It’s not an exact line. We want to keep moving so our muscles stay warm, so it’s more of a bottleneck movement than it is any kind of rhyme, reason, or formation. After taking a few shots like this, I join Carter and Patrik on the ice to stretch while I watch the team move around. Directly across the ice are Nathan Ritchie and Jimmy doing the same thing, but also having a conversation.
I let the cold of the icy air and theswishingsounds of blades on ice combined with theslapof sticks against pucks slowly drown out everything else until it all fades away. The thousands of voices. The music. The voices. The slapping on the boards behind us.
All gone.
By the time I’m hovering in my position for puck drop, the only thing on my mind are my two goals—sink the puck and defend. I want to win. Definitely. But I can’t count on my teammates to be on the same page. We’ve proven that this season. Most of the time, we’re in completely different books. Fuck, I’d even say those books are written in different languages half the time.
Nope. Pushing that away.
Carolina gains possession and we, shockingly, have to head to our end to defend. I position myself where Jimmy should besince he’s caught up in the wrestling match at the boards for the puck and wait.
It doesn’t take long for the puck to get loose and it heads straight for me. Not with much force, but it’s definitely a direct shot. I slice my stick, sending it to Carter, who’s already heading toward the other end of the ice.
Digging my blades into the ice, I race after him. He takes a shot before anyone has caught up, but their goalie freezes the puck and the whistle is blown. Carter meets my eyes and shrugs as we get into position for a face-off.
I’m not sure exactly what happened since I’m watching the puck, but somehow, three players—two Chicago and one Carolina—end up flat on the ice as the puck heads toward our end. I’d really like to see the replay, since it doesn’t appear that a penalty is going to be called. I spare a second to glance at them, making sure none of them are obviously hurt, as I chase the puck.
I’m not quick enough. There are already two Carolina players all up in Patrik’s business. I get there just as one manages to sink a goal.
I spin around when the whistle blows. Where the fuck is my team? What is this bullshit?
Frustrated, I head for the bench. Coach Taylor grips my shoulders as I take a seat and spray some water into my mouth. Does he feel the same frustration? Did he ask the same question?
It’s difficult to tell what happened from the replay of everyone on the ice. The video literally looks like an invisible force slammed into all three players’ ankles and sent them sprawling. No matter how many times and from the two angles they have video feed for, there doesn’t appear to be any reason for it.
“Huh,” Colin Backlore says from beside me. “Is the ice haunted?”
“Don’t say that,” says someone on his other side. Colin is shoved into me. Not hard, but enough that Colin laughs.
They slow down the clip and sure enough, it seriously looks like they were hit at the exact same time. Weird. I send up a little prayer that our ice isn’t haunted and cross myself for good measure. The last thing Chicago needs is a haunted rink. We have enough challenges without adding ghosts to them.
However, ghost or not, hockey moves on. The play picks up with a new puck drop. I glance at the crowd, but I can’t see Arush from here. Disappointing, but probably a good thing because I’m forced to watch the game and the game alone.
I’m back on the ice after a few minutes and this time, when I gain possession of the puck and carry it with me, I have my sights on the goal. But the goalie has his eyes locked on me as well. Hmm… wonder if I can keep his focus on me but pass the puck.
That means I need someone to pass it to. It’s difficult to keep my focus directly on their goaltender and still see what’s going on around me. When a flash of blue catches the corner of my eye, I make as if I’m going to take a shot but sling the puck toward the blue jersey.
It happens quickly. The goalie flexes to catch my shot just as Carter receives the puck and takes a shot instead. It slips by their defenseman and sinks into the upper right corner. Carter grins as he skates towards me, wrapping me in a hug.
“Nice pass,” he says.
“Nice shot,” I counter.
The buzzer screams our goal, as do the announcer and the audience. I take a short celebration with my teammates on the ice and then head for the bench. Personal goal achieved. I helped make a goal tonight. Time to focus on defense.
As it turns out,I don’t hate defense. It’s a lot of fun seeing others’ frustration when I get in their way or actually stop a shot from even getting to Patrik. I’m on the ice at the end of the game when Patrik wraps his big mitt around my face and hauls me in for a hug. I laugh as I stumble, but the beast in the net catches me.
“Very good,” Patrik says in a thick Swedish accent.
I tap his arm, and he lets me go, grinning all the same.
We lose. Just as I thought we would. But we lose 4-2, which isn’t a bad loss in my books. We made some goals. Carolina didn’t get a chance to go crazy scoring goals. Our attempts on goal exceeded Carolina’s, which speaks to the fact we were actually on our game and trying tonight. It was a good game.
I feel good as I head to the locker room. The first thing I do after sticking my stick in its home and tossing my gloves into the cubby is pick up my phone. I grin when I see three messages from Arush and from my Mama.
Arush
What was that?! How did they all fall down?
