I’ll win the game for you tonight so I can tell you that in person.
Phillip
Iset the journal aside. Tristan will be here in a few minutes, and we’ll head to the arena together. I grab my phone just as it buzzes with a new message.
Tally
Good luck tonight!
Flip
I’ll bring home a win just for you.
An hour later, Tristan and I are taking the ice. It’s a high-stakes game for both teams, and we’re playing against the Chicago Rage tonight.
“All we need is the win and three goals and we start the playoffs at home.”
“We got this.” I fist-bump him and we get into position.
Chicago wins the faceoff, but we gain control of the puck within the first minute of play.
Shots on net are plentiful in the first period, but nothing gets past the goalies. Ryker is holding strong, and our enforcers are playing smooth with a side of grit. Romero can’t help it. That’s who he is, and Grace likes to push buttons. As long as they stay out of the penalty box, we’re good.
“We need a goal on the board before the end ofthe first period.” I chew on my mouthguard, following the puck as Bright and Palaniappa pass back and forth, looking for a hole in the Rage’s defense.
“Same.” Stiles taps his stick on the floor.
“I want my kids at my first playoff game,” Grace adds.
I smile. Those adopted twins have made him a different man.
“We’ll make it happen.” I need my girlfriend at my first playoff game this season and I need to be at her showcase.
The Rage’s lead scorer was injured last week, and he’s still favoring his left side. At shift change, Romero bolts down the ice, Grace at his side, and I move in to steal the puck from a Chicago right wing. I send it to Grace just before I hit the boards and a Chicago player slams into me. I shake it off and get into position as Stiles, Grace, and Romero keep the puck away from our opposition. Stiles passes to me, but there’s no open shot on net, so I pass back to Grace. Behind him, Romero is getting up in a defensive player’s space.
I scoop the puck while he’s distracted and pull one of Kodiak Bowman’s moves, flipping it into the air before I tap it, arcing it over the goalie’s glove. It hits the back of the net, and my teammates converge on me.
“One down, two to go.” Stiles bumps my shoulder.
The Chicago player tries to grab my jersey, but the refs pull him off. We end up with a powerplay, and we take full advantage of that precious time, setting up for another goal in the last minute of the period. There are only fifteen seconds left on the clock when I take the ice again. Stiles passes to me, and Grace moves into position, ready to take a shot. It goes wide, but Stiles catches it and tips it back to me. I fake the shot, then pass to Grace, who slips it through the five hole.
The buzzer sounds, and a fight nearly breaks out, but we keep our cool and leave the ice without throwing punches.
During the second period, we maintain the lead, but Romero ends up with a penalty for roughing, giving the Rage a powerplay.Grace and Palaniappa help Ryker keep the puck out of the net.
In the third period, Chicago is looking to close the gap, but Romero won’t make the same mistake twice, and Grace is playing clean. Bright scores a goal five minutes in, extending our lead with the third goal. But Chicago finally puts themselves on the board two minutes later.
We fight to keep the puck in their territory. The hits keep coming, and Chicago earns another penalty for high-sticking. Romero is forced back to the bench so the doctor can look at his bleeding eyebrow. The powerplay is the advantage we need, though, and I score again with Grace as the assist.
We win 4-1. It’s the best game of my career, and it puts us exactly where we want to be for the start of the playoffs, giving us home-ice advantage.
The mood in the locker room is buoyant. Some of the younger guys make plans to go out to celebrate, but Quinn has three stitches above his left eye and a killer headache.
“Oh my gosh, Quinn, what was that even?” Lovey, his longtime friend who has attended several events with him over the last couple of years, takes his face in her hands and inspects his eyebrow. “Do you have a concussion?”
“Loves, I’m fine. It’s just a few stitches.” He jams his hand in his pocket and lets her mother bird him.
“In your head!” She props a hand on her hip then inspects the wound again. “I’m staying with you tonight.”
