It’s a big risk if they get a breakaway and score on an empty net, but the extra guy on the ice would help me find an opening.
I look to Hayes and the rest of the guys, who all nod in agreement.
“Pull him, Coach. We’ve got this,” I ground out, tightening my hold on my stick.
“Watkins, you’re in with Stone,” Coach yells, waving Blade in as we hop off the bench for a fast change-up, not wanting to lose control of the puck.
My blades hit the ice, and I immediately go after the puck with two guys on my tail to try to block me. We hit the boards, shoving and fighting for control.
McCormick comes up on my right and blocks number eighteen, allowing me enough time for my stick to make contact with the puck. I manage to shoot it down the boards toward Foxx, who does a half turn, blocking the guy next to him and sliding the black disc across the ice right into the curve of Kane’s deadly weapon.
He whips around the other players, stick handling like a pro, as we scramble to give him an open shot. The moment he sees one, his arm reaches back, and the slap of the puck against wood rings out as it sails at a dangerous speed right past the goalie’s outstretched hand, swishing the net in the upper right-hand corner.
The red light goes on, and the horn blares as we tie up the game with just seconds to spare.
Kane shoots his broken stick in the air as we surround him with congratulations.
“Best fucking hundred dollars I’ve ever spent,” I grin, tapping my helmet to his. “Can’t wait to see what that was clocked at.”
“You forgot something,” Hayes laughs, picking up the other half of Kane’s stick.
“Couldn’t handle the heat,” Kane grins as he skates back to the bench for a replacement.
Blade takes his place inside the net again as we face off for the remaining ten seconds to kill the game with a tie.
Gathering around the bench, we take our five minutes to go over the strategy for sudden death before I’m lining up for another face off.
Both teams hold their own before the buzzer goes off again, with no goals scored.
“Shootout time,” I smile, feeling myself get pumped for the one-on-one chance. Shootouts don’t happen too often, but when they do, it’s a rush like never before.
One player is doing everything in their power to slide it past the red line, and the other is doing everything they can to stop it.
You haven’t lived until you’ve looked into the eyes of a goalie as you shoot down from center ice, knowing only one of you is going to get what they want.
“McCormick, you’re up. You want first or second?” Coach asks, giving him the opportunity to make his own decision.
He glances at Blade as a smile plays on his lips. “Depends on whether Blade wants to stop this fucker’s shot or not before I get mine in.”
Cayden breaks out into a grin, and I already know what the cocky bastard is going to say.
“I’m always up for a little more practice. Let’s see what he’s got.” He flips his mask down and takes off toward his net.
Grinning, I watch him do a few stretches as their player takes center ice. The crowd is silent as the two size each other up before Blade gets into position and stares him down.
Once he takes control of the puck, the fans get rowdy as they watch with their eyes peeled to the black disc bouncing off the stick.
Pulling back, he takes his shot, and Blade shoots his leg out and stops the puck, giving the arena a deafening roar as the fans light up with cheers.
McCormick is next as he takes the ice and stops at the center line, staring down the goalie.
Gripping the handrail, I hold my breath as he takes hold of the puck and picks up speed. His stick handling is fast andskilled to perfection as he fakes a shot left and slides it by to the right at the last second, landing behind the red line.
“Fuck yes,” I grin, as our players bang their sticks against the railing in cheer.
We watch another Hawk player take the ice before Cayden catches it with his glove. He stares down the player before tossing the discarded puck onto the ice at his skates.
Chuckling, I grin at the smug bastard, knowing he’s loving this just as much as I am.
