Seattle’s coach lost his shit over on their side, but I couldn’t make out anything he was yelling over the noise of our home crowd. Hunter skated a lazy arc in his crease, tapping his posts, barely tested so far.
When play resumed, Kraken came out swinging. Their winger laid a heavy hit on Mason along the boards and tried to dig the puck free. Mason absorbed it like a champ, and shoveled the puck behind the net. Our second line jumped over the boards. Shawn took it from below the goal line, curled into the corner, and fed Grayson high in the slot. His shot hit a shin pad and ricocheted wide, but Shawn chased it down, cut behind the net, and slipped a pass through the crease that Landon buried on his backhand.
“I taught him that,” Seth said, pushing out his chest. “Not the part with his bum shoulder lagging on the shot, though.”
“It’s not a bum shoulder,” I said, shaking my head. “The guy’s still rehabbing his injury from last season.”
Seth laughed as though he couldn’t care less about the semantics of it. Either way, we were up, 4 to 0.
I glanced at the scoreboard and then at Hunter. He gave a small nod in my direction as if to say this was a good night to be him. I nodded back and thought how great it must’ve felt tobe any one of them on that ice. In the throes of annihilating the opposition.
Seattle finally found some push. They strung together three passes through the neutral zone and forced Hunter into his first real save—a glove snag on a rising shot from the right circle. The crowd cheered anyway, appreciative of anything that looked competitive. Hunter flicked the puck to the ref and reset.
We answered with another rush. With the first line back on, Grayson and Landon fell into a smooth partnership. Grayson carried wide, pulled two defenders toward him, and dropped it late to Landon trailing the play. He fired low, and the rebound kicked straight out to Mason creeping in from the point. He sent it through hopeless bodies and into the net. 5 to 0.
By the end of the first, Seattle looked winded, while we skated off to a standing ovation. I hadn’t touched the ice, but my pulse ran as if I’d played every shift.
Second period opened with more of the same. Grayson stripped their center from the go, pushed ahead to Mason, and cut toward the far post. Mason returned the favor with a quick feed across the crease, and Grayson tipped it in. 6 to 0.
“Is this really happening?” Coach looked as if he expected an actual answer from us. “Their defense must still be on the bus, because they sure as hell ain’t out there tonight.”
Kraken swapped goalies after that last goal. Their backup entered to scattered applause that felt almost sympathetic.
Landon coasted by with the biggest grin. “Fresh meat.”
Their goalie faced a breakaway on his second shift when Landon slipped behind the defense. He deked forehand, then tried to go five hole. The goalie clamped down in time and covered. A small victory for them.
They did get one back midway through the period. A scramble in front, puck bouncing between skates, and their winger managed to shovel it over Hunter’s pad while he was screened. Hunter slammed his stick against the post once and skated out to the top of his crease as the arena groaned. 6 to 1.
Grayson gathered us at the bench before the next draw. “Keep skating,” he said, out of breath but voice steady. “That one is all they get.”
And his words might as well have been carved in stone.
Mason blasted one from the blue line that deflected off Landon’s hip and past the new goalie. 7 to 1.
Seattle tried to clog the neutral zone after that, stacking bodies along the red line, but Cash Money chipped it deep and we chased hard. Tucker forced a turnover below the goal line and slipped it to Mason, who snapped it high, glove side. 8 to 1.
I watched shift after shift roll by, the bench feeling lighter with every goal. Even the grinders were grinning.
Late in the second, Grayson circled behind their net and wrapped it around before the goalie could seal the post. 9 to 1. It sounded as though the arena were being dismantled around us. The fans using nothing but their stomping feet and the rising sound of their celebration chant to break the place apart.
When the horn sounded to end the period, Seattle skated off without looking up. We gathered near the tunnel, tapping gloves.
In the locker room, Coach stood up front with his arms folded, scanning the faces. “We’re not letting up, but we’re spreading minutes. I’m rolling lines.”
My stomach lurched, anticipating what was about to happen. He rattled off names I couldn’t quite hear because my ears were ringing so badly. Then suddenly—
“Santos, you’re in.”
More names came after mine, but by that point my heart was thudding so hard in my ears it made listening useless. If there was a game plan or any kind of strategy, I’d missed it.
He’d given me the third period. It would be the longest I’d spent on the ice than all my game minutes this season combined.
“You okay?” Shawn elbowed me on our way back. “You look a little green.”
“Feel a little green.”
He laughed and slapped my shoulder. “Everything to play for; nothing to lose.”
