Page 3 of Time to Shine

“Rossi is a good kid. Leandros too. They’re tight, though. Definitely come as a package.”

Landon wasn’t sure how to react to Lee Ramsay trying to suggest potential friends for him. Lee was ten years older than Landon and married with kids, so of course Landon didn’t expect him to volunteer for the job himself.

“Hicks is about your age,” Lee said, then laughed. “But you’ll never get a moment of quiet with that guy.”

Landon glanced across the ice where Casey Hicks was standing between two other forwards. Casey was talking, and the other two men were laughing. Casey was several inches shorter than either of them. He was, Landon knew, the shortest player on the team by about two inches. His official listed height was five-nine, but Landon suspected that number had been stretched a bit.

Lee tapped Landon on the shoulder and said, “We’ll talk later,” before standing and skating away. Landon’s gaze followed him to where the Calgary players were lining up to take shots on the net. There were so many star players on the ice, both on Calgary’s half of the ice, and down in the Los Angeles end. Landon tried to ignore his own nerves about it, like he tried to ignore how much bigger this arena was than the one in Saskatoon. How much louder it was already, even though the seats were only partially full for the warm-ups.

He watched Niskanen stop rapid-fire shots from his teammates. The veteran goalie’s movements were quick and confident. Efficient, just how Landon had modeled his own style of play. Not that he was comparing himself to Niskanen.

Holy shit, he was teammates with Antton Niskanen. And Lee Ramsay. And Casey Hicks. And Ross MacIsaac. The list went on and on.

And now he had to take his turn in the net.

Antton nodded at Landon as he passed him. He may have said something, but Landon didn’t hear. He was entirely focused on settling his nerves. It was warm-ups for fuck’s sake, not the playoffs.

He got in position, exhaled and waited. When the first puck slammed into his blocker pad, he smiled behind his mask. He could do this. The Calgary Outlaws open-fired on him, and Landon welcomed every thud against his body like a friend. He loved this. He knew it wasn’t normal to enjoy being bludgeoned with pucks, but god, he lived for it. He loved being in a headspace where nothing mattered but making sure he didn’t let anything get past him.

Of course, some pucks got past him. No goalie stopped every shot during warm-ups, but enough pucks thudded off of him to quiet his brain. By the time he headed back to the locker room with the rest of the team, he felt calm.

Calgary’s head coach, Greg Patrick, was waiting for them in the locker room. He kept his words brief, reading out the lines for the game and reminding his players of a few key things about the L.A. team. Everyone listened intently, including Landon. Patrick was unusually soft-spoken for a hockey coach, known more for his intelligence and sharp attention to detail than his ability to intimidate and shame. He was the style of coach Landon responded best to.

“I’d like to welcome Landon Stackhouse to the team,” Coach said, and suddenly all eyes turned to the new goalie. Landon wished he still had his mask on. He held up a hand, not quite a wave. More of an acknowledgment that, yes, he was Landon. He was here.

“Hi, Stacks!” Casey Hicks called out cheerfully. Some of the other guys laughed.

“Let’s show the new guy how we win in Calgary, all right, boys?” Coach said. There were whoops of agreement, then everyone stood to shuffle into the hall.

In the hallway that led to the ice, the guys were loud and excited. Calling out nicknames, performing pregame rituals with each other. Niskanen was crouched at the end of the line, staring at the wall, focused. Hicks was doing a ridiculous little dance with his linemate, Clint Noseworthy. Landon stood near the back, but not all the way at the back because Ross MacIsaac, Calgary’s 37-year-old defenseman, was famously superstitious about being the last one to step on the ice.

It felt both surreal and normal at the same time, waiting to go on the ice. The home crowd in Saskatoon loved their team, so being greeted by a full house of cheering fans wasn’t new for Landon; the house was just twice as big in Calgary. But in Saskatoon, Landon was the star. People wore his jersey there, and he often got the loudest cheer when the starting lineups were announced before games. He’d played a huge part in making the Saskatoon Bandits a Calder Cup contender last season, taking them deep in the playoffs last spring.

Here, Landon felt like a ghost floating among these stars. Or like a kid who’d won a prize to hang out with his heroes for a day.

He glanced down at his chest, almost shocked to see that he was wearing the same uniform as everyone else around him. The iconic red, white, and golden yellow of the Calgary Outlaws.

“Doesn’t feel real, right?” said a cheerful voice. Landon realized two things at once as his head jerked up in surprise: that Casey Hicks was suddenly standing beside him, and that Landon had been caressing the Outlaws logo on his own chest with his blocker glove.

“My first game I was like...” Casey bugged his eyes out and pulled his mouth into an exaggerated cringe. “Y’know?”

“Yeah,” Landon agreed, because that basically summed up how he was feeling.

“It’s just hockey,” Casey said easily. “And we’re good at hockey. If they wanted us to go out there and do, like, opera, I’d be fucked. But hockey? Pfft. No problem.”

“Right.” Landon was starting to feel more confused than nervous.

“What about you?”

“What about me what?”

“Could you sing opera if you had to?”

Landon stared at Casey for a long moment, trying to decide if he was making fun of him or not. He got sidetracked along the way by Casey’s dimples. Finally he just said, “No.”

Casey gently bumped his glove against Landon’s chest. “Aw. But imagine if you’d just, like, started singing perfect opera at me. That would have been epic.”

Landon could not imagine it. At all.

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