I nod, seeing clearly how this season is going to go.
We will destroy everyone.
“Mapleton has the lead,” the announcer voice calls over the speakers, “Six to one.” The crowd’s cheering ticks even louder as the teams line up for one last faceoff. Axl quickly takes control of the puck and drives down the ice with speed. Then he drops it back to Elijah, who takes off in a breakaway and shoots the puck toward the net. Their goalie blocks it. Axl snags it on the rebound and shoots again. The puck flies past the diving goalie and into the net!
The buzzer blares, and the game is over. The benched players hop the wall, racing to center ice where we all gather in celebration.
Not only did we win, but it wasn’t even close.
My chest puffs full of air that smells like sweat, but it’s the best feeling in the world. My body aches from the strain of the game. With my leg muscles twitching, I skate toward the tunnel. My fingers curl in my glove, cupping nothing but air. It feels amazing.
Back in the locker room, Coach Carlson hugs the wall while the team owner, Bill Baker, puts a boot up on the bench in front of him. He leans forward while scanning the room. “Guys, we didn’t just win a game. We finally proved to everyone—including ourselves—what we are capable of when we come together.”
Some of the guys cheer, but I stay silent with my focus unwavering on Bill as he speaks over the cheers. “It couldn’t have come at a better time, too. We can take this momentum into our next game. As you know, next we play Noah’s new team, Arctic Force. We've put in the work. I guarantee you that they are putting in hard work too. All this week, I want to see you on the ice early. Leave your personal problems at home, focus on the ice, and trust your teammates so we can be ready to dominate them.” Bill curls his fingers into a fist and shakes it in front of his chest. “No late nights. Nothing to distract you.” He drops his foot off the bench and stands tall, scanning his gaze over us.
I nod when Bill makes eye contact.
I get it.
There was some drama that went down with Bill and Noah. Bill is not only Noah’s stepdad, but he traded Noah to a rival team. All teams have rivalry, but let’s just say Bill takes his competitive spirit to the next level. I’ve heard many stories about the things he’s done. I’ve learned I don’t want to upset him. That’s why I stand back when Bill strides out the door, leaving us in silence. A few side conversations break out, but I move to the side bench and start to remove my gear.
Some days I feel like I play a completely different game than everyone else. They play a team sport. When I’m standing alone in front of a net, it’s a solo sport with the whole game riding on my shoulders. In Bill’s speech today, he said we won because “we came together” and the credit is shared. However, when we lose, the energy in this room is so thick and someone usually mumbles how the loss is my fault for letting the goals slip by.
It’s not a team sport then.
I stuff my gear in my hockey bag, making sure to double check that my lucky glove is right on top. I let out a sigh of relief when I finally zip my bag, as if tonight’s game is sealed. We start this season with a victory. I rise to my feet, shoulder my bag, and lumber out the door.
Axl raises his face as I pass by. “See ya.”
I nod but don’t speak as I exit the locker room. I’ve been told that goalies are a different breed. When I was younger it used to upset me because I wanted to feel like I belonged on the team. But, lately I’m starting to agree. There is something sadistic about willingly jumping in front of a soaring puck. Not to mention that I’m always a bit of a loner as a goalie. When everyone flies around the ice, working the puck together, I’m over in the net by myself. Sure, the defenders skate around, but nobody else is using their body to physically block the puck. I shrug to nobody, but it’s a bit of needed stress relief. Maybe there is something a little off about me?
I reach Victory Hall, and my lips curl into a smile as I see my sister, Jackie, standing with my nephew, Rigsby. At only seven years old, he’s a stud all decked out in Granite Ice hockey merch that is complemented with a fruit punch mustache over his upper lip. As soon as his eyes land on me, he dashes forward, soles of his sneakers squeaking as they slide on the tile dotted with small puddles from melted snow people tracked in. “Uncle Jack,” he yells in an octave that’s level with his game-cheering shout as he runs forward, not slowing his speed one bit. Instead of letting him crash into me, I drop my hockey bag, swipe him up mid-stride, and trap him against my hip.
“Whoa, buddy.” I twist him around as I try to tickle his belly, but he squirms and covers his stomach with his arms and playfully kicks at me. “What do you think you’re doing trying to attack me?” I tip him upside down and lower his face to theground, teasing like I’m going to drop him. His laughter mixes with mine, and I swing him around and around until I’m dizzy. I flip him upright, lower his feet to graze the floor, and I let go.
He stands up, doing an exaggerated wobble. “Whoa, I’m dizzy now.”
Jackie is finally within arm’s reach, and she snatches Rigsby’s hand to still him. With her free hand, she passes a small backpack to me. “Pajamas and clothes for tomorrow. His homework folder is also in there, and that needs to go with him to school tomorrow. It has his permission slip for his field trip, and we are already late turning it in.”
“Got it.” My hand drops from the surprising weight of the bag. I give it a double take as it feels as if it contains a bowling ball. “Send his pajamas to school tomorrow, and he needs a permission slip to sleep.” Jackie’s lips pinch into a strained smirk while her eyes nervously shift back to Rigsby. “Relax.” I reach out, patting her shoulder. “He’s going to be fine. I can handle a boy for the night.”
“It’s just that I’ve never left him before. Not for an overnight.” She shifts her weight from leg to leg while she pats her pregnant belly, nine months huge.
“He’s not a baby. He’s seven, and you’re getting induced in the morning. You deserve a night off from being parents before the new baby comes.” I reach over and playfully squeeze the back of Rigsby’s shoulder. A smile springs onto his face in reflex, and he roguishly taps a light kick to my shin. I hop back a full foot, preventing him from kicking me again, and flash a mischievous smirk at him. “You want to go, bud?”
“No killing each other in public,” Jackie says in playful warning. Rigsby and I both pinch back smirks, pretending to get serious. Roughhousing is our favorite pastime. It’s my mission to wear him out to the point of exhaustion until he begs to go to bed.
“Fine.” I adjust his school bag while giving it another side-eye. I don’t remember schoolbooks weighing this much. When I slug my hockey bag over the same shoulder, I feel like I’m getting a workout just standing here. I tap Rigsby on the shoulder and take a giant sidestep. “Should we grab root beers and wings at The Grove?”
That’s all it took for Rigsby to close the gap as he steps away from his mom, calling back, “Bye, Mom.”
“Don’t I get a hug?” Her bottom lip drops in a pout, and she reaches forward. Rigsby leans on one leg to reach for her. For the briefest of moments, he squeezes her neck and then replants himself back by my side. “We’re getting BBQ, right?”
“Any flavor you want.” I slide a hand behind his back, guiding him forward, and call over my shoulder back to Jackie, “I got this.”
Her feet stay cemented. I’m not dragging this out any longer. She’ll come up with an excuse why she can’t leave him, and she deserves this time with her husband. I continue to pace forward, hyping Rigsby up for the wings, “They have boneless and bone in, or you can try their new flavor—Cajun crusted—which will blow your mind and possibly your tongue off.”
Rigsby is nothing but smiles. In my peripheral vision, I see Jackie finally starting to walk toward the main parking lot in the front of the building. I let out a sigh of relief. This is a big step for her, but she has nothing to worry about.
