The puck is dropped, and the Hurricanes’ forward, Dan Hannover, gets the jump and hits it to a teammate. I guess we’re starting this period exactly how the last one ended. We don’t give up though. We stay on top of those red jerseys and don’t make it easy on them.
No goals are scored in the first ten minutes. Dennis is back and wreaking havoc, just like he has throughout the game. There’s nothing angelic about D’Angelo. I’m going for the puck when a stick catches my skate, and I go down hard in front of my bench. I look up just in time to see Dennis skating by with a devilish smirk on his face. To my frustration, no whistle is blown.
“Carrington,” Coach yells from the bench next to me. “Get down there and get our puck back. This game is far from over!” I’m going from fired up to pissed off in a matter of seconds.
The puck stays on our side of the ice most of the period. With each shift, I plant myself in front of the net. Using my body to block the puck, batting it away with my stick, I try to keep that asshole Dennis and his teammates away from our net. And away from Cody. The energy on the bench is high as the clock signals the last five minutes of the game. We’re tied. Whoever scores next wins. We’re all breathing heavily, worn out from this physical matchup. Nobody wants to see this game go into overtime. We’re all going to need an ice bath and a good massage for our tight muscles after this one. And then a good, long cuddle with my man watchingRuPaul’s Drag Race, which has become our latest obsession.
That thought has me glancing toward the far end of the ice to where Cody is watching the play in front of him. He’s been on fire tonight.Again.He always delivers no matter what, and I just know that one of these days he’ll get traded. Cody is headed for bigger things than what Aurora has to offer. I don’t think he realizes it, but I see it. I think we all do. I just hope we can face that too. Together. Like we have everything else so far.
Coach is yelling again behind us. How the guy even has a voice at this point, I have no idea. It’s time for a line change. The puck is already heading back up to the Hurricanes’ side as I shoot onto the ice. The puck is quickly passed to me, and I use what little energy the adrenaline is giving me to take it toward their net. AsI get closer, three red jerseys are on me. Without even looking, I know one of them is Dennis. A quick flick of my wrist sends the puck through the guy’s legs in front of me. I spin around him quickly as he gets tangled with a teammate and take the puck on the end of my stick and shoot quickly before Dennis can get to me. The lamp lights up and the crowd goes wild. Finally! We’re in the lead for the first time tonight. We’re down to one minute. And if there’s anything this team has taught us, it’s that anything can happen in one minute.
We’re lined up along the bench. Cody skates up next to me. We exchange a quick look, and he grins at me from behind his mask as Coach draws out a play on his dry erase board. We need this win. Every win gives us a better chance of making it to the playoffs.
My gaze drifts over to the other bench as they gather around theirs, just like we have. They want the win too. My gaze lands on Dennis—all six-foot-four of him—as he leans his hip against the wall. The guy is built like a tank and knows it. My aching muscles know it. The dude is a beast. He’s been in the league for over ten years, a true veteran. Too bad he’s playing out of his ass tonight. Our eyes meet just as I hear my name.
“Carrington!” My head quickly whips around to where Coach is standing on the bench, looking at me.Shit, focus Luke.
“Yeah Coach?” I pant, out-of-breath my new normal.
“I said, are yougood, Carrington?”
“I’m good, Coach.” Using the dry-erase marker in his hand, he points it at me and my linemates.
“You guys were out there less than a minute. I’m putting your line back out there. Let’s bring this win home.”
“Yes, Coach!” we yell in unison as we all skate back out to center ice. Cody slaps his goalie stick with mine before he skates off to get back in front of the net for the final minute of the game. The Hurricanes have benched their goalie, Jack Slater, for afinal, intense play. We line up at center ice. Dennis is next to me because, of course, it’s him. Why would my luck be any different after how this night has been?
“Get ready to lose, kid,” he grits. I know the game he’s playing and it ain’t hockey. I do my best to ignore him, trying not to let his attitude get to me. As the puck drops, a stick swipes under my left skate, sending me flailing for balance. Luckily, I catch myself quickly without falling, but not before he laughs and gets the jump after my teammate, who has the puck. I curse myself for letting him distract me and skate to catch up with them. This final minute feels like ten. It must be the longest minute in history. We keep the puck in the attacking zone for most of it, trying to build ourselves a cushion and get another goal. But luck isn’t on our side.
A Hurricane gets the puck and sends it down the ice toward our defensive zone. I just want this game to be over. I’m ready to be home, snuggled up with Cody, trying to think of new ways to make him blush. The seconds are counting down. Cody is blocking shot after shot on goal. I don’t know where these Hurricanes have found the speed these last few seconds, but they aren’t ready to go home as losers. We’re doing everything we can to block the puck and give Cody a break. The crowd is getting louder, near deafening, as the game clock counts down its final seconds.
