Theo’s voice carried down to me. “He’s a little late on that pass!”
“Quit coaching from the stands,” I shot back, not taking my eyes off the play.
Shawn barreled into a defender near the boards, both bouncing back like pinballs. He skated off with a grimace, arm hugging his ribs. I grabbed the ice spray before he reached the bench, quick hiss and rub, nodding at him. “You’re good.”
Not two seconds of him being back out there, and he got a break on the right, shot high. The goalie stretched, and snagged it. Colorado countered fast, puck slicing through the crease, and Theo’s voice floated down again.
“Whoa. That one’s coming right for us. Tighten up! Tighten up!”
Hunter planted, eyes following the puck like there was nothing else on the rink with him. He acted fast, diving at the same moment the forward took his shot. It was the right direction… and it was a save. The arena breathed a collective sigh of relief which quickly morphed into a chant for the Surge guys. Theo remained tight-lipped in his seat.
Then another turnover came. Tucker wrestled the puck free and shot up the ice, Mason skating up to receive. His slapshot zoomed past the net and ricocheted off the boards. Colorado scrambled, but too slow to keep Grayson from picking up the wayward puck. No time to think. Just shoot. The net bulged.
“Goal!” I called, grabbing the ice spray again for Mason who’d skidded off for a quick one. “Good work out there.”
“We miss you, sweet cheeks,” he called to Theo over my shoulder.
“I can tell,” he replied. “That defensive line is shocking.”
“Not what the scoreboard’s saying,” Mason said with an electric grin.
Which is when McAvoy came over and smacked his helmet. “This isn’t the time for a tea party, Calder. Get your ass out there.”
Colorado didn’t take it lying down. Their winger slashed across the crease, bounced off Grayson, then fired low. Hunter stretched, saved it with a kick, skidding sideways along the ice.
“Looks like you’re up again,” Theo muttered behind me.
Ace, the D-man who’d been standing in for him was hobbling toward the bench, holding his wrist.
“Try not to sound so happy about it.” I flashed him a warning look, but Theo didn’t even try to hide his amusement.
Second period, the puck was moving fast enough to blur. Landon subbed in, skating into the fray like a dog hunting a bone. At one point, he almost took out one of our own guys, he was going so fast. So wild. He got tangled up in a check farther down the ice, and snapped to his skates rubbing his thigh. Quick hiss from the ice spray, a pat on the shoulder, and he was back at it.
Halfway through, and Colorado finally found the net, the puck slipping past Hunter’s glove with bullet speed. Colorado fans erupted, and Theo groaned, leaning down toward me. “That’s some bullshit.”
“Welcome to hockey,” I muttered, jotting a mental note for Hunter. He’d need a stretch after the whistle.
Surge kept the pressure, puck slicing along the boards, slapshots ringing off the post. Mason pushed forward, shot ricocheting, Colorado blocked again. Theo’s voice rose in mock horror. “You call that a shot?!”
Third period, still all tied. The crowd screamed, and the ice burned under skates. Theo kept motivating the guys from his seat, and I kept taking them in as needed. The puck skated end to end, each team giving as good as they got, but nobody really making any move closer to winning.
Colorado pressed on a counterattack, a shot blocked, and the rebound saved by Hunter, sliding across like a pendulum. Tucker swept it up to Landon, who confused everyone with one of his outlandish moves. The crowd ate it up.
He didn’t sink the puck though.
Face off in the defensive zone. The crowd didn’t like it any more than McAvoy did, and he made sure the ref heard him. Grayson skated up to the bench for a mini huddle, and then took the coach’s message back to the guys.
The draw was to Hunter’s left. Landon stepped in with his jaw set, stick flat. The tension in the arena pulled so tight it felt like I could’ve choked. The puck hit the ice and he snapped it back clean, stole a half step, and took it himself instead of sliding it to Grayson or Mason, both yelling for it.
“What the fuck is he doing?” McAvoy whirled round to me as if I’d have the answer. Anyone with half a brain could tell that Landon was hoping he’d be the next glory boy.
Landon cut up ice with lightning speed. Legs pumping. Colorado’s first pair reached and missed, snow kicked up behind him as he split the gap. The crowd rose with him, the noise chasing his stride.
From the row behind me, Theo’s voice. “He’s gonna overcook it. No control. No goal. No goal. He’s not scoring like that.”
Landon crossed the red and loaded up, all arm and ambition. The shot went big. Too big. His edge caught, the follow-through dragged him sideways, and he went down hard, cushioned by nothing but the collective groan from the crowd. His stick cartwheeled toward the circle, and the puck skittered free.
Colorado turned it back the other way, jerseys flooding the lane while Landon slid to a stop on his hip. I was already standing, eyes tracking the counter, heart stuck in my throat as the play reversed in a blink.
