“Coach,” Logan says, gliding up beside me and distracting me from what was about to be a rabbit hole of bad thoughts. “You think we can actually win this one?”
I meet his eyes, and for once, I see determination and hope there.
“Yeah,” I tell him confidently. “Yeah, I do.”
Ten minutes later, Braydon, our star center is at the faceoff. He looks more ready than I’ve ever seen him. The music in the rink stops, and the quiet makes the air feel thicker. It seems like everyone’s at the edge of their seats, waiting to see who gets possession.
Braydon taps the blade of his stick once against the ice.
The Atlantic player across from him leans in.
The ref lowers the puck, and time stops as it falls to the ice.
Clack.
Braydon wins it clean. The puck snaps back to Andersson who passes it to Logan. The Wolves keep possession of the puck for a minute or two before Paul Novak sends it flying in the other direction, giving it right to one of Atlantic’s players. Fuck.
We get it back, but it’s not long before there’s another turnover. My palms are sweating and my heart is pounding inside of my chest as I watch the game play out, knowing I have no control over the outcome.
By the end of the first period, the score is stillzero to zero, which isn’t terrible. We’ve still got a chance to change that in the second.
The second period begins with a rush. A new sense of urgency and hope spreading through the team like wildfire.
Atlantic’s guys are intense. They’re like sharks, and they smell blood in the water. I watch helplessly as one of the Wolves loses the puck, and by the time anyone is by him to help, the Atlantic player shoots it right past Levi. Fucking shit.
The light flashes, the buzzer goes off, and for a split second, I see it. The shoulders dropping, the hope leaving their bodies, and I know I need to step up and be their coach for this one. I know what they’re feeling. Well, maybe not exactly because I’ve never experienced a losing streak like this, but either way, I get it. Falling behind sucks ass. Losing sucks worse. But there’s still more game to play, and they’re not allowed to give up yet.
I step forward, my voice cutting through the noise. “Look at me!”
The whole bench turns.
“It’s one goal,” I say. “It’s not the end yet. There’s ten minutes to go in the second, and then we’ve got the third. Keep your heads in the game and your sticks out of your asses, you hear me?”
Something seems to shift in their eyes, like they’re actually hearing what I’m telling them, thank fuck.
“Next shift,” I yell as the next line jumps over the boards and onto the ice.
The rest of the game is a blur.
We score twice in five minutes, Logan gets a penalty for a high stick, which I try to argue but to no avail, and the other team scoreson the powerplay.
At the end of the second, we’re tied two to two.
The guys are more hyped up in the locker room, and I’m feeling more confident and less like I’m about to be sucked into the ground. This is good, I just wish Ellie could be here to see it. Shit. I don’t remember the last time I wanted a girl to be there to witness these moments with me. When did Ellie become the one person I want to tell everything to? When did she become my person?
With five minutes left and still tied, the tension is unbelievable. God, I miss that rush at the end of a game where it’s all or nothing and everyone’s revved up. And then it comes, the moment that seems to have been building the entire game.
One of the Atlantic players, skates by Braydon, his stick getting caught under Braydon’s skate, and he goes down hard. The wolves gather around and before he’s even off the ice, Logan’s gloves fly off. The ref blows the whistle, the crowd is on their feet, cheering like this is the best thing they’ve seen in their lives.
My guys on the bench erupt, their sticks banging against the boards as they shout at their teammates on the ice. As much as I should be yelling at them to stop fighting like idiots and play the goddamn game, I’m actually enjoying this. My heart pounds, and for a brief moment, I remember what that feels like. The adrenaline and anger surging through my veins.
The refs dive in, grabbing jerseys, and trying to pull bodies apart. By the time they finally get them apart, the Atlantic player has a bloody nose, and Logan sports a nice gash on his cheek.
I probably should be angry, but I’m actually kind of proud. They stood up for their teammate. Their brother. That’s what this whole thing was about. Getting them to play as a team, a unit. And they did.
Logan and the Atlantic player get five minutes in the box. They’re out for the remainder of the game. My anxiety spike, knowing Logan is probably one of the best players on the team, but I’m confident the remaining players can do this.
It’s five on five, and the crowd is going crazy. Everyone is on their feet, girls are jumping up and down, and I know it’s giving the guys the extra push they need to get this win.
