Page 1 of Off Season

Chapter One

Ethan

The puck sails over Elliot’s left shoulder, into the back of the net, and the arena practically vibrates as the visiting fans cheer and applaud in celebration. The LA bench clears and players swarm the ice to revel in their victory, and while my heart is thumping hard against my chest from the adrenaline, my head drops in defeat.

We came so fucking close.

Game seven.

Double overtime.

We were so close to clinching the Western Conference Champions title. We had the Stanley Cup Finals within touching distance, but we couldn’t grasp it. All we can do now is watch as Los Angeles celebrates.

Bending at the waist, I rest my stick over my thighs and focus on my breathing. It’s like there’s an invisible bandsqueezing my lungs, and an ache rooted deep in my chest as a million and one emotions rush through me.

Frustration. Anger. Sadness. Envy.

But there’s still pride among all the negative feelings. Even though I’m fucking distraught, I’m proud that we fought so hard, even if it wasn’t enough to get the W.

Our goaltender, Elliot Olsen, skates over and sniffs, trying to contain the emotions bubbling beneath the surface. His eyes are filled with unshed tears behind his cage, the protective padding doing nothing to hide how his body is trembling from his ragged breathing.

I stand to full height and bring him in for a hug, knowing nothing I say or do will be able to soothe the heartbreak he’s experiencing.

I’ve been here before—many times—but this was his first playoff experience, and it hurts more when we werethisclose to making it.

“You gave it everything you could, El,” I say reassuringly. “You played your heart out, and I’m so proud of you.”

And he did. He played fucking amazingly and made some incredible saves.

“But if I didn’t let in that g-goal—” he hiccups, sucking in another sharp breath. He’s trying his damndest to hold himself together.

“No,” I interrupt, shaking my head as I pull away to look into his glassy eyes. I remove my glove and place my hand on his shoulder pad, giving him a slight shake. “This isn’t on you, okay? There’s a lot of things we could have done better, but you can’t think like that. This isn’t on you.”

It’s easy to be consumed by the ugly emotions that follow a big loss. To allow disappointment to rush through ourveins and focus on the mistakes. The what-ifs and could-have-beens.

We’ll work together on how to improve, and we’ll bounce back.

We always do.

He gives me a shaky nod. I know he doesn’t believe me right now, but he will in time.

It’s all part of the game.

Highest highs and lowest lows.

I’ve been in the league long enough that I’m used to the emotional rollercoaster it brings, but some of these guys? It’s their first playoff. Hell, for some of them, it’s their first year in the NHL.

Elliot turns to lean on Blaine, his twin brother and our teammate, who’s also trying to hold back his emotions.

This fucking sucks.

Raising my hand, I rub the hollow spot in my chest over my pads and skate to center ice when it’s time to shake the opposing players’ hands.

“Great series, Parkes.” Edwards, LA’s captain, brings me in for a bro-hug, slapping my shoulder with his gloved hand. “It’s been a great run.”

“Good luck, man. I hope it works out for you.”

And I mean it. We were drafted in the same year, and this is his final shot at the cup because he announced his retirement a few weeks ago.

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