"Home opener," Reaper starts, his voice carrying over the noise. "This is what we've been working toward all camp. This is where we prove what kind of team we are. I want everyone to give one hundred percent out there. Leave everything on the ice."
His eyes scan the group, hitting everyone. Danny, Liam, the defense pairs, and the other forwards.
Everyone except me.
He looks right through me like I'm not even here.
"Let's fucking go!” He finishes, and everyone's shouting and banging sticks, feeding off the energy.
Yet I’m standing here feeling invisible.
Warm-ups are my favorite part of game day. The ice is fresh, the crowd's building, there's no pressure yet, only the pure joy of skating. I hit the ice and immediately start scanning the stands for the family section, even though I should be focused on stretching and loosening up.
There.
Front row, behind the glass. Nora’s holding Harper, who’s awake, her wide blue eyes taking everything in. The Jersey is still comically oversized, but Nora’s adjusted it somehow so it’s not swallowing Harper whole. I also notice that she’s wearing tiny pink ear defenders.
She thought of that. I didn’t even think of that.
I can't help it. I smile.
Like a full, genuine smile that probably makes me look like an idiot, but I don't care.They're here. They came.
I skate closer to the boards, weaving through guys doing their warm-up routines, until I'm right in front of their section. Harper sees me first, or at least I think she does, and Nora lifts her hand to wave.
I wave back, feeling like a teenager with a crush, and behind me, I hear Danny laugh.
"West's got fans," he calls out to whoever's listening.
"That's his daughter," Liam says from the goal. "And his—well, his daughter's nanny."
"Sure," Danny says, grinning at me. "His daughter's nanny. That's definitely all that is."
I flip him off and skate away, but I can't stop smiling.
The national anthem feels longer than usual. I'm standing on the blue line, stick across my knees, and I keep glancing over at where Nora and Harper are sitting. Harper's awake, squirming in Nora's arms, and Nora's bouncing her gently, in that patient, competent way she has.
The crowd's roaring by the time we finish. Opening night energy is different, bigger; everyone is ready to see what this season's going to bring.
Coach has me on the second line tonight, which is fine. Better than sitting on the bench. Danny's my center, Rodriguez on the other wing, and we've got decent chemistry from camp scrimmages.
In the first shift, I'm trying to find my legs. Getting used to game speed, the hitting, the pace that's faster than practice. I backcheck hard, break up a play in the defensive zone, and get the puck out cleanly.
"Good shift, West," Coach says when I hit the bench.
It's the first positive thing he's said to me in weeks.
In the second shift, I nearly score. Danny wins the faceoff, gets it back to the defense, and they work it around to me at the circle. I one-time it, catching it clean, but their goalie makes a ridiculous save, and it hits the post.
"Fuck," I mutter, skating back for the faceoff.
"You'll get the next one," Danny says.
The first period ends scoreless. Both teams are feeling each other out, playing cautiously; nobody wants to make the first big mistake.
In the locker room between periods, Reaper's talking strategy, and I'm only half listening. I'm thinking about that shot that hit the post, about Harper in the stands wearing my number, about Nora watching me play.
The second period starts with more energy. The crowd's louder, both teams pushing harder, and I can feel the game opening up.