I look in the mirror and smile.

That’s it. Perfect. Exactly what I need to show people.

My hair’s been cut and styled, just enough product to keep it under control. Today it’s not going to be stuffed into a hockey helmet, and no women are running hands through it till after.

My chin is smooth, clean. I look respectable, reliable. Not like the biggest contributor to the hockey house’s stupid kitty. Though I am proud of that accomplishment.

My smile says I’m trustworthy, hardworking, an asset.

Today I look like someone my family would approve of, but I push that thought aside. This is just for today. Or, the next few hours of today.

I turn, stand sideways, checking my reflection and the suit is perfect. I went with navy, because it makes my eyes look bluer, and it will stand out. Most of the other guys will have black, brown or grey fabric.

I’ll stand out, but in a good way.

Navy is still conservative, still fits in the box, but is closer to the edge. Not enough to make anyone think twice, just enough to keep me from blending into the crowd.

It also fits perfectly, like it was made for me.

It was.

There are going to be a lot of ill-fitting suits out there, because hockey players bodies are more muscular, more assy, more everything than what those suits off the rack are designed for. The suits will be too tight in some places, and loose and wrinkled in others.

Not mine.

I’m ready for my close up, because I look good. Really good.

It’s the day of the NHL hockey draft, and I’m going to be the best-looking prospect out there.

I’m not going to be drafted first. I’m not deluded. But there’s every chance I’m going in the first round, and there will be photos. Lots. Most probably while I’m wearing a jersey with a hat on my head, but not all of them.

I want every photo to look good. I need every photo to look good.

Today is the next step on my path, the plan I’ve had since I was sixteen. Today, I’ll be drafted, first round. Then, I’ll sign a contract, and play for an NHL team.

I’m going to make it to the NHL, and I’m going to be one of the players people know. I’m going to have my jersey and number worn by people I don’t know in cities all around North America. I’m going to sign my next contract for big money. I’m going to get endorsements for products that plaster my face and body everywhere.

I’m going to play the game I love and succeed beyond anyone’s expectations.

None of it will come from my family and I will surpass anything they’ve accomplished. Like they said, it’s a battlefield out there, and I’m going to win.

Me. Doing it my way.

Cue Mr. Sinatra.

Once I’m sure I’m looking perfect, I leave my bedroom in the suite. It’s a big, top floor two bedroom suite, and I’ve paid for it. Because this is a big day. I’m celebrating.

The other bedroom door is closed, so I bang on it.

“Come on, you two. Get your clothes on – we need to get out of here.”

The door opens promptly, so they weren’t actually naked, but Faith’s hair is messed and so is Hunter’s. I roll my eyes at them.

“Move it, R&J.”

Seb  growls, but I don’t care. Without me, they wouldn’t be speaking to each other, let alone getting busy every chance they have. They might not come from dueling families, like our teammate Adler and his girl Maggie, but they were just like Romeo and Juliet as far as not communicating and messing themselves up.

All straightened out by yours truly.

Faith reaches to flatten Hunter’s hair, and he reaches for hers and I can see they’re ready to lock lips again, so I grab Faith by her shoulders and spin her around.

“Later. We have somewhere to be.”

Hunter tenses up and I know he’s worried. He’s worried he’s going to fail, but he’s not.

There were some family issues Hunter was dealing with, and I found out later he’d considered giving up on a hockey career. Faith had straightened him out, assuring him he could pursue his dreams.

There was a reason I worked so hard to get the two of them together. They just fit.

Still, I need them to focus on hockey today.

Faith puts her hand in Hunter’s and squeezes, and he smiles at her. I can tell he’d rather not be here. He wanted to watch this on TV, afraid that he’d look stupid showing up and no team calling his name.

He’s got nothing to worry about. He’s not a flashy player, but he never makes a mistake (unless things are messed up with Faith, and I got that straightened out). The last few months of the season, the two of us were incredible together. As teammates.

It would be great if we were drafted to the same team. I’ve seen draft projections showing him projected to go second round, so it’s possible.

Faith pulls Hunter to the door, and I follow. We’re in the same hotel where they’re doing the draft. I got us this nice suite, so we’d be on hand. But no way was I going to risk them in a bed in the same room with me. I’m not a voyeur, I participate, and they’re not into kinky.

Neither Hunter nor I have family here, so it’s the three of us as a group. It’s okay. Better to have people who support you than bodies present out of obligation, hoping you don’t get selected, and gloating when that happens.

Not today.

We make our way to the right room and find seats. I look around, seeing the other prospects. They’re mostly in black and brown and grey suits, and most of those suits don’t fit well. As predicted. Some are guys we’ve played against, and some I’ve only seen in pictures, the ones who skipped college. Most of them have parents and siblings around them, fixing their ties, offering encouragement.

Doesn’t matter. Family isn’t who you’re born with, it’s who you bond with. That’s been my mantra since I was sixteen.

