By the look on his face, he knew that I knew.
“Look, keep your head down and do what you’re best at,” he said, punching my arm. Just one of the guys, that was me. “When it gets to that point, I’ll put in a good word with management. I believe in you, kid.”
The centers were called for face-off, and I started losing him again. But it was fine, because what the actual fuck?
Of all the places I thought I’d end up, head trainer for The Surge wasn’t one of them.
“Thanks, Coach.” I went back to my spot behind the bench to watch the game. And maybe get a hold of my shit before the final buzzer went.
The Flames lived up to their reputation from the first minute, which helped me forget about the totally bonkers news I’d just gotten. A wave of red rushed the line, and Surge playerswere tossed around like ragdolls. One hit in particular, caused second-hand pain to ripple through the arena.
The guys didn’t back down, though.
A Flames winger came barreling down the ice, stick swinging, shoulder cocked for a hit. Theo planted on his skates, slight tuck in his right shoulder, eyes locked. For a second, it looked like he might give in to his impulse and run all the way home, but it was gone just as quickly. And not a moment too soon. The impact rattled through him and the crowd groaned again. He rotated back onto his line as the next guy charged, and it was like none of it happened.
Shawn caught a pass in the corner, but a Flames defenseman slammed into him before he could offload to Mason. The boards shook, Shawn stumbled, holding his arm to his body. I grabbed the tape from my kit bag, and by the time I was rinkside, he stood there holding it out to me.
“They say if you can survive the first five minutes of a rough game, you can make it to the final buzzer.” I wrapped his wrist in three quick pulls, each strip tight enough to secure it, loose enough to not hinder circulation.
He gave a humorless laugh. “Who’s ‘they’ exactly, and were they high at the time?”
I tapped his helmet and he was back on the ice before I had the tape stowed away. Not that I blamed him. Shit was going down, and Grayson looked like he was ready to cut a bitch if Shawn didn’t get his ass back out there and help.
I craned my neck to find the puck that had gotten lost in a heated battle. Four, maybe five bodies all raking for it. Then it popped out… on the stick of a Surge player. My feet were among the hundreds stomping a thank you to the hockey gods,a traditional Surge prayer that came in handy when our voices hurt from screaming, or our mouths were full of beer.
Mason faked left, spun, and shot. The puck hit the post and bounced away, and my heart stuttered in rhythm with the slap of sticks against the boards. Theo skated the rebound, and checked a Flames forward into the boards. The crowd howled, and he egged them on, punching his stick in the air.
But it wasn’t over. Two wingers worked in tandem to steal the loose puck and sweep it back into the danger zone.
Hunter flexed his pads at the crease as the Flames gained control near the blue line again. The puck bounced off the boards, the winger took a wild slap shot, and the net shook as Hunter kicked it aside. Theo zipped past him to intercept the puck, spun around another charge, and passed it along to Grayson. Mason tried to partner with him but was instantly shut out.
Two Flames defenders went for Hunter, bodies committed to the beating he was about to get. But Landon already had his skates angled like he was reading a map no one else could see. Grayson slipped the puck casually, and the rookie took the pass with a flourish, stick handling around a charging defenseman who hadn’t even realized the kid existed.
The arena held its breath. There wasn’t even the usual screaming from horny college girls the way they did whenever Landon got the puck.
He pulled a sudden toe-drag around a defenseman who’d overcommitted, spun on the heel of his skate, and swept the puck through the goalie’s five-hole. Nothing but net, and no sign of that ankle wobble from a week ago. I gave myself a mental pat on the back for that one, pretending the crowd going crazy was for my job well done.
One, zero to us, but the Flames weren’t letting up. Shoulder-to-shoulder hits across the neutral zone, guys sprawling to block passes, fists barely brushing the ice before the refs jumped in. The adrenaline made every little move feel like a punch to the gut.
The rest of the period went by in a heart-stopping physical battle that made me cringe in some parts. Like when they all jumped in to pull Mason out of a fist salad.
McAvoy smacked his clipboard on the bench. “They’re out of control out there. My six-year-old niece can ref better than this!”
His mythical niece was of an age that randomly changed depending on what he needed her for. I bit back a laugh and turned my attention back to the ice. Flames were at it again, a wave of angry forwards playing a flawless streak of pass-the-puck as they advanced on Hunter.
Their guys were clearly hurting from that last fight. Except Theo. He seemed to be the one with the most pep in his step as he raced to cover Hunter’s stick side. The shot was blocked, first period over.
The locker room was a blur of bruises, topical cold spray, and McAvoy welcoming his fifth coronary of the night. Aside from the blur, was Theo once again waving me off even after I’d called him out about that left-lean.
The second period opened with a physical statement, and it didn’t come from The Surge. Flames came at us with everything they had, slamming bodies against boards, hammering for the puck. When they weren’t fighting, they actually played one hell of a game. One shot beat Hunter just over the pad, ricocheted off the post, and somehow found the net. 1-1. The Flames had tied it. The visiting “C of Red” went silent for a heartbeat, then erupted like a vocal explosion that blew out my eardrums.
Third period: the arena crackled. Surge took the hits and clung to the tie. They were all reeling from McAvoy’s crash out during the break, and set out to get him smiling before the night was over. Good call. Because I wouldn’t have picked to be on his naughty list either.
With a minute of regular time left, Mason slipped the puck to Shawn (whose wrist held, thank God), who found Grayson again. They clicked in a smooth rotation of passes. Mason stayed wide, sweeping space, and finally fed it to Grayson. The shot deflected toward the net, but didn’t have enough steam.
Two things that did, though, was the beautiful Landon Cross and the deafening chants from Surge fans. He’d read the play, cut between two hulking defensemen, and slotted it clean past the goalie’s glove. Like taking candy.
2-1 Surge.
