Coach turns to Gavin. “Marshal, keep your eyes on Connor so he can keep his eyes on the puck.”
“Not a problem, Coach,” Gavin says and skates right on my heel as we get into formation and wait for the ref to drop the puck.
When it hits the ice, Tavish wins the face off. He grabs it with lightning-quick speed and takes off out of the circle. I chase after him. He’s quick. There’s a reason why he’s been a first line forward for Canada during the games, and back in Buffalo for the Blizzards as well. He gets within shooting range of the net, but Bouchard is poised and ready for him.
I can see his stick bow into an arc as he takes his shot, quick and with a lot of force behind it. Bouchard reaches with his blocker and knocks the puck out of the air before it can reach the goal. Tavish is already there, ready for the rebound. He tries another shot. This time, Bouchard blocks it with his leg, then sends it back out of the crease with his stick towards Franklin. He takes possession of it but is quickly hit by a Canadian defenseman.
Tavish takes possession of the puck again and brings it around the back of the net, looking for someone to pass it to. I skate towards him to try to steal the puck, but Gavin beats me to him. He has him up against the boards fighting for possession of the puck once again.
With some help from one of his defensemen, Tavish manages to get away from Gavin and passes the puck to his right winger who’s at the top of the circle.
Quickly, I skate between them. Tavish is bound to be making his way to net front. With proper positioning, I can intercept this next pass. And I do it with textbook precision.
Tavish, not to be outdone, levels me with a hit and takes possession of the puck again. He doesn’t have it for long before Gavin shoulder checks him, causing the puck to bounce wildly in front of Bouchard and the net. Bouchard gloves it down, stopping play. Even with his mask on, obscuring his face, I can tell Bouchard isloving every minute of this. Watching his teammates battle it out for gold is the exact type of thing Bouchard would draw pleasure from.
When the ref blows the whistle, we’re all breathing hard. But there is no way I’m going back to the bench. Not with winning the gold medal less than a minute away.
The ref calls for us to all come into formation for the face off. All five players from both teams ready themselves. It’s me against Tavish once again. There’s no way he’s winning this one from me.
The puck drops and I snap it to Max Franklin. But Canada’s defense is ready. One slams into Franklin, the other intercepts the puck as it leaves his stick, preventing us from clearing the puck out of our defensive zone.
He passes it to Tavish, who is waiting in the slot in front of the net. Bouchard is poised and ready for him. When Tavish takes the shot, Bouchard puts it to bed by beating the puck and grabbing it in his glove. It’s over. The clock runs out. We’ve won.
Gavin
Holy shit! We fucking did it. We really fucking did it. Not that I had doubts that we could, but Canada, especially Tavish, made this quite the battle.We’re Olympic champions.
“I never want to be on the opposing side of you ever again,” Tavish says as he jumps on me to give me a hug. He waves Bouchard over to join us. “You either. Damn. Now I know how the rest of the league feels when they play the Blizzards. It fucking sucks.”
He’s grinning from ear to ear. Actually, we all are. That’s the most fun I’ve had in a game in ages and I’m relieved to see he’s not upset. Or at least not taking it hard. He’s smiling at the both of us. Celebrating and laughing like he won gold as well.
“That last shot almost got past me,” Bouchard says, rubbing Tavish’s helmet with his giant goalie glove.
I thump him on the shoulder. “You put up a hell of a fight. Could have gone either way out there tonight.”
“Nah,” he says and elbows me. With his stick, he points across the ice at Connor, who’s being tackled by the rest of our team as they clear the bench and rush him. “There’s a reason why Connor over there is the best in the league.”
I beam with pride for Connor. He really is something special on and off the ice. It’s nice to see everyone else feeling the same way after all the resentment that was leveled at him during training camp and the earlier games.
“Look at his stupid face,” Tavish says. At first, I think he’s talking about Connor, but then I look at him and see he’s pointing at me. He elbows Bouchard. “What the fuck happened to our team grump? Why does he look so dopey?”
Bouchard places his hand onto Tavish’s shoulder. “You don’t even want to know.”
Tavish narrows his eyes at me and then they go wide. He starts howling with laughter. “I didnotsee that coming!”
“Yeah, and do me a favor,” I say. “Keep your trap shut. You know how gossip travels around the ice.”
“I wouldn’t worry that much,” Bouchard says, leaning close to Tavish. “They’ve done a terrible job of hiding it.”
The two snicker together at my expense as Tavish pushes me away. “Get out of here. Go celebrate with your boy before he wises up and leaves your ass.”
I turn and skate away backwards, flipping them the bird. Bouchard gives Tavish another hug before he follows me, and Tavish heads back to his team, to console them about their second-place finish.
When I reach my team, Connor is still lost somewhere in the middle. To make matters worse, the press has been let onto the ice to capture close-ups of the celebration and attempt to catch soundbites or quick interviews.
There’s a microphone thrust into my face almost immediately. “Gavin Marshal, what’s it feel like to be the first gay hockey player to win an Olympic gold medal?”
Instead of facing the reporter like I should, I keep looking around the crowd, trying to find Connor as I answer. I’m looking everywhere for a flash of his golden hair.