The latest rankings predicted I’d be near the bottom of the first round, going to a New York team. I’m good with that. Since New York and Jersey have a few teams in the area, there are better odds that I might end up near Seb. We talked about sharing a place, when the time comes. I only have one year left at Burlington University, Seb two and Faith three, but knowing they’d be coming to join me would make life easier. It’s not that far between Vermont and New York City.

It takes time to find the people you can trust. I hold on to those people.

I’m watching carefully as the selections go down. The teams at their tables, huddled around computers, talking in low voices, but despite that, the picks are going just like predicted.

The first guy is a forward, a scoring machine. He didn’t play in college, so I’ve never played against him, but he’d be tough to defend against. The second to go is a goalie, and we saw him in the playoffs. They’re both deserving of their slots.

We’re through the first twenty draft picks. This, the first round is televised, and this is where I need to be. My name will come up, probably fifth from now. Fifth or sixth, and that’s good. Unless a trade happens for one of these draft picks, those are teams in the New York area.

I’ve been obsessively following all the information out there, working on my plan. New York works perfectly with my goals.

It’s the twenty fourth pick now. The Toronto Blaze are going to name their guy, a centre from Quebec, and then it should be me. I sit up, ready to applaud for the Toronto choice before making sure I’m looking close up ready, when I hear my name called.

The Toronto Blaze select, with their twenty fourth pick, Whittaker Cooper from Burlington University.

For a moment, I don’t hear anything else, just a rushing sound in my ears. This was not how it was supposed to go.

Seb and Faith are applauding, but I’m stunned. I hadn’t expected this.

Toronto? Canada? A different fucking country, with tons of snow?

Faith elbows me, and I snap to. I smile, and stand, ready to make my walk to the podium, and put on a red, black and yellow jersey.

The wrong jersey.

This isn’t going to go with my suit.

I don’t remember much about putting on the jersey and the hat, shaking hands and posing for the pictures. But I must get through it reasonably well. I’m back to myself when I get to my seat by Hunter.

He’s grinning.

“Didn’t expect that, did you?”

I just shake my head. Normally I’d have a comeback, but Toronto had not been on my radar, or on that of the pundits. No one saw Toronto picking a defenseman. They need scoring. There’s no way they’re taking another defenseman with their next pick.

We’d all been wrong.

“Toronto is great.” Faith is trying to convince me. “I grew up there.” I’m more than aware of this. That’s where she and Hunter met. “We can tell you the best places to go, and the Blaze won the Cup not that long ago.”

This is all true. But it’s going to be harder to rub my success in my family’s face from Canada.

Fucking Toronto?

But it’s time to get my head out of my ass. I’ve been picked, in the first round, as planned. And I may not have looked at Canada in my plans, but I can make this work. At least they know hockey there. Imagine if it’d been Florida.

Hunter has gone quiet. He’s said he doesn’t think he’ll be drafted, or not till the last round, but I know he’s been reading the press. We’re starting the second round now, and that’s where they think he’ll be selected.

The Brooklyn Bruisers, with the thirty eighth pick, select Sebastien Hunter from Burlington University.

Faith is cheering and clapping, and I pull out of my funk and join her. Hunter is shell shocked. He was afraid to hope, but I’d known he’d go high. I usually get these things right.

Brooklyn is a class organization. Hunter will do well there.

Damn it. If I’d gone to New York, we’d be able to make that plan about sharing space a reality.

But not from fucking Canada.

That’s okay though. First step, getting drafted first round accomplished. Now that it’s happened, I can admit to being nervous. I did everything right, but there was no actual guarantee that I’d make the first round.

I have. Next step is to make the roster. I can do that: I work hard, I’m smart, and I was blessed with a talent for playing hockey. After I get through that first rookie contract, then I start to make the big money.

The plan is still on.

Faith is ecstatic that Hunter is going to Brooklyn. They have a woman’s team there, and she’s going to hope, when her turn comes, to play near Seb. Considering the problems they had long distance, I hope it happens.

“Come on, R&J, let’s go celebrate. Drinks are on me.”

My phone buzzes. It’s been going off since my name was called, but this particular tone means it’s family calling. They’ve heard. Good.

I’m not answering them now. I’m going to celebrate with my friends, the people who care about me.

There’s something vibrating in my core. Something I’d kept suppressed, not daring to let myself be distracted.

I’m fucking happy. I love hockey, and despite my family’s money and the advantages it’s given me, hockey has cost me. But now, my dream and my plan are working together, and I’m feeling actually happy. Light and bubbly, just like the champagne we’re getting to celebrate.

“To hockey!” I say.

The other two look at me, kind of surprised. I understand – I don’t normally let people know these feelings that matter. But today, I did it. We did it.

“To hockey” Faith and Seb echo, and we clink our glasses together.

Cheers!