dropped into the bus seat but didn’t turn his music on. Instead he closed his eyes and absorbed the familiarity of it. The brotherhood that kept the team strong and wove into their daily lives.
The smack-talk, banter and general ribbing were as much a part of it as the slaps on the backs and silent comradery. He took a glimpse at Rylie, who was sitting next to him, cowboy hat tipped low over his brow, eyes closed. Both he and Hauke had been like that the entire road trip. In the seat next to him on the bus or plane or at meals. Not pushing or asking questions, but there without Henrik needing to say a word.
This team was yet another take on family. Not perfect and somewhat weakened once they left the rink, but it was whole and functioning. They took what he offered and accepted him as he was. He was the one who’d withheld information and parts of himself from them. He’d presented a flattened-down image and let them have their fun with it.
He was only now realizing that he’d put up the same fake front he loathed on his parents without seeing it for that. He’d been playing a part to fit in. All to be a part of this hockey family when he’d never needed to be anything but himself.
That thought cycled through his mind as he dressed and through warm-ups. Through the locker room pep talks and Coach’s debrief. The mood of the team was elevated, the usual anticipation heightened with the mutual knowledge of unfinished business that needed to be dealt with.
Rylie’s recovery from his hip injury last season was both inspiring and humbling to every one of them. He’d worked his ass off to get back on the ice. He’d pushed himself hard from a potentially career-ending injury so he could return to the sport he loved. And he was playing even better this season, kicking ass all over the stats and being a leader.
Erikson, the guy who’d made that illegal hit that’d slammed Rylie into the boards and dislocated his hip, would be on the ice tonight.
Hockey players’ memories ran long and deep, and nine months was but a blip. Erikson had been traded from Chicago to Boston at the end of last season, but it didn’t matter what team he played for. They had a score to even and a message to send that was all about the unofficial code of hockey.
The Glaciers’ run for the Cup last season may have delayed this event, but the team hadn’t forgotten nor were they going to ignore it now.
The lights glared at the end of the tunnel, the cheers and music echoing down from the stadium to thunder through Henrik. His blood pumped with the love and hate that came from that extended family. The fans were the lifeblood of any sports team. Their blind support could be both uplifting and cutting, accolades and criticism equally delivered and uncensored if they felt it was warranted.
And this was enemy territory.
Stick taps went down the line, the clicks unheard over the noise. The action silently united them anyway.
Henrik leaned into Rylie, who was standing in front of him. “This one’s for you.”
They were marching down the tunnel before Rylie could respond, but he didn’t need to. They all knew what would happen once the game started. Feeney had been pumped, his normal smartass chatter silent as the enforcer mentally prepared for what was expected of him.
Henrik slipped his mouth guard in and stepped into the rink, digging in to cut across the ice. The crowd roared, a mix of cheers and boos that morphed into a dull buzz in his mind. He’d learned to block that out long before he’d hit the pros.
The air cooled his cheeks, the scent filling his nostrils to settle him further. He had a job to do. His resolve settled into his bones, focused his mind and shoved everything else to the side. He had a debt and obligation to this family, but most of all to Rylie, which needed to be paid.
Boston entered the rink a few minutes later, a cheer of support raising the rafters with the booming voice of the announcer and blaring music. Tension simmered over the ice, the red line an invisible wall that temporarily kept the teams apart. But the high vibe of expectation and warning broke through the barrier without any problem.
“Don’t be stupid tonight,” Coach O threatened them in their final