Page 115 of Beyond the Lines
“We’re going to close this out clean,” he says, all captain authority. “Ninety seconds left. No stupid penalties. No showboating. Keep it tight.”
Nothing to put the scout in the stands off what he’s seeing, I add mentally.We’ve all played well—me, Mike, and Linc—so let’s send him home happy.
His gaze meets mine specifically, and there’s something there I haven’t seen in a while—trust. Like he knows I’ve got his back on the ice, even if I’ve been secretly getting horizontal with his sister off it. The guilt that thought triggers is momentary but sharp.
I push it away.
Lea and I have talked about this—we’ll tell him when the time is right. After the season. After the scouts make their decisions. When Mike doesn’t have the pressure of his entire future riding on every game. And at that point he’ll either like it or not.
I take another look up into the stands, catching sight of the scout in the front row. A middle-aged guy in a dark suit, completely out of place among the face-painted college kids. He’s watching Mike like he’s trying to memorize him, a subtle smile playing at his lips.
That’s good.
That’s very good for Mike.
The second line keeps the game in control and, when the buzzer finally sounds, ending the game at 3–0, I sighwith relief. We shake hands with the Rutgers players—most of them decent guys, unlike Princeton—and then wave at the fans, who’ve been great.
As we head toward the locker room, I glance up once more. Lea’s still looking at me, that smile making my stomach do things. She gives me a small thumbs-up that somehow carries more meaning than the entire screaming crowd.
Mike’s shoulder bumps me in the tunnel. “Good game,” he says, simple but sincere.
“You too,” I say. “You were on fire tonight.”
“About damn time I remembered how to play.”
We say nothing else, but there’s an ease between us that’s been missing during his slump. But then I notice the tight lines around his eyes. Tonight was good, but he’s still carrying something. One game doesn’t fix whatever’s been eating at him.
The locker room is electric with victory—Linc already planning the celebration, Maine talking about the takeout order they’re placing, and Rook still beaming from his shutout. I strip off my gear, the familiar post-game aches settling into my muscles.
But everyone goes quiet when Coach Barrett enters.
He leans against the whiteboard, arms crossed over his chest, his usual post-game scowl replaced with something close to pride. For a guy who thinks smiling gives away tactical advantages, it’s practically euphoric.
“Good game, gentlemen.” He nods, surveying us all. “Textbook teamwork out there. That’s what we’ve been working toward all season.”
Linc raises a fist in the air. “Does this mean you’re taking us out for cocktails and strippers, Coach?”
Coach’s almost-smile vanishes. “My salary doesn’t cover throwing red meat into cages to feed you animals.”
“Worth a shot,” Linc mutters, earning a few laughs.
“Rook,” Coach continues, “good shutout. The rest of you—good positioning, passes, and shots.” His gaze lands on Mike. “Captain, way to lead by example.”
Pride flashes across Mike’s face, though he tries to hide it with a casual nod. This means so much to him, and it’s killed me to watch my friend struggle silently with his poor form for a few months now.
Then I catch the subtle wince as he shifts his weight, favoring his right leg.
Definitely something going on there.
Before I can think about it more, coach is on us with the usual notes about areas for improvement—because heaven forbid we leave without criticism—then he asks me, Mike, and Linc to stay around after the rest of the guys have changed and left.
The rest of the team exchanges glances, but no one questions it.
As the locker room slowly empties, I pull on clean clothes, trying to appear casual while my mind races. Coach might be asking us to stay because of the scout—good news, hopefully—or he’s about to chew us out for something we have no idea we did wrong.
Either way, before long, it’s just the three of us waiting.
“You see the scout?” Linc asks, finally breaking the silence, his voice pitched low but vibrating with excitement.
