart, Huff. The day you told me you weren’t coming back. Because, hell, don’t I love sharing the ice with you. Watching you Tasmanian devil your way through players twice your size.” He pauses, and there’s no missing the emotion in his voice. “But I think you found your place. A place that lets you still be a Wolf on your own terms. And this program is so fucking lucky to have you.” He pulls him in for a hug, slapping his back. “You’re the strongest person I know, Huff. Proud of you.”

Maybe hockey players aren’t supposed to tear up or get emotional. But as I watch two of the best players ever to play college hockey both wipe their eyes, I say fuck that. Crying means they are human. And Sterns is right. Cade Huff is the toughest, most resilient man I know too.

Last for Sterns to talk to is Coach LaConte, who is barely keeping it together as it is.

“I think I speak for every other dumbass in this room when I say that you are the best coach any of us could have asked for. Truly.” He waves his hand toward the room. “We are family. All of us. Do we work on the ice well? Hell yeah, we do. Do other teams fear meeting us in the arena? Fucking right, they do. But it’s not just about that. It’s about this, right here.” His eyes move to the rest of our team. “It’s about the bond we have. As Wolves.” He looks at LaConte. “And that’s because of you. For you believing in us. Pushing us. Treating us like family and giving us tough love when we need it. So, thank you, Coach. I’ve had a hell of a good time playing on your team.”

Coach quickly wipes his eyes and pulls Link in for a hug, pounding his back a few times and muttering something in his ear before he releases him.

He quickly looks around at his team, doing his best to hold it together. “I’m very proud of each and every one of you. Some of you I’ll see next season, and others I won’t.” He smiles sadly. “But every one of you will have a great hockey career. Whether it’s on the ice or coaching.” He inhales, pausing for a moment. “All right, enough with this touchy-feely shit. Let’s go out there and win this thing.”

We all begin tapping our sticks against the floor, chanting, “Wolves, Wolves, Wolves.”

The energy in this locker room is palpable. We all want this win for different reasons, but equally as fiercely.

I’ve had a great year at Brooks. But winning tonight would be a pretty great way to end my career as a Wolf.

Just as we begin chanting, Cam Hardy and Brody O’Brien walk into the room, and the entire place goes crazy as they both give their signature grins, throwing their arm around players as they walk by.

“I thought I got rid of you two pains in the ass,” LaConte says, but we all know he’s full of shit.

Even if Cam was a pain in the ass, he’s his son-in-law now. So, he’ll never get rid of the guy. And O’Brien was the dude whose charity event we had to pair up with the dancers for. If LaConte hadn’t had a soft spot for that guy, he sure as hell wouldn’t have signed his team up for that. Besides, I’m not really sure anyone could truly not like either one of them, to be honest.

And that’s coming from a dude who got compared to Hardy all season.

Cam approaches me first, giving me a head nod. “Been catching a few of your games online, James. I’m not sure why those reporters spent so many weeks busting your balls about filling my skates.” He widens his eyes. “I think you had them fuckers filled up in week one.”

I’m a pretty chill dude. Not much gets me overly excited, and I’m definitely not one to grin like a fourteen-year-old who just felt his first boobie. But right now, that’s probably exactly what I look like.

Because if a player like Hardy thinks you’re good, you can fucking quit now. You’re finished. All has been achieved.

“Comin’ from you, that means a whole fucking lot.” I pat his shoulder. “For real. You’re, uh…someone I look up to more than I could ever explain.”

“I hear you’re headed to the Bay Sharks,” he says, smirking. “You know, that’s not too far from Boston. We’ll have to meet up and shoot around a bit.”

“For sure.” I nod, probably far too eagerly, so I try to remind myself to play it cool and not look like Cam Hardy’s next stalker.

Which I’m not. Even though he’s pretty fucking awesome.

“Well, we’ll let y’all get to it,” he says smoothly just as Brody comes beside him, grinning like an absolute fool.

“For as many times as I watched your interviews and heard Cam Hardy Junior, you don’t look a whole lot like my friend Cam,” he jokes, jerking his thumb toward my face and looking at his friend. “Walker James is handsomer.” He winks. “Younger too.”

“Well, that’s just rude.” Cam frowns, looking me over. “My wife thinks I’m the handsomest man in the world. So, I guess it’s fine.” He pouts a little, and Brody throws his arm around his shoulders.

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