Page 14 of From Now On

But there’s a lot to Aidan beneath the boisterous exterior. He reminds me of my brother, in a lot of ways. But unlike Sean, who displays selfishness most of the time now, Aidan is all sincerity and loyalty at his core.

We skate a few more laps in silence. I feel the tension dissipating from my body a little more with each circle on the ice.

I love playing hockey. But what I really love? Skating. There’s something addictive about the smooth strokes on a flawless surface. The scrape of metal against ice is audible when there’s no raucous crowd or whistles. All the stressful shit in my head—mostly about my post-graduation plans—settles, like it got left behind at the blue line.

It’ll catch up to me, I know. At some point, I’ll have to decide what I’m doing and commit to what’s next.

But for now, I can skate with a clear head.

A blur of black blazes by on my left.

Conor’s chat with Coach is over. And, fuck, is Hart fast. He’s training as much—maybe more—than he was while we were in season.

Even after playing with him for four years, I’m still in awe of his talent. It’s rare, witnessing someone excel at what they were clearly meant to do. I’ve watched a lot of hockey, and I’ve never seen anyone look more at home on the ice than Conor Hart.

I’ve never been jealous of it. I knew I was good enough to play in college—good enough for Division III, at least. But I never thought playing in college would involve getting to observe someone chase a dream the way I’ve gotten to see Conor pursue his.

If he doesn’t make it all the way, it’ll break my heart too.

“What’d Coach want?” Aidan asks.

“Just some drill suggestions,” Conor replies.

There’s a new tension to his expression that wasn’t there when we first arrived at the rink.

Our team had two goals this season: win a championship and get Hart to the pros. Weearnedthat trophy. Every guy busted his ass to get us there. So did Coach Keller. Because we weren’t after a trophy. We did it for Conor. And when I look back onmy college hockey career, I won’t remember the early morning practices or the bruises on my ribs. I’ll remember how special it felt to be part of a team that rallied because of such a selfless outcome.

As stressed as I am about my own future, at least I know what the options are. Hart is waiting to find out what his will be, and uncertainty is unsettling.

“What are you wanting to run?” I ask Conor.

He comes here by himself during the week, but weekend mornings have become the designated time for me, him, and Aidan to skate together. We mostly just fuck around, playing pickup. Once, we talked Aidan into playing goalie while I defended Conor.

Phillips put on the pads and everything, waddling across the ice like a baby penguin. Hart and I practically pissed ourselves laughing, and Aidan swore he’d never play goalie again.

Willis, our actual goalie, has practiced with Conor a few times since the season ended. But most of the guys on the team are still riding the high of the championship, knowing it’ll be the only one they win. Few share Conor’s competitive mindset.

It’s what makes him such an incredible athlete, excluding his natural talent. He’s driven in a way that elevates everyone around him but that only some can sustain.

“Thought I’d start with some shooting,” Hart answers.

“I amnotplaying goalie,” Phillips announces.

I laugh, and then skate off to grab the bucket of pucks. They spill onto the ice, a few rolling into the boards.

The next hour passes quickly. It always does, when I’m on the ice.

We head into the locker room to change. It’s strange to be in here without the ruckus of the whole team. Slamming my metal locker shut sounds louder than a gunshot.

The final time I clear out my gear will be weird too. Wherever I end up living this fall, I doubt I’ll be skating regularly. Definitely not with my best friends.

I’m exiting the showers when Conor brings up spring break.

The break snuck up on me, maybe because the weather has felt like we’re stuck in the dead of winter. It’s warmer today, over freezing at least. Last night’s snow was melting into icy rivers when Conor and I left the house this morning.

“—Eve’s coming with us, by the way.”

My shoulders stiffen as I reach my locker and start getting dressed.

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