“Not to mention how much he’s grown as a player as well,” Hugh adds. “Going into this season, I would have said it was impossible for Mickey James to get any better than he already was without taking the step up to the NHL, but…” He shakes his head, smiling. “He’s become a real two-hundred-foot player. He’s always been a menace in the offensive zone, what with his playmaking abilities, that infamous wrist shot, his outstanding hockey IQ. But we’ve seen him improve exponentially on the backcheck this season. He’s tiny, but he knows how to use his body to create offense in the defensive zone. No matter where he is on the ice, he’s dangerous. I feel bad for any guy forced to go up against him.”
Alyssa shifts her weight from foot to foot as Hugh talks, obviously waiting to say more, and when Hugh’s finally done, she jumps at the chance to say, “I’m gonna go right ahead and credit a good chunk of that growth to Jaysen Caulfield.”
Of course she would. She’s probably right, too.
“James has been touted as the best player on every team he’s ever been on,” she continues. “He didn’t have to put in as much effort to climb above the rest. Now that he shares a team with his biggest draft competitor, he’s been forced to improve himself.”
“Do you think the same could be said of Caulfield?”
“Of course. They’re both gunning for the same spot at the top of their class, so they have to bring their best to the ice every day or else let the other pull ahead. They push each other to do better, whether they mean to or not.”
“They have one of the most heated rivalries in sports going on right now, but they’re surprisingly good at keeping how they feel about each other off the ice. They’re young, but when it comes to hockey, they’re professional.”
“Well, we can’t forget about their behavior on social media.”
“Like I said.” Hugh turns to face the camera with a full media grin. “They’re young.”
The clip ends, and I go back to the group chat.
Nicolette: Imagine the fanfic this rivalry is gonna spawn.
Mickey: People don’t write fanfic about hockey players
Nicolette: Ummmmm I’m counting over 12k in this hockey rpf category so
You’re wrong
I could have gone my whole life without knowing I could be the subject of someone’s fanfiction. I’ve read my fair share of fanfic, and I know what that tends to involve. I also must truly enjoy suffering, because I barely make it out of class before I look it up.
And oh. My god. Nicolette wasn’t lying. There’s AUs and slice of life, hurt/comfort and fluff, and just about all of them involve some ship or another.
Jesus.
This is gonna become a thing now. I’m gonna have to check this every day. Maybe twice a day. Just to make sure I don’t show up at all, of course.
TWENTY-TWO
There’s two kegs at the hockey house to celebrate the end of the semester and a break from games and practices. But I’m over here reading a fantasy AU where I’m some kind of elven rogue sent to assassinate Cauler, a human prince, and instead end up falling in love with him.
I swear it’s a hate-reading. I can’t stop because I can’t believe someone actually wrote this. I am not invested at all.
But oh my god, I have to show Cauler.
Delilah’s doing a keg stand in the kitchen when I finally go for a drink, a couple of the boys holding her up. The kitchen’s crowded with players from both teams waiting for a turn and cheering her on, so I take a few quick shots with Zero and head back to the living room with a beer in each hand.
I wait until my fingers are tingling and my tongue feels heavy before texting Cauler sitting across the room, a bottle of water in his hands. I haven’t seen him drink all night.
Mickey: I gotta show you something man
It’s horrible
I’m slouched in the bend of the sectional between Dorian and Barbie with one of Delilah’s teammates, Sierra Browne, sitting on the floor in front of me, leaning against my knees. She’s been nearby all night. I don’t think she’s following me, necessarily. She just really wants to talk about hockey. And the fact that whenever the camera pans over the arena in the Bruins–Sabres game playing on the TV, my dad’s name is visible hanging from the rafters.
I chew on the rim of my empty plastic cup. I was raised a Sabres fan. Played with the kids of Dad’s former teammates, lived with one of his former teammates, Mr. Vinter. Went to every home game, dreamed of lifting the Cup in the blue and gold, having my number retired next to Dad’s.