I saw the pass coming before Hux made a move. We’d practiced it endlessly. I didn’t need to think. The moves were burned into my muscle memory now.
I skated away, doing the opposite of Gauthier. He’d draw them in for a fake-out, and I’d take the pass.
Hux’s stick connected.
The crack of tape meeting rubber echoed around the ice, piercing through the roar of the crowd.
The puck flew over the ice, whizzing along in a rocket-powered pass.
Perfection.
Hard and fast in the opposite direction than where they’d anticipated, there was no way for the Grizzlies to get close enough to intercept.
Curses and glares shot around the ice. They were frustrated, and it was showing. I had the puck, but the Grizzlies’ defense kept their focus on Hux and the net. Forwards crowded around Gauthier, playing defensively. I grinned.
Their game had changed.
We’d broken them.
Mentally, they were collapsing.
Instead of playing to win, they were playing to minimize the loss.
My path back to Hux was blocked. In the space of time between seconds and as I hurtled from the blue line to the crease, I analyzed the passes. I could take a shot on goal, but the angle wasn’t right. It would be an easy one for their goalie to defend. Gauthier wasn’t open either.
Mironov appeared out of nowhere, streaking up the inside. He was wide open. The Grizzlies took the bait, leaving Gauthier to cover Mironov.
I didn’t hesitate.
I slapped a wrister to Gauthier deep in the offensive zone.
It was a rookie error on Vancouver’s part, but we’d take it.
Gauthier caught the puck on his stick and slung it straight for the net. High and tight, it sailed straight over the goalie’s left shoulder into the tiny gap between his pads and glove.
The puck hit twine.
The buzzer wailed.
We’d done it. We’d beaten them.
Elation filled me, and I threw my hands up, my stick high above my head.
Two-zero. With only minutes to spare.
Our first shutout of the season.
I high-fived my captain, my grin around my mouthguard so wide, my cheeks hurt.
“Fuck yeah,” I hollered.
“Nice assist,” he yelled over the sound of the screaming fans.
“Nice goal,” I shouted back, then laughed when the Grizzlies’ number eight defenseman glared daggers at us.
“Aw, y’all’re havin’ a hard time?” I teased.
“Fuck you,” he grunted.
