I don’t know what.
But it’ll be something.
The announcer’s voice booms through the arena.The lights feel too bright.The air feels thin in that specific way it always does right before the puck drops—like your body is bracing for impact and pretending it’s normal.
First period hits like a rush of noise and speed.Boston’s top line comes hard, like they’re trying to prove something early.
Dump in.Chase.Hit.Cycle.
They want to see me suffer.
They want to see Alberto ‘Monty’ Wade fold.
Our defense answers.Sticks in lanes.Bodies in the way.A shot comes from the point through traffic, low and ugly, meant for a tip.
I track it late.
I drop, seal the ice, feel it thud off my pad and kick out.
Rebound.
Their winger crashes my crease and jabs at it like he’s trying to punish me personally.
I punch the puck away with my stick and drive my leg into the gap, taking away space, taking away options.
Whistle.
The ref skates in, hand up.“Goalie interference.”
The crowd explodes.Boston’s bench barks.Someone in the stands screams something about my mother.
I don’t react.
Callaway coasts by my crease on his way to the faceoff dot and mutters, just for me, “They’re mad you didn’t roll over.”
I glance at him through the cage.“Focus.”
He grins like focus is optional.Then he squares up anyway, jaw setting, shoulders settling, because when the puck drops Callaway turns into something precise.
The puck hits the ice.He wins it clean back.Our D rims it around and we’re out before Boston can even breathe into their setup.
They come right back.
Relentless minutes follow—Boston pressing, chasing, leaning into every stride like they can force my body to remember who I used to be for them.They want me rattled.They want me reaching.They want me chasing the game instead of owning it.
A mistake opens a seam—one of our wingers gets caught deep, our coverage stretches, and their center slips behind our defense with a step that’s too clean.
Breakaway.
He’s fast.
I know him.
He used to skate on my power play.He used to stand at the half-wall and smile like the game was easy.He used to try glove side just to see if he could make me flinch.
He comes in with his head up, reading me like he thinks I’m still familiar territory.
I don’t give him anything.
