HAYDEN
If the boards in our home rink could talk, they’d probably laugh at how stupidly happy I looked walking back through those doors.
The moment I stepped onto the scuffed rubber matting leading to the locker room, the familiar scent of sweat, old pads, and way-too-much Axe body spray hit me like a wave. And I didn’t even care. I actually inhaled like a weirdo because it meant I was back home.
“Yo!”
The shout echoed from the hallway up ahead, and then came a blur of movement.
A second later, Logan, our goalie, tackled me from the side in what could only be described as a bro-hug-turned-ambush.
“You made it!” he said, squeezing me like I was some long-lost cousin returning from war.
“Barely,” I grunted, trying to breathe.
Behind him, the rest of the guys started pouring out. Trev
