Page 104 of Risky Pucking Play
"Hell of a game, Barnesy," their captain mutters as we shake hands.
"Thanks, man." I nod, respecting the sportsmanship.
Back in the locker room, champagne flies everywhere. Coach stands in the center, trying to look stern and failing miserably.The man who once saw me as his biggest headache is now grinning as I pour champagne over his head.
"Alright, settle down!" he shouts over the chaos. "Save some energy for the next game, boys!"
I sit at my stall, peeling off sweat-soaked gear. Two goals and an assist tonight. The game-winner with forty-three seconds left. Career-defining stuff, but all I can think about is getting out of here to see Elena.
"Barnesy!" Evans calls from across the room. "Media's asking for you specifically."
I nod, pulling on a clean Blades T-shirt. Media obligations—a necessary evil. A year ago, I'd have been irritated, looking for the fastest way to escape. Now, I understand it's just part of the job.
The media scrum surrounds me as soon as I step into the hallway. Microphones thrust toward my face, cameras flashing.
"Nate, talk us through that final goal."
I answer automatically. "McCoy made an incredible pass. I just had to put it home."
More questions follow—about momentum, about Minnesota's collapse, about our chances in the finals this year. Standard stuff until a voice cuts through from the back.
"Barnes, quite a change from your reputation a few years ago. The league's wildest player has now been domesticated. How does it feel to be tamed?"
The room goes quiet. I recognize the reporter—Simmons from the Hockey Post, known for trying to provoke players into headline-worthy responses. I feel that old instinct to lash out.
Instead, I take a breath. Meet his eyes. Smile.
"I didn't get tamed," I say, my voice level. "I just found someone worth behaving for."
A few chuckles ripple through the crowd. Simmons looks disappointed. No explosive reaction, no controversial quote. Just the truth.
"Speaking of," I add, "if that's all, my girlfriend's waiting."
The PR rep nods, and I make my exit before anyone can throw another baited hook my way. I shower quickly, throwing on jeans and a button-down that Elena bought me last month. As I'm gathering my bag, Coach appears at my stall.
"Good answer in there, with the press," he says quietly.
"Thanks, Coach."
He claps my shoulder. "You've come a long way, Barnesy."
I nod, feeling the weight of the compliment.
The family waiting area is crowded with wives, girlfriends, parents, and kids. I scan the room for Elena's dark hair, but instead, my eyes land on a face I haven't seen in person for years.
My mother.
And beside her, my father.
They stand awkwardly near the back wall. Mom's hair is grayer than I remember, Dad is more stooped. They look out of place among the other families, uncertain if they belong.
I freeze, clutching my bag tighter. We’ve been talking again after years of silence. Tentative conversations, just getting to know each other again. I kept waiting for them to ask for more money but it never came.
I knew they were flying in for the game, but seeing them here—in my world—makes it real in a way those calls haven't.
"Nate!"
Elena appears at my side, sliding her arm around my waist. She follows my gaze, understanding immediately.
