However, the Mustangs come out flying in the second. Coach Norman must have given the best pep talk of all time. They come close to scoring so many times.
Who the fuck have Hoover got in net? Peak Carey Price? Becks snarks.
Yeah, he’s pretty tough to beat. It’s gonna have to be a rebound. Or maybe get him moving side-to-side, I say.
Almost as soon as the words leave my mouth, Big Z takes a hard shot that the Hoover goalie deflects. The puck skitters way out and Sinc rushes in from the point and whacks that rebound. For a moment, it’s like the puck moves in slow motion as it sails towards the net. Big Z is screening, so the goalie doesn’t see the puck until the last second, and when he reaches out his glove to catch it, he’s too late.
The puck is in! Goal!
The arena explodes! The crowd is on their feet, screaming and jumping. Sinc is mobbed by his teammates, and Becks and I hug each other and jump up and down. Somewhere in the arena, Andy must be ecstatic.
The Mus-tangs chant begins again, growing in volume. Nobody sits down right away because we’re too jittery with excitement.
Coach Norman leaves the same players out on the ice, and before the chants of Mus-tangs have even died down, Schmidty zooms in with the puck and draws the Hoover defenceman and goalie towards him. But, instead of shooting, he passes through the blue paint to where Big Z is waiting. The goalie tries to slide over, but Big Z is too fast.
Goal! Tie game!
Incredibly, the cheering is even louder now. The crowd goes fucking bananas; cheering, hugging, even dancing in the stands. It’s pure insanity, and I love it. The second period ends and we’re back to scratch, 2–2.
During the intermission, Becks and I walk around to burn off tension and also to get the arena cheese fries, which I love.
You know, I’ve been eating clean all week, just so I wouldn’t test positive for anything, I mumble, my mouth full of fries.
Becks rolls her eyes. They weren’t testing for cholesterol, you moron.
Maybe it was just another way I was punishing myself. But I’m over that now. As we walk back towards our seats, Becks stops short. Hey, you know what I just realized?
I swallow another mouthful of greasy goodness, feeling more like myself. No clue.
She smacks me on the shoulder. You called them, Nellie!
I rub my delt. Ouch. What did I call?
The two goals! You said rebound, and get the goalie moving. That’s exactly what happened.
Oh, I guess I did. Yay, me. I do a fist pump.
So, call the next goal, she challenges.
One word… I pause for the drama. Mats.
Oooh, Becks coos. Is that your fantasy? Going home with the guy who scores the game winner?
While I feel good about his chances of scoring, I feel less certain about my chances of scoring. I reply calmly, He’s due. He’s been close about five times tonight.
When the third period starts, I can tell from up here that Mats is in the zone. He must know where I’m sitting, but he hasn’t looked this way once, and that’s exactly right. He’s not a hot dog like me; he has focus and determination. We both compete hard, but our playing styles are completely opposite—like pretty much everything about us.
I admire Mats for being exactly who he is.
The game is a real battle, since whoever loses is eliminated from the playoffs. Nobody wants to be the one to fuck up, so the play is pretty cautious. The clock ticks down to the final five minutes.
Fuck, I don’t know if I can handle OT, moans Becks.
It’s nail-biting, next-goal-wins time.
Then it happens. Sinc picks up the puck from behind the Monarch net, races out of their zone, and leads the rush into the Hoover zone. Ethan and Murph skate alongside him, but Mats stays back on the point to cover for Sinc. There’s a mad scramble in front of Hoover’s net, with players from both teams battling. Sinc takes a shot that bounces off several bodies and gets cross-checked to the ice for his efforts.
The puck squirts out of the scrum, and Murph grabs the rebound and passes it back to Mats on the point.
