“Fuck, yeah!” I skate behind the net, pumping my fists in the air.
“That was amazing!” Noah jumps on top of me. “Fucking amazing!”
“Felt damn good.”
“Great job!” Coach Andrews claps me on the helmet as we make our way back to the bench. “I like what I’m seeing out there.”
We keep the momentum going. It’s like the one goal was the fuel we needed to add more points to the board. Bode gets an easy one in, followed by Marcus. Damn. Up 3-0 before the end of the first? It’s about as fun of a game as they get.
Graham looks good as he starts his shift for the second period and adds another goal. It’s like we can do no wrong. We’re stopping every shot they have on goal. Nothing gets close to our net. It’s the kind of play that we’ll be studying for years—it’sthatflawless. It’s like we’re a completely different team from when we played Dallas. We’re on fire tonight.
Another goal puts us up 5-0 before the end of the second.
“Gentlemen. You’re on fire, but I don’t want you to settle.” Coach Andrews claps as we wait out the intermission before starting the third. “Our defense looks good. That’s what I want to see. Keep that up.”
That’s exactly what we do. San Jose is fighting hard. Our goalie keeps knocking the puck away or snatching them right out of the air with his glove.
“Damn. He’s crushing it tonight,” Noah says next to me on the bench.
“I’m glad he’s on our team.”
The two of us are called up and we hop over the boards and get moving. My skates dig into the ice as I move toward our zone. The puck sails into my stick and I fly down the ice. I dodge one of their defensemen—thank God, because the last thing I want is to aggravate my shoulder—and send the puck to our winger.
Our winger is on a breakaway. He dekes out the goalie and puts the biscuit in the net.
“Hell, yeah!” I go over to congratulate him.
“Way to set me up.” He slaps me on the helmet.
“All you,” I say.
Boos rain down on us from the home crowd as we skate back to the bench. In the middle of the third, there’s no way they’re going to be able to come back from this.
San Jose is able to get the puck in the net when they pull their goalie, ending the game 6-1.
We shake hands with them on the ice, and are met with the standard reporters in the locker room after.
“Jasper. How do you think you did out there tonight?”
Based on his microphone, he’s from one of the local stations.
“I felt pretty good. I’m glad I was able to help contribute to the team’s win and putting us one step closer to securing a playoff position.”
“Do you think you’ll get a lot of ice time if you make the playoffs?”
I grind my teeth, trying not to let him bother me. “All I know is I had a good game tonight, and I hope I can keep playing well to help my team keep winning games.”
“And if Coach Andrews decides not to play you?” he asks.
“Then that’s a question you’ll need to ask Coach Andrews. Thanks.”
I end the interview before he can keep asking me inane questions.
This is one of the things I dislike most about hockey. No matter how well you play, it's always how can you play better? Considering my age and coming back from an injury, I thought I played fucking phenomenal tonight. It dampens my spirits as I head back to the locker room. I barely hear a word of Coach’s postgame speech, accepting a few claps on the back before I hit the showers.
We’ve got a long road trip coming up. Instead of going home to Quinn, we’re getting on the bus to head back to the hotel. At least I should be able to video chat with her.
“Hey, man, don’t listen to those guys,” Marcus says as we head out of the arena toward the bus. “You looked great out there tonight. That’s all that counts.”
