I’m going to play my heart out. Reed mentioned that he and Blair had been watching all our games, and I’m determined to win for her.
Shit, I need to offer her my tickets for the next game. I almost asked them to come tonight, but Blair mentioned they have a family tradition on Black Friday. They get up super early, hitthe stores for sales, then watch movies all day while they eat leftovers and snack on appetizers.
Part of me wishes I was there with them.
“You ready for this?” Maddox asks. He nods in the direction of the neutral zone. I’m taking the first face-off.
“Hell, yeah.”
“Good. Let’s fucking go.”
My mind quiets as I face off against the Sharks’ center. The ref holds the puck in air and I bend over, ready. The puck drops and muscle memory takes over. My stick hits the ice, connecting with the black rubber disc, then everything explodes into action. Thecrackof sticks, theswishof blades against the ice, the chirping of the opposing team as they try to get in our heads.
I block it all out. I’m nothing more than focus and determination. We’re going to win this game. Our barn is full of cheering fans decked out in their black Rogues gear, we’re on a roll and playing even better than we did last year, and my girl is watching with her little brother at home.
For the first time in as long as I can remember, the idea of my dad’s reaction to how I play this game doesn’t even factor into it. He can think whatever the fuck he wants—I’m not playing this game for him. I’ve paid my dues, and I’m as good a player as he ever was. Maybe better. He doesn’t get to force me back into his shadow. Not anymore.
My muscles burn as I race down the ice, pushing hard in the last fifteen seconds before the line change. Maddox connects with the puck, sending it flying toward Florida’s goalie, who deflects it.
That’s okay. He won’t stop them all.
The first period goes by in a blur, and by the time the clock ticks down to zero, neither team has managed to score. Not that we haven’t both tried. Florida already has fifteen shots on goal, and we’re at twelve.
After fueling up with more water and taking a short breather, we’re back on the ice. Our fans scream as Bash blocks another goal attempt and boo when the refs call offsides against us, and we end up back in another face-off. We get control of the puck, and the hometown crowd goes wild as Wright breaks away from the pack and pushes toward Florida’s goalie.
Maddox slams a defenseman into the boards as I avoid another, getting myself within passing range. When the Sharks overwhelm Griffin, he doesn’t even look as he passes the puck to me. We’ve done this so many times, we can trust each other to be exactly where the other needs, and tonight is no different. The puck connects with my stick, and I cushion it, shifting my weight before tapping it around their center’s right leg and toward the goal.
Florida’s goalie extends his leg, but he’s half a second too late, and the puck slips right between his pads and the pipe. Red lights flash, sirens blare, and the announcer credits me with the goal and Griffin with the assist as the crowd goes wild.
I look up to where I know the cameras are and point my stick, winking.
That one was for Blair and Reed, even if they don’t know it.
The rest of the game goes by in a haze of sweat, hits, and two more goals for us, and only one for the Sharks. When the final buzzer sounds and we pile into a celebratory embrace on the ice, I wonder if Blair’s watching.
I take my time showering.The game was intense, and I fucking stink. Then we answer some questions for the press, along with a few for our social media team, and I’m finally free to check my phone.
There’s a text from my dad that simply says,You should have sunk that second goal attempt,which I delete and ignore. But there’s also a couple of texts from Blair, and my heart beats like I just finished a shift on the ice.
Blair
You should have heard Reed cheering when you scored that goal. He’s a hockey fan, now.
Congrats on the win, Viking. You were good tonight.
The last text came through a little less than an hour ago, and it’s a Friday, so I bet she’s still awake. I should just text her, but I want to hear her voice.
My thumb is hovering over her name in my contacts list when Ryder claps me on the back.
“You going out with us tonight? We need to celebrate.”
“I don’t know, man. Chasers?”
“Yeah. I think the ladies are planning to go home, so it’ll only be us guys.”
“I may show up. I’m kind of tired, though.” I zip my coat and try my best to ignore the curious look Ryder sends my way.
“Sure. You’re tired.”
