The drive to the arena passed in a blur of red lights and familiar turns, my thoughts refusing to stay where I put them. I pictured her rushing through Mission Valley in her scrubs, hair still damp, hands steady as ever. The memory of her pulling me aside in my Santa suit slid in uninvited and refused to leave.
By the time I pulled into the lot, my mood had taken a downward turn of note. There was still more than enough time to get my solo gym session in, but it almost didn’t matter anymore.
I slung my bag over my shoulder and headed inside, telling myself to get my head back in the game. Telling myself a lot of things that sounded reasonable if I didn’t examine them too closely.
*
San Jose Sharks loomed mean and ugly, and their fans were loud.
“I’d tell you to block them out,” Coach said, pulling us in for a quick huddle before puck drop. “But I know it’ll be in your best interest to hear ‘em loud and clear. Let that sound push you harder. Push you to not give them so much as a goddamn inch. You hear me?”
“Go, Surge!” we yelled in unison, then broke.
First period, and the Sharks were already in my head, moving fast, pressing tight. Despite Coach’s efforts, the guys looked like they were waking up from a nap. Nobody was clicking, and I could feel it in the way Shawn threw a lazy pass across the crease like he was tossing a snack instead of a puck.
“Wanna watch that angle,” I barked at him.
“Why don’t you bite me, Cross?” was his superb response.
It lasted barely five minutes before Coach pulled him, and Mason was now on my right. I heaved a sigh of relief after the change. We were always a stronger pair, and I was sure it would be the thing to switch us up from moving through sludge to getting this game going.
The result wasn’t quite that.
I forced a play, but Mason came in late, cutting diagonally through the neutral zone like he had a plan nobody else could see.
“Where are you going?!” I hit my stick against the ice a few times. “Hey! I’m open!”
He didn’t answer, just winked, which made my patience fray in real time. And his momentary distraction cost him possession, which caused a pained groan to float around the arena.
“What the fuck, Cross?”
“Me? You’re the one who lost it.”
Grayson skated between us and aimed a slap to the back of both our helmets. “This isn’t the junior leagues so quit playing it. Get your shit together. Now.”
But the game had felt off from the drop. My passes were too stiff, too obvious, and my single shot on goal had more drama than accuracy. Every time I tried to compensate, there was too much on it and my receiver ended up fumbling. Which made me compensate again, forcing them to pick up the slack and catch up to the game I wanted to play.
Middle of the first and I had another shot. Stole the puck clean off Grayson’s stick—my own player, but he would’ve fucked it up, I was sure. The puck kissed my stick in short, controlled bursts as I weaved through one, two, three Sharks with ease. Expectation rolled through the crowd, growing louder the closer I drew to the last person between me and the back of that net. I faked left and when their goalie committed, I scooped the puck and flipped it in an overhead arc to bury it in the top right corner.
But I had way too much on the flip and the thing went careening way out of play, slapping harmlessly into the glass on the other side. Embarrassment burned hot on my face, but I grit through it and kept moving.
The fans’ anticipation turned to deafening disappointment as I watched the opposition pounce on the open play with fervor.
“All flash and no follow through,” a Shark muttered as he skated past.
I flung my stick aside and barreled after him, only to be peeled away by Tucker and Mason. A series of boos rumbled low, and I caught the unimpressed glare from Coach before I finally stopped resisting my teammates’ intervention.
“Please can we pick this up to teach them a lesson?”
Tucker grabbed a handful of my jersey and pulled me in until we stood chest-to-chest. “You need to calm down, rookie. Maybe that’s the problem.”
“I’m the only one doing anything out here,” I replied without hesitation. “That’sthe problem.”
“Landon, Tucker, roll!”
We turned to see Coach calling us to the bench, our replacements getting ready to jump the boards.
“See what you did?” Tucker shoved me hard with his shoulder as he skated back.
