Sawyer throws his arms up like he just scored an overtime winner in the playoffs instead of during an unofficial summer skate in suburban Virginia.
“I’m elite!” he yells.
“You’re offside half the time!” someone shoots back.
Sawyer shrugs and does a little dance on the ice. He’s our clown on the team, that’s for sure. “Creativity shouldn’t be punished!”
I laugh despite myself as we circle back toward center ice. Sweat drips down the back of my neck under my helmet. My lungs burn pleasantly. The ice cuts sharp beneath my skates as I glide backward into position again, watching the next rush develop before it fully forms.
We’re back at it, and in no time, a winger cuts middle.
I angle toward him automatically, forcing him outside while Campbell backchecks through the center lane like a man personally offended by his defense breaking down.
“Middle!” Sawyer yells.
“I see him.”
The puck carrier tries to split us anyway. Bold choice.
I step into him cleanly along the boards, shoulder to chest, and the puck jars loose hard enough for both benches to erupt.
“OHHHH!”
“Little early for murder, McCade!”
“He’ll live,” I mutter.
Sawyer grabs the loose puck and immediately takes off the other direction.
“GO, GO, GO!”
I push hard to join the rush, legs burning now as we fly through neutral ice. Campbell jumps over the boards mid-change and somehow still enters the play screaming for the puck.
“I’m open!”
Sawyer cuts wide right, while Campbell drives center. I trail high as the defender bites toward Sawyer for half a second and that’s enough.
The pass comes back to me near the top of the circle.
Time slows.
I fake the shot once.
The goalie drops early…wrong move.
I snap the puck cross-ice to Campbell instead. Wide open net.
Goal.
Campbell points at me immediately as he skates by. “THAT’S hockey IQ!”
The Oarhouse isbusy in that midday, Saturday weekend kind of way. Glasses clink behind the bar. Somebody misses a dart throw near the back and gets heckled immediately for it. The smell of fries, beer, and old wood settles into the walls like it’s been there for decades.
Liam sits next to me at the bar, halfway through demolishing a burger the size of his head.
“I’m glad you came today,” he says casually before taking another bite.
I glance up from my beer. “Yeah?”
