“Get off me.”
“I am four feet away from you. I’m literally not on you. The weekend’s a long way away. You should rest up. Take care of yourself. Maybe call somebody. Take a girl out for breakfast.”
“I swear to God.”
“Not naming names.”
I lunge at him. I lunge two inches, and I stop myself. He laughs. Both hands up. Skating away from me down the boards.
I plant my stick on the ice and breathe.
Coach calls a water break. I skate to the bench and grab my water bottle. I drink. My shoulder is in real trouble now. The brush from Stanley’s pick made it worse than it was an hour ago.
Benson skates over and sits down on the bench next to me.
“Stan won’t let it go, huh.”
“No.”
“I told him to.”
“Thanks.”
“I’m telling him again.”
“Don’t bother.”
“Whistle’s coming.”
“Yeah.”
He stands and skates back to center ice.
Coach splits us into two squads. He splits the lines down the middle — half of each line on white, half on dark.
Benson is on white with me. Stanley is on dark.
Dark wins the face-off. Stanley collects it in the neutral zone, gives a quick pass to his winger, the winger goes wide, the wingerfeeds it back to Stanley at the dot. Stanley snaps it. Percy gets a piece of it. It deflects in off the post.
Stanley raises his stick and skates past my bench.
I hear for Melly in my own head as he goes by.
Next shift, I’m on the ice. Stanley is on the ice.
The puck dumps into the corner in his zone. I forecheck. Stanley is the first man back on D — they’re shorthanded a defenseman because Coach rotated, and on a five-on-five turnover, a winger has to drop back. Stanley is the one back. Stanley is the one chasing the puck into the corner.
I’m coming in at full speed. He gets there a half-second ahead of me. He turns to make the rim pass up the boards. I pin him.
It’s a clean board battle. Shoulder square on the back of his shoulder pads, stick under his stick, body locked. The kind of pin you can show your coach on tape and your coach will say good forecheck, next play. But I drive him into the boards harder than I would.
He goes into the glass face-first. His helmet thuds against the plexiglass. The whole rink goes quiet for the count of two.
Benson, on the bench, says, “Jesus.”
Coach skates over from center ice. “Golding.”
Stanley spins off the boards, laughing. He throws his head back, looks at me, and loud enough that everyone on the ice, everyone on both benches, and Percy at the goal hears it, “Worth it.”
