Page 37 of Overtime Goal
What the fuck is wrong with me? Ten minutes ago, I was stressed because he touched my back.
Logan was my best friend. Sure, we were fooling around, but that didn’t mean we were in love. And what about me being straight, for fuck’s sake? I liked kissing him more than I could believe, but wanting to do it here, on a park bench, in front of anybody who might be looking? It wouldn’t take two minutes for that to land on Instagram.
His gaze short-circuited every rational thought in my brain, and his voice came out soft. “You’re gorgeous, Riles. I’m so glad we’re close because you make my life better in so many ways.”
For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. Maybe I needed to stop overthinking this, stop trying to cram whatever we were into a box with a label. So what if I’d never heard of a friendship like ours? How the hell did that matter? My constant what-ifs and over-analyzing weren’t helping anything. Whatwashelping me was being close to Logan.
I kept my eyes locked on his. “You’re the best person I’ve ever known. You make everything better.”
He stayed quiet, but his fingers brushed mine and stayed there. I didn’t move because I liked it. Traffic hummed in the distance, people walked by chattering about the architecture, and we enjoyed being in the warm sun. What we’d said had changed something, and it felt good.
Two kids ran up, arguing about something, so I nudged Logan’s leg with mine. “Okay, Grandpa. Ready to move on?”
He glared at me, barely managing not to smile. “Just for that, we’re going to the Hirshhorn.”
I groaned. “Knew you’d want to nerd out over abstract art before the day was over.”
“You’re such a bullshitter.” He shook his head, chuckling. “If you don’t know anything about art, how do you know what the Hirshhorn is?”
“Because Holky and I went there once when we needed a laugh. But look at you. Your eyes are lighting up like you’re seeing naked Matisses.”
Logan threw his head back and laughed. “That’s not even close to how this works.”
“See? Art nerd.” I stood. “Let’s go get weird.”
We walked toward the museum, bumping shoulders like we were twelve, while Logan explained what we’d see inside. I’d never thought hearing someone talk about art would make me smile so much.
The Hirshhorn turned out to be fascinating, and I couldn’t believe how much fun we had. One minute, Logan was pointing out the good stuff and explainingwhyit was good; the next, he had me laughing at the weird shit. When we were leaving, I told him we had to bring Holky next time so he could see how amazing the place actually was.
“What about Dog?” Logan asked. “Think he knows much about art?”
I laughed. “About as much as Holky does. But he’ll like it too.”
“It’s settled then. First time we’ve got a free day in DC next season, we’ll bring them here.”
When we made it back to the hotel, after we stopped for steak and shrimp at Chef Geoff’s, the rest of the boys had arrived. We traded chirps and told a few stories before heading for our rooms. Inside, I wasted no time going through the connecting door. We had a hard day coming up, and I needed to sleep in Logan’s arms.
15/
logan
Game days were always charged,with our nerves buzzing under the surface like bees on high alert. After morning skate at Cuda Arena, we went to the hotel for lunch and a nap. We were back in the arena at five p.m., getting ready for the seven-thirty puck drop.
The routine never varied as we got ourselves into game mode. After a soccer ball kickaround and team meeting, we had time to take care of things like taping sticks, checking our skates, and getting suited up.
Before we took the ice, Criswell made a short speech. “The Barracudas are a machine,” he said. “Clean, fast, and ruthless. They’ll push you to the edge, bait you into fights without crossing the line, and dare you to push back. Don’t do that, because you’ll be the one who goes to the box. We’re not handing them power plays tonight. Play smart, play hard, and play like hell. Take no prisoners.” He paused to look around. “Regardless of what happens, it’s an honor working with you, boys. If we do our jobs out there, they’ll be coming to Buffalo for game seven.”
Our cheer was electric, the sound of twenty-three men balanced on a live wire. My gut was tight, and my leg wouldn’t stop jerking. Across the room, Riley met my eyes and smiled.It was like a deep, cool breath, and when he nodded, I nodded back.
The tunnel roared with the sound of skates on the rubber mat, the thrum of bass through the walls, and the cries of Barracudas fans already baying for blood. My visor fogged as we stepped onto the ice, and I blinked fast. Riles skated up beside me, shoulders tight and eyes locked forward. Bethesda might’ve ruled the league for years, but tonight, they were standing in our way. We were about to show them exactly how we planned to solve that problem.
At the first faceoff, the puck hit the ice like a gunshot. Nick Johnson won the draw and sent the puck wide to Tyler Jensen, his right wing and one of the fastest skaters in the league. Jensen exploded through the neutral zone, blades shrieking on the fresh ice. Johnson trailed him up the middle, and at the blue line, Jensen dropped the puck back like clockwork. Harpy was on them, closing fast but a half-stride too late. Johnson threaded the return pass low into the slot. Jensen shot off the pass, snapping the puck top shelf, over Gabe’s blocker. The crowd roared like they’d just won the Cup.
Criswell didn’t panic but signaled for the change. The second line was up. I vaulted over the boards and hit the ice with Holky and Packy; Riley and Brody were backing us up on defense. The Barracudas sent their second line out too. They were still lethal, but we were better.
Holky won the faceoff and sent it to Riley, who dumped it deep. Packy tore down the wing like a man possessed, shrugged off a check, and beat their D to the puck. He spun on a dime behind the net, chipped it up the boards to me, and peeled off to the front.
I dangled, pulling off their left D to sell the shot, then whipped it low and hard toward Packy’s tape. He was readyand roofed it before their goalie could blink. 1–1, less than two minutes into the game. The Cuda fans hated it, and I loved that.