Dennis has the puck now as he approaches the net. I’m standing in front of it, ready to block whatever he sends my way. His teammate next to me tries to shove me out of the way to give Dennis room, but I stand my ground. Dennis shoots the puck, and it quickly turns into a sea of red and navy jerseys as the puck bounces off my knee pad and lands on the ice. The navy jerseys are trying to keep the puck out of the net. The red jerseys are trying to get it in the net. It’s a mess. Someone in red gets tangled with one of my teammates and they fall to the ice in front ofthe net. Dennis is somehow able to get the puck again from in between the battle of the sticks and makes one last attempt at a gap in the net.
Time seems to stand still as Cody makes the most unbelievable save. Able to catch it with his glove and bat it down, the madness goes on in front of him, signaling the play dead as the play clock runs out.
Then everything seems to escalate fast. I’m helping a fallen Nowak back up off the ice to celebrate our win when Dennis approaches our net and shoves Cody. I instantly see red as Cody falls awkwardly over the Hurricane player who’s still down on the ice. On instinct, I drop my gloves and just start swinging at this asshole. I’m not a fighter, but I’m pissed. The fucker went after my man. I’m so over that asshole Dennis. I just keep swinging and don’t care where my hits land as long as they’re hitting something.
I vaguely hear my teammates’ voices as they try to reach him, too. I think I hear another fight break out behind me, but I don’t care about them. The refs have a hold of my shoulder, trying to pull me away, but nothing is stopping me now. Dennis turns to face me right as I swing and land a satisfying hit right to his nose. I have zero regrets as he falls to the ice, cupping his face, his hands quickly turning red. Rage is still flying through my bloodstream as I try to approach him again, but a referee and a couple of teammates pull me away from him toward the exit.
I glance back quickly over their shoulders as they drag me away, watching as Cody slowly gets up from the ice. Coach is yelling something from the bench, but I don’t even look his way.
So much for a big celebration after that win. We’re all ushered into our team locker room. The other referees are doing the same with the Hurricane players toward theirs. I’ll likely be suspended for a game or two, and Coach is going to rip me a new one. I’ll gladly run those suicide drills for a month straightat practice. I bet Dennis will think twice next time we play them. He can throw me around as much as he wants, but Cody is off-limits.
“What the hell was that, Carrington?” Coach looks at me, his mouth pressed into a narrow line, his eyes scrutinizing me. I’m sitting across from him in his office. He called me in here as soon as we reached the locker room. Told me to get dressed and then come see him ASAP. I recognize theno bullshitedge to his voice. The same edge when Crane shows up hungover or when I’m late. Combined with his I-wasn’t-born-yesterday attitude, it’s something that makes most of us shrink and then spill the beans.
“Uhm yeah…” I start. “I’m sorry about that. Don’t know what got into me. I just…” I brush a hand through my hair and look down at the floor. Coach sighs and his chair creaks as he leans back.
“Look, kid. We all know that D’Angelo was trying to get a rise out of you guys. That’s what he does. You know the drill. It’s his game plan. So, what makes this time any different?”
Cody, I want to say. Cody makes this time different. Well, not just this time. He makes everything different. And fucking Dennis targeted us again and again whenever the ref wasn’t looking. But going after me is one thing. I can deal with that. But going after Cody.MyCody. That last time Dennis went straight for him, after the clock had run out. I noticed Cody wince as he tripped over the Hurricane player on the ice, and I just saw red. I’ve never felt that kind of rage course through me before, but it was like my body wasn’t mine any longer. Like it was overtaken by this invisible force.Protect. Protect. Protect, went on repeat in my head and I got serious tunnel vision. And Coachis right. It’s not like me. Not at all. I’m usually fuckingTeflon—everything just slides right off me. Cool as a cucumber.Cool Hand Luke.
“He deliberately targeted Cody, using the chaos in front of the goal as an opportunity,” I mumble, feeling like a middle schooler explaining why he sent a dodgeball flying through the window to the chem lab.
“He did. But Jesus, Carrington, that’s the name of the game. Some play unfairly, but we don’t react to that. If you’d left it to the refs, it would’ve been D’Angelo spending two games on the bench and not you.” Coach leans in over his desk, resting his arms on the surface. “So, what’s different this time?” he asks like he already knows the answer and for the first time in a long while, my nerves get the better of me. My right leg bounces up and down like a million fire ants are marching across my skin. Beads of cold sweat break free across my forehead and temples, and I feel like I’m in freefall. Like the room is spinning and I’m spinning with it, out of control.
I lick my lips, trying to speak, but nothing comes out. It’s not myself that I care about. Not anymore. It’s about Cody. Everything is about Cody now. I don’t care if Coach knows that I’m gay—I’ve never been afraid of him or the team finding out. No, it’s Cody who’s on my mind as I try to dodge Coach’s stare. I have no business outing him to Coach. It’s not my decision to make.
“Look, kid,” Coach hums. “I give zero fucks who my players shack up with. It ain’t none of my business.” I look up, a knowing smirk curling along his lips. “But if it affects the team, then itismy business. Everything…” he draws out the word, his eyes not leaving mine, “that affects the team—the dynamic, the results, everything—ismybusiness, Carrington? You hear me?” His voice is low, controlled, but there’s no mistaking about the underlying message.
