Laughter rumbles through the locker room, and my new coach leads us toward the sound.
Okay, so it’s happening now. Those must be the players,and probably not sneaky tourists who snuck into the locker rooms.
My gaze bounces over the locker room, admiring the golden glow of the fancy-ass lights under the leather benches, before landing at the bold snowflake painted on the floor.
This is a huge deal.
I’m a member of the Boston Blizzards.
I’m supposed to be here.
There’s nothing I’ve ever wanted in life more than playing for the Blizzards. It was a dream I said often and frequently. Most of my relatives thought it was cute when I was little. No one sat me down and told me how unlikely it would be to break in. Gradually, my relatives saw it as possible, not merely the nonsensical ramblings of a boy who hadn’t had his first double-digit birthday, and now, here I am.
This is my chance.
I turn the corner.
A group of players sit together. I know who they are. I’ve watched their every game for years. Finn Carrington himself sits between Luke Hawthorne and Troy Maddox. Laughing blue-gray eyes under golden-brown curls find me, and I smile into his gaze, even though I’m too late to hear the joke.
Coach Holberg slaps a hand on my shoulder.
“This is the team. What I can find of it.” Coach Holberg looks around as if he half expects players to be lounging under benches or something. “Please say hello to Noah Fitzpatrick. He’s fresh from Providence. He’ll be helping us out while Isaiah is out.”
“Finn Carrington,” Finn says, even though most people in the US who don’t play hockey, but wanderonto Sport Sphere Network, know his name.
He’s a star; somehow, I’ve found myself in his presence.
Part of me wants to explain this is a mistake. I’m not supposed to be here. Not like the others. Dreams aren’t supposed to come true. The people in my first-grade class who wanted to become firefighters, presidents, and surgeons, are now accountants and electricians.
And yet, here I am.
I force a smile on my face. I’m going to savor this moment. I don’t know how long I’ll be here or how long it will be until I’m sent back to the AHL.
My heart races, and I barely manage to wave at these hockey heroes.
Coach Holberg frowns slightly, probably worried I’m going to freak out once I get on the ice.
But this moment is huge.
“Can you show Noah around?” Coach Holberg asks in the general direction of the other players.
And then they’re nodding, and oh my God, I can’t believe this is my life.
“Sure. I’ll introduce you,” Finn says easily, as if there’s any way I wouldn’t know the name and record of each guy here.
“This is Luke Hawthorne.” Finn points to a startlingly handsome blond man with large, innocent eyes and abs that would make people with mere six-packs blush in shame.
Like me. I’m blushing.
Luke waves to me and flashes a perfect grin. He looks like he sauntered straight off a movie set where he was playing the lead. Hollywood actorsmust be relieved he went into hockey.
Then Finn gestures at the man with dark curly hair beside him. “This is Troy Maddox. He’s Luke’s roommate and our new goalie.”
Troy’s face and towering frame have been splattered on every newspaper. He was traded from Nashville, and so far, he’s been doing fantastic. Boston has had multiple shutouts.
“Nice to meet you, man.” Troy gets up and fist bumps me, and I do my best to pretend this is all normal, and that I meet NHL players all the time. “You up from Providence?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
