Alexi emphasizes it early as he pushes the Islanders’ defender against the glass, his shoulder pushed against the opposing team member’s back. I can’t hear anything from where I am, but I can tell that words are being exchanged.
Alexi wins the battle between them and passes to Eli, who slap shots the puck right into the Islanders’ net. The guys on the ice huddle together to celebrate, and the announcer sounds off the goal. Fuck, I want that, I want to be a part of it so bad.
There’s a lot of back and forth after the first goal. I can tell that the watery ice doesn’t help. Most of the guys’ shins are drenched in slush, and when Mikael goes tumbling on the ice with another player, his whole jersey is soaked when he’s back on his feet.
There’s a stoppage of play, and the ice crew skates on, pushing the slosh to the side entrance. Coach is talking in irritated tones about how he wants to finish the period with one more goal, anything less being unacceptable. The defense line gets kudos, and Johannson gets nothing because he hasn’t had to do much besides prevent some icing and stand there.
Once the game is back in play, it’s like watching a different opposing team. They’re playing with more intensity—hitting harder and skating faster. We’re keeping up, but the game feels a lot more even now. It’s when they get a break away, two on one, skating fast down the rink. I see the shot before it happens, but Johannson doesn’t. The puck hits the back of the net, and the buzzer sounds dramatically, and all the Islanders fans are cheering as their team boasts about the goal. There’s only a minute and a half left in the period when Coach leans over to me.
“Get ready to go in,” he says. There’s nothing left to do but mentally prepare, and that’s what I do. Hyping myself and getting ready to take this on, the thing I’ve wanted more than anything.
The intermission is short. Coach is hard as fuck on the front line for not getting more scoring opportunities. He doesn’t even acknowledge Johannson, who seems to have already recognized his fate.
I’m a dick, but his loss is my gain, and we’re taking it.
“You got this,so´lnyshka,”Alexi says, bumping his gloved fist to my helmet. I’ve really got to look up what that means, but I genuinely have no clue on how to spell it.
I’m in my net, cutting the crease and stretching. I’ll be fucking damned if anything short of a masterfully placed puck is getting in this net for the rest of the game.
Music blasts in the stadium, and my heart races as the puck is in play. I don’t keep my eye off it, always ready. There are a few moments that I think I’m going to see action, but our team is playing harder after a mixture of frustration and having our asses chewed out by Coach.
It’s when number thirteen zooms down the ice that I know it’s my time to finally shine. My defense is hot on his tails, and he shoots too early. I easily glove the puck, and I think I’m waiting for the ref to get the puck when number thirteen skates right into me, sending me to the ice.
I might be shorter than most of these guys, might not have the genetic disposition to build muscle. But I’ve done everything I can to make up for it. I punch him in his helmet, but it’s not only me who’s on him now. Alexi hits him hard in the chest and curses in Russian at him. The refs break it up quickly, and no calls are made.
Rule number one of hockey: don’t fuck with the goalie. And it’s nice to know this new team has my back. I’m back on my skates when Alexi palms the back of my helmet with his gloved hand.
“Knew you were going to be a good boy, Connery.” He taps my helmet one more time before giving me a massive grin and skating off.
Rule number two of hockey: keep your head in the game, and don’t think about how fucking hot the team captain is.
CHAPTER6
Iforce my way to the back of the bus. We’re all feeling the rush after winning the game, and coach promised us we could stop at Tomlinsons to get burgers, so besides celebrating the win, we’re also hungry and tired.
Owen is sitting by himself—perfect.
His dirty-blond hair is still slightly wet and pushed back, and his navy suit is tight against his frame. He shifts uncomfortably, like he can feel me staring at him. The Beta really proved himself tonight. Not another goal was scored against us, and we scored four more. We’re on a high, and he’s a huge part of that.
So why does he look so glum?
“Cheer up, Connery. You fucking showed up today.”
The left side of his lip tilts up, but he doesn’t fully smile. “It was nothing,” he says, waving me off.
“Nothing? You just played your first real NHL game and didn’t let a fucking puck in.” He shrugs his shoulders, so I take matters into my own hands. “Let’s hear it for the fucking rookie! Zero goals in the last two periods.” The bus erupts in barks, cheers, and hoots. I watch as Owen’s pretty face goes pink. Not that Betas can’t be beautiful, but the stoic goalie is something else.
I smack his shoulder and sit down next to him.
“You have quite the personality.”
“That I do,” I reply, stretching out widely so my knee is touching his. He doesn’t shift, so I leave my leg firmly in place.
The new goalie has been an anomaly since we met, and something doesn’t sit right with me. While I think he’s proven himself at tonight’s game, something still feels off. Like he’s trying to not draw attention to himself, or he’s hiding something.
I want to crack his shell. Just like I want to crack a very tall, beautiful brunette who I need to stalk at some point this week.
“So how do you feel?” I ask him quietly enough that the other players don’t hear.
