Page 57 of The Boyfriend Zone

Once the players hit the ice for warmups, I found a spot for myself on the bench, wearing a team polo and a headset to listen in on coach communications. From this vantage point, I could see the familiar patterns of drills, the way my teammates moved through their routines, the small adjustments the coaches called for.

It wasn't the same as being out there, feeling the ice beneath my skates and the puck on my stick, but it was something.

During the second period of the game, Lucas appeared beside me on the bench, having come down from the press box.

"Mind if I join you?" he asked. "Better view of the action down here."

"Be my guest," I replied, making room for him. "Though I should warn you, I get pretty animated during close games."

"I've noticed," Lucas laughed, settling in. "You were practically levitating off the bench during that power play in the first period."

"Was I?" I hadn't realized I was being so obvious. "Force of habit, I guess. It's weird watching instead of playing."

"You're good at it, though," Lucas observed. "I saw Tristan adjust his positioning after you called something out to him."

I shrugged my good shoulder. "Just noticed their forward was cheating toward the middle. Tristan picked up on it right away."

As if on cue, the action shifted to our offensive zone. Tristan received a pass at the point, faked a shot that drew the defender in, then slid the puck to our winger for a clean look at the net. The lamp lit up as the puck sailed into the top corner, and our bench erupted in cheers.

"Yes!" I shouted, jumping to my feet. "That's exactly what we talked about! Perfect execution!"

In the rush of excitement, I turned to Lucas, my face split in a grin of pure joy. Before I could think better of it, I leaned in and pressed a quick, impulsive kiss to his lips.

Lucas's eyes widened in surprise, a blush creeping up his neck as he quickly glanced around to see if anyone had noticed. A couple of the backup players nearby smirked, but they were too focused on the game to make much of it.

"Keep it PG, Sean," one of them called with a grin. "There are freshmen present."

I laughed, not embarrassed in the slightest. The kiss had been instinctive, a natural expression of the happiness coursing through me, and for once, I hadn't stopped to overthink who might see or what they might think.

"Sorry," I said to Lucas, though I wasn't sorry at all. "Got carried away."

"Don't apologize," Lucas replied, his initial shock melting into a warm smile. "It was nice."

The rest of the game passed in a blur of strategic adjustments, moments of tension, and ultimately, victory. As the final buzzer sounded, sealing our 4-2 win, the team poured off the bench to celebrate at center ice. I hung back, not wanting to intrude on their moment, but Tristan skated over and beckoned insistently.

"Get out here, Sean," he called. "This win's as much yours as ours."

Hesitantly, I stepped onto the ice in my shoes, careful of my balance as I joined the celebration. The team enveloped me in their circle, thumping my back and including me in their post-game ritual.

When we returned to the locker room, the atmosphere was jubilant. Coach Barnett gave his usual post-win speech, praising effort and execution while pointing out areas for improvement. Then, to my surprise, he called me to the center of the room.

"Sean may not have played today," he said, looking around at the team, "but his contributions from the bench made a difference. Strategy, communication, leadership—all the intangibles that make a player valuable beyond just what they do on the ice."

He handed me the game puck, a symbolic gesture usually reserved for the standout player of the match. "This one's yours, Sean. For showing that there's more than one way to be part of this team."

I accepted the puck, momentarily speechless. It was a small thing, really—just a rubber disc that would sit on my shelf alongside dozens of others. But the recognition of my value beyond my physical abilities, the acknowledgment that I was more than just my performance on the ice, hit me with unexpected force.

"Thanks, Coach," I managed, emotion thickening my voice. "And thanks, guys. For letting me be part of it, even from the bench."

The team responded with good-natured cheers and a few theatrical bows in my direction, transforming what could have been an awkward moment into just another aspect of our collective celebration.

As we packed up to leave, I caught sight of Lucas hovering near the doorway, his expression a mixture of professional neutrality and personal pride. I beckoned him over, not caring who noticed the way my face lit up at his approach.

"Congratulations, Coach Sean," he teased, nodding at the puck in my hand. "First win as a strategist."

"I could get used to it," I admitted. "Though I'd still rather be out there blocking shots."

"All in good time," Lucas assured me, his fingers brushing mine briefly as he pretended to examine the puck. "For what it's worth, the guys really listen to you. You've got a natural coaching ability."

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