Page 1 of Finders Keepers
Prologue
Nate Hennessey’s head floated like a helium-filled balloon. His face hurt from all the smiling he’d done for the last several hours.
The stench of dirty socks, body odor, and Lysol had hit him like a Zamboni when he’d first walked in. Though dressing rooms of professional athletes had a similar mix of scents. That mix didn’t include teenage hormones. Thank God.
The concrete brick walls of the prep school hockey team dressing room were still painted a drab beige. The blue stripe circling the walls under the ceiling still needed retouching. The dark blue carpeting still needed replacement. Maybe he should make a donation. But that was a thought for another day. Today he’d come back to the school where he’d spent his middle and high school years playing hockey as the conquering hero.
All hail Stanley Cup champion Nathan Hennessey. Heh.
The current assembly of high school hockey players stood a respectful distance from the gleaming silver of the famed Cup, awe and envy on their faces. Nate stood on one side of the Cup, Elliot Jarvis, the Cup’s senior keeper, stood on the other, one gloved hand clasped around his other wrist.
Nate’s heart thrummed like a hummingbird’s wings, leaving him slightly out of breath. He wasn’t a fan of public speaking; but he’d won the Cup and here he was. He tugged a bottle of water from his back pocket and took a swig. His gaze scanned the faces of the young men in front of him.
Nate had been these guys seven, eight years ago, dreaming of a pro hockey career. The odds of any one of them making it to the NHL, much less hoisting the thirty-five pounds of silver and nickel that made up Lord Stanley’s Cup, were astronomical.
But he’d done it. Two weeks ago, by a miraculous twist of fate, he and his team had been the last men standing after twenty-one games and the necessary sixteen wins. He was the first Lumberjacks player to enjoy his Cup Day. And he’d chosen to return to the prep school where his own dream had been given life.
Coaches, admin staff, and several teachers stood at the back of the room, as did his sister, Claire, younger than him by eight years. He glanced at her, and she grinned. His mouth quirked in response. He wouldn’t have made it through the day without her support. She’d been his rock at the cemetery, their first stop this morning. God, he missed Jacob. This journey would have been a thousand percent better if his best friend had been a part of it.
“Nate, what was it like?” The question came from a young man with bright blue eyes and dark, lanky hair. “Winning, I mean—the moment you knew you guys had it?”
Nate nodded, blinked back into the present, and replayed the kid’s question. “Jase, right?”
The kid nodded and beamed like it was some feat that Nate had remembered his name.
“Honestly…no words. All I could do was scream for joy. My heart was already pounding because I knew. Sometimes you just do, you know?”
A couple of heads bobbed.
The moment was etched clearly in his mind.
“No matter what the scoreboard says, no matter what the timer says—which was already in our favor—youknow. I watched the play unfold from my end, and I was already skating forward. The crowd was a roar…this huge ball of noise and euphoria that fed our energy. The Liberty were already pulling back, conceding… Teammates were shouting from the bench. Then the puck went in, top-shelf. The noise, like, doubled inintensity. Arms, sticks, and helmets flew. I was across the ice and into the melee in a blink. Into a heaving mass of moving bodies. Everyone was laughing, crying. Me included. The experience was amazing.”
A tall, bulky kid raised a hand.
Nate made eye contact, nodded.
“What’s the handshake line like? It’s gotta suck for the other team.”
Nate huffed, his mouth quirking. He’d been there too. Once or twice. He’d rather lose in the first or third round of the Playoffs than lose in the Final ever again. It was too heartbreaking.
Movement from the corner of his eye caught his gaze. Claire lifted his phone to her ear. Took a step back, turned away. His gut clenched, his heart thumped a bit harder against his ribs. He’d given it to her so he could focus on these guys. He needed to do that. But he’d had a sense of foreboding all day, all week really. He swallowed the sour taste in his mouth and returned his attention to the group. Whatever it was, good or bad, it would hold for another—he glanced at the large clock on the wall—ten minutes.
He surveyed the group of young men in front of him. “How many of you have lost a major tournament?”
Surprisingly, only a few hands went up.
“That handshake line really does suck for the losers, doesn’t it?” he asked.
Chuckles and snorts rippled around the room.
“I’ve been playing hockey since I was nine. I’ve been through a few of those lines over the years. Being on the losing end never gets easier. The prevailing sentiment at the NHL level seems to be that if you don’t win the Cup—” He waved at the gleaming trophy. “—then the whole season was a failure.
“I mean, I just won.” Nate patted the Cup while laughter rang around him. “But for the Liberty who weren’t even supposed to make it to the Playoffs, was it really a failure?”
A couple of guys shrugged.
“For them, it gets the younger guys experience of the grind that a Cup run really is. They’re the Eastern Conference champs. That’s worth some bragging rights, eh? And, more pragmatically, it gets butts in seats for anywhere from eight to sixteen more games and all the merch that goes with it. That’s profit for the franchise…
