Fuck. Holy fucking FUCK!
I nearly shit myself right there on the bench. Had my ears betrayed me? Was I really about to play in my first NCAA hockey game? As a freshman?
I looked at Davis, our starting center, trying to gauge his reaction. The knots in my stomach loosened just a little to see relief on his face. I wanted to play, but I also knew I had to earn my time on the ice. The last thing I wanted was for the upperclassmen on the team to resent me.
Davis had played hard, but he was still fighting through a strained groin. As the game progressed, his endurance waned, especially since the Mountaineers were playing a rough game—they’d spotted his weakness early and targeted it. He was exhausted and hurting, which was why Coach was calling me in.
I zeroed in on the score as I skated to center ice: 2-2 in the third period.
No pressure.
For a split second, I had an out-of-body experience. It was as if I was hovering above the rink, watching myself skate to center ice.
My mind flashed back to a sixteen-year-old me lacing up my rollerblades to play street hockey on a busted-up basketball court. The possibility of playing for a Division II team would have seemed unimaginable to that broke kid who’d given up on dreaming big until a blond boy with a big heart gave him hope.
I’d worked so hard for my moment to show the Bobcats that I was a force to be reckoned with. I just didn’t expect that moment to come as early as my freshman year. It was make-or-break for me, and I needed to show the coaches that I was worth the scholarship they were offering me.
The knots in my gut returned as I reached center ice and lowered into position. The Mountaineers’ center was a beast—built more like a defenseman than a center. Adrenaline coursed through my veins as he glared at me. I must have looked like a little kid shaking in my skates. Sure, I was big enough to play; at six-foot-two, I was no slouch. But this guy was as big as Theo, with ice-blue eyes and a scar on the side of his face that was a little too on the nose for the moment. He literally looked like a comic book villain.
It was at that moment that I wished Ross and I were still seeing each other. He might be in the stands, and then I’d at least have one person cheering me on. I’d broken it off right before college because I knew we wouldn’t last. It was just a high school fling.
I closed my eyes and inhaled the crisp, cool air of the ice. My fingers tightened around my stick as I tried to clear my mind. Nothing good ever came from telling yourself, “THIS IS IT!DON’T FUCK IT UP!”
It’s just me and the game. Nothing else exists. Mom isn’t here. Louie isn’t here. Nobody is here except for me and the game, and you know how to play this game.
When I re-opened my eyes, a warm feeling bloomed in my chest. My confidence was coming back to life.Thank God.
The dude across from me might be big, but I was fast. I’d watched Davis skirmish with him and lose every time. Davis was a power faceoff man, but he was injured, and the dude across from me was massive. I had to win through speed, not brute force.
The referee released the puck, and the world faded away. The roar of the arena turned into white noise as the puck touched the ice. I moved like a lightning bolt, slapping the puck left to where I knew Johnson was ready and waiting. It was the first faceoff we’d won the entire game.
So far, so good.
Johnson pushed up the left wing, dodging a defender with a quick cut, then looped around the back of the net, searching for an open teammate. Cummings, our right winger, was open, and Johnson passed it to him.
Cummings faked a shot to draw the goalie out of position. It worked, but just as Cummings was about to take the shot, a defenseman swooped in and poked his stick. It made Cummings fumble the shot, and the puck ricocheted off the bar, sending it skidding across the ice.
Their center got to it first, but I was right on his tail. I hit him into the glass, the sound shaking me out of my trance. What was once white noise soon morphed into the thunder of the reverberating glass. The cracking of sticks clashing together pummeled my eardrums. The crowd roared as we battled forthe puck. Their cheers made the icecubes of nerves sitting at the base of my gut dissolve into a tidal wave of adrenaline. He was bigger, but the adrenaline pumping through my veins gave me strength I didn’t know I had. I pushed him back with a left shoulder, causing him to stumble. It allowed me to take the puck to the goal, but three Mountaineers were on me in seconds.
I faked a shot to Cummings, and the three of them shifted their focus, following what they thought was my pass. Instead, I passed it to Johnson. He lined up for the shot, but a defenseman was right on his ass. I rounded the net to get on his side of the crease. He passed it to me, but their defenseman quickly shifted and skated toward me, closing the gap. That left Johnson open, so I passed it back to him, and he shot.
The goal light flickered on. The shrill blast of the referee’s whistle erupted like a bomb, and the Bobcats swarmed around Johnson.
He found my gloved hand in the chaos and pulled me into a quick hug. “You’re sick, rookie. Smart play, my friend.”
Jesus, could it get any better? I hugged him tighter and tried to savor the moment. This was my first time on ice for the Bobcats, and I nailed it. That meant more time on the ice and more visibility. Visibility meant scouts might finally notice me. I closed my eyes, fighting back the emotion. In that moment, it felt like all the hard work was finally coming together, and I was on my way to something bigger and better than I’d ever imagined.
The play put the Bobcats ahead by one, and we ultimately won the game.
Theo
As we arrived at the post-game party, I grabbed Asher and hoisted him onto my shoulder. He bitched until the cheers from our team made him quit complaining. Sure, Johnson scored the point, but Asher made it happen. He figured out how to beat the Russian from Rocky in a faceoff and played like a fucking genius. Asher didn’t try to be the hero and take the shot when he saw their defenseman closing the gap. He passed it back to Johnson because nobody was covering him.
Any meathead can play fast and hard, but hockey intelligence was harder to come by, and Asher had it.
I was so proud of him. I could see some of the other freshmen looking at him with jealousy in their eyes, but I couldn’t bring myself to do that. My time on the ice would come. Asher had busted his ass, and he deserved his flowers more than anyone I knew.
I set him back down on the ground, and the two of us were immediately handed red cups filled with cheap-ass beer. The smell alone made my eyes water.
