The first in a little series introducing the real-life hockey players who live rent-free in my head (and, let’s be honest, occasionally wander into my manuscripts).

Hello, lovelies.

You’ve heard me carry on about my hockey boys for long enough that it’s about time I properly introduced you. So I’m starting a little series, one player at a time, and there was never any question about who was going first.

Tom Wilson. Number 43. Washington Capitals. My hockey hero, and he has been since his very first season.

The kid who walked in

The Caps drafted him sixteenth overall in 2012, a big lad from Toronto standing six foot four, and he got his first taste of NHL hockey in three playoff games before he’d even played a regular-season one. Then came the rookie year: all 82 games, three goals, seven assists and 151 penalty minutes.

Those numbers tell you exactly what they wanted him to be. The goon. Fourth-line minutes, drop the gloves with anyone who looked at you sideways, hit everything that moved. And he did what he was asked, because he was so young and so eager and so desperate to belong.

But he was also a kid a long way from home, and that’s the bit that got me. He roomed with Michael Latta, and I can tell you the exact moment I fell. It was the 24/7 special they film every year in the lead-up to the Winter Classic, the year the Caps played the Blackhawks outdoors at Nationals Park on New Year’s Day 2015. In one episode the cameras followed the boys home, and there were Tom and Latta pushing a trolley round the supermarket, then showing off a fridge that was absolutely full of ketchup. Just ketchup, as far as I could tell. They were so young and so earnest, and so competitive about something as silly as the shopping, that I sat there grinning at my screen and thought, oh no. That one. He’s mine now.

Later he roomed with Andre Burakovsky, and if you were around for that era you’ll remember it fondly. The great hulking enforcer on the ice who, off it, turned out to be a big soft thing who’d happily curl up with Harry Potter. Readers, I was done for. If you’ve ever wondered where some of my Pioneers get their marshmallow centres, now you know.

Growing into the A

I won’t pretend he was a saint. There were suspensions, a few of them deserved, and for a stretch his name was a lightning rod for every hockey argument on the internet. Plenty of players never get past that reputation.

Tom did. He kept the edge, because the edge is part of who he is, but he cleaned up the hits that crossed the line and quietly turned himself into a genuine top-line forward the Caps trust in every situation. Have a look at this: as a rookie he racked up 151 penalty minutes and scored three goals. Last season he had 117 penalty minutes and scored thirty. That’s not a goon. That’s a hockey player.

He’s worn the A on his chest for years now, and Connor McDavid (yes, that one) has called him a god on the forecheck. I may have screamed.

Tom by the numbers

• Drafted: 2012, first round, 16th overall
• Rookie season (2013–14): 82 games, 3 goals, 7 assists, 151 PIM
• 2018 Stanley Cup run: 21 games, 5 goals, 10 assists, 15 points
• 2024–25: career highs of 33 goals and 65 points
• 2025–26: 30 goals and 32 assists for 62 points in 72 games, his second straight 30-goal season
• Career (through 2025–26): 907 games, 209 goals, 248 assists, 457 points and 1,649 penalty minutes
• Contract: signed in Washington through 2030–31

The last of 2018

June 2018. The Caps finally, finally lifted the Cup in Las Vegas, and I don’t think I’ve ever been happier about something that happened on the other side of the planet in the middle of my day.

Of the boys who won it that night, only two are still wearing the red: Tom and Ovi. When John Carlson was traded to Anaheim last March, Tom got teary talking about him in front of the cameras, and so did I, sitting on the couch with a can of coke going warm in my hand.

And now Ovi has told the team this season will be his last. Which means that next year, Tom will be the only one left. The last link to the Cup. The kid they tried to make a goon, standing in the room as the one who remembers what it took.

Everyone in Washington seems to think the C is his next. I’m trying not to get my hopes up. I am failing. Captain of the new boys, the ones who’ve never lifted it yet? I can’t think of anyone I’d rather see wear it.

Coming up

Next time I’ll introduce you to a few more of my favourites: Pierre-Luc Dubois, Logan Thompson, and Big Pro and Little Pro, the Protas brothers. Bring snacks.

Until then, go Caps.

Love, Bella x