Camden
“That was a bullshit goal,” Blomdahl mutters when I skate up to the net.
I huff out a breath. “Yeah, it was.”
“I don’t know what the refs are on tonight, but whatever it is, it’s screwing us over.”
He’s right. The calls tonight have been trash.
We’re playing Montreal, and one of their defensemen tripped Blomdahl with his stick before scoring, tying up the game. That goal shouldn’t have counted, but none of the referees or officials bothered to call goalie interfere.
Blomdahl guzzles from his water bottle. His eyes catch on the ref skating past us toward center ice.
“I guess it’s fuck the goalie night, huh?” Blomdahl hollers at him.
I grip his shoulder. “Easy, dude.”
He glowers at the ref. I take in the frustration marring his face. It takes a lot to faze Blomdahl. He’s one of the top goalies in the league and pretty even-tempered during even the most stressful games.
But even the coolest cucumber has its limit.
I push aside my own frustration and look at the ref. “Sorry about that.”
He glowers at Blomdahl, then me. “Get your players under control. If you don’t, I’m coming after you.”
“Won’t happen again,” I say.
The ref skates off, and I turn to Blomdahl. “He’s a jackass. Or blind. Maybe both,” I say.
He readjusts his helmet. “Sorry for that outburst. Thanks for eating shit on my behalf.”
I smile and point to my jersey. “That’s why I wear the ‘A’. That’s my job now. Eating shit for all of you guys.”
Blomdahl cracks a smile and puts his helmet back on.
I look at him. “Seriously though. That goal wasn’t your fault. You’re kicking ass tonight. But if the refs don’t feel like playing fair, then we’ll make up for it. We’ll kick it up a notch. We’ll get scrappy if we have to.”
Blomdahl's gaze focuses. He nods his head. “You’re right. Thanks for the pep talk.”
“Anytime.” I tap his leg pad with my stick and head to where the rest of my linemates are standing on the ice.
“Well, boys. Looks like the refs have it out for us tonight,” I say.
Del spits and wipes his mouth on the back of his glove. “It’s fucked up. That goal shouldn’t have counted.”
“Nope. It shouldn’t have. It did, though,” I say. “But I’m sure as shit not gonna let that ruin my focus.”
Sam, Theo, and Del look at me. Determination surges through me. I’m pissed and frustrated, just like they are. But as alternate captain, I need to put my emotions aside and focus on doing whatever it takes to get my teammates to lock in and play well. That’s part of why I wanted to wear the A in the first place. I wanted to be someone who motivates my team to play their best, no matter what.
And the way to do that is to lead by example.
“I’m not gonna let a few bad calls break me. I’m not gonna to let that ruin my concentration or how hard I play,” I say. “Are you?”
I look at all of them. They all shake their heads.
“Good. Now let’s show them what we do when they try to fuck us over.”
Their gazes sharpen, and the focus in their gazes returns as we all get ready for face-off.
