And at the same time…
It was over? Now we were just supposed to… move on? Play hockey?
Apparently so, because everyone but the starters returned to their respective benches, and we took our places on the blue lines for the anthem.
Holy fuck, this was surreal. It was such a normal thing—standing here, listening to the anthem, getting my head in the game—but I didn’t know how to breathe around normal right now. It had been less than ten minutes since they’d unveiled Leif’s jersey in the rafters, even less since I’d been comforting his kids, and now I was supposed to step back into normal like it was nothing? I couldn’t go back in the locker room and catch my goddamned breath for a minute?
No. No, I couldn’t, because my team and our fans and my best friend’s memory were counting on all of us—were counting onme—to stay upright and play hockey.
I wasn’t sure how I was going todothat, only that I needed to. I had to.
“You all right, Calds?” Davis’s voice pulled me out of my thoughts.
I shook myself, then nodded. “I’m good.” I gestured with my stick toward Houston’s goal. “How about we put a few in the back of their net for Early?”
My linemate grinned. “Can’t imagine a better tribute. Let’s do it.”
We set up at center ice for the faceoff.
Peyton glanced at all of us as he skated up to the dot. Apparently satisfied we were all in position, he faced the other center.
The puck dropped. He easily won the faceoff, and just like that, we were off.
In an instant, the weight of the night tumbled off my shoulders. Now that the game was moving, I fell into thegroove. Passing. Bodying my way past a pest of a defenseman. Calling for the puck. Catching it on my stick and shooting it. No goal, but the puck rebounded and Peyton notched a shot, too. This time the goalie froze it, and the whistle blew.
Fine. Offensive zone faceoff. I could work with that.
Peyton won that faceoff too, but we quickly lost possession. Houston tried to break away, and they were promptly stopped at the blue line by our D.
Our shift was over. The second line came out, and a moment later, our defense peeled away to let in a pair of fresh bodies.
The game went back and forth, and every time I was on the bench, I twitched with frustration. I needed to get out there. We needed toscore. We needed towin.
A few times when I was on the bench, the impulse to look up at Leif’s number was too much to resist. After glancing up three separate times and then having to pull myself together, I kept my gaze very firmly at ice level. I didn’t even look up at the Jumbotron unless I was checking the time, and I pointedly didn’t let my gaze drift toward the retired jerseys. Leif belonged up there. I belonged down here. That was the way it was now.
And Houston was playing like they wanted to win this one, but like hell were we losing after we’d raised Leif’s number.
“Next shift,” I told Davis and Peyton. “One of us”—I gestured at them and myself—“is getting one into the net.”
“Sounds good to me,” Davis said.
Peyton held up his gloved fist. “Let’s do it.”
We bumped fists with him, and when it was our turn to hit the ice, we flew over the boards.
Willie was holding the puck behind our net, waiting for usto complete the shift change. When Ollie went to the bench, Willie passed me the puck and skated off the ice himself.
Houston was trying for a line change too, but they’d waited too long while Willie had been behind the net. By the time they went for it, we were already heading into their zone. Peyton had the puck and he danced between a couple of skaters who tried but failed to get in his way.
I was already almost to the crease, and when I realized he’d broken free of the defense, I smacked my stick on the ice.
Without hesitation, he fired the puck at me, and I whipped it right on goal.
The netminder never saw it coming.
I roared with triumph as the goal horn sounded and the fans went wild. It was only the first goal of the game—hell, the first goal of the season—but… fuck it. We needed this momentum.
All we had to do now was keep it going.
