“Win!” we all cheer and then walk out to the waiting crowd. While I should be used to this by now, my stomach is in knots, butI won’t let my teammates see that. They need a captain who’s in control, who has their back and can keep their cool while the rest of them get to freak out.
The first period is pretty even, with both teams coming out strong but neither of us scoring. Our lines are tight, and we go into the back half of the second still zero a piece.
“Rook, on your left,” I call as Luka moves the puck up the ice. A Boston player I can’t recall the name of is moving up on his left getting ready to try to steal. I call a play that should have Luka send the puck over to White, but instead, he flicks the puck up onto his stick, spins while trying to balance it there, and then goes for a toss toward the net. The crowd cheers, but the puck falls off the edge of his blade, and Boston gets it, screaming up toward our net, a slap shot, and the horn sounds. Motherfucker.
My face is on fire. Like, what the fuck was he thinking? This is the first game of the year, and he’s already going to fucking ignore my calls? My blood is boiling when the coach calls a changeover, and I sit on the bench listening to a few of the guys telling Luka that his trick play would have been so cool if it had worked. I ball my hands into fists to stop me from blasting him right here for such a selfish dick move. Every minute that passes, my heart beats faster. All that work during camp, the breakfast meetings where we talked about how important it is to listen to the calls, to play as a team. I told the coaches he was ready, that he’d be an asset to the team. What the actual fuck?
“Cap, I’ll do better next run, I swear,” I hear Luka say, but I don’t dare turn to look at him. I don’t even trust myself to stay calm as a good captain would. That’s what probably pisses me off even more. I’m the captain of the fucking team, and when he doesn’t listen to me, it totally makes me look like a useless piece of shit who doesn’t even have the respect of a fucking rookie out there on the ice. Urgh, I need to shake this feeling off, or it’s going to totally fuck with my game. I close my eyes and take a few breaths, slow and steady, counting the seconds in and out. When I open them, I’m just in time to see Kirkston shoot into the upper left of the net, evening the score to one a piece.
The coach calls the change, and Luka and I get back out there. This time, every play is followed to the letter by the rookie, and thanks to some great goalkeeping, we’re still tied when the period ends. The second I’m through the doors of the locker room, I turn to Luka.
“You can’t ignore a call out there.”
“I thought I could pull off the shot,” Luka replies.
“But you didn’t, and you lost us the puck.”
“It was a mistake, okay. I’m sorry. I followed your calls the rest of the period, didn’t I?” Luka asks as the coach enters the room.
“We’ve got one period left to pull this off, so sit down and listen,” Coach Dennings says, and I walk away from Luka, shaking my head and trying to retain control over my own emotions. It’s my job to set an example, and I need the guys to trust the calls I make. Luka totally undermined that.
I try to shift out of my frustration, downing a hydration drink and retaping my stick. The repetitive action helps to refocus my thoughts.
Deep into the third, it’s still one a piece. Luka’s old teammate is playing on the opposing side, and he seems to be able to anticipate Luka’s moves out on the ice. Thankfully, Luka has also blocked a few of his attempts, stealing the puck and sending it back up the ice before he can get a shot off. He’s a fast fucker; no wonder they call him The Flash. One second I’ll be right beside him, the next he’s three lengths ahead.
There are fifteen seconds left on the clock. White passes to Luka. The Flash is on him in a second, but Luka spins with the puck, and the crowd roars with excitement. It looks like he’s going to be able to get off a shot, but instead of just taking it, he spins again, like he’s some kind of fucking ballerina out here, and The Flash reaches through the gap and snipes the puck, taking off down the ice with it. I’m after him, but I’m not fast enough. He takes the shot, aiming high, and scores in the top right. The final horn sounds, and Boston celebrates its first win of the season.
My jaw is tight, but I force a grin onto my lips as I shake hands with each Boston player on my way off the ice. In the locker room, everyone is quiet, heads down, slowly stripping out of their gear. I make a beeline for Luka.
“This is what I meant when I said no showboating,” I say, and he nods, face flushed and sweat dripping down his forehead.
“I didn’t think he was that close,” he replies.
“You didn’t think, full stop,” I snap back, and he stands, closing the gap between us, a fire in his bright blue eyes.
“It was a mistake. I get it. You don’t have to go on about it.”
“I do when it’s clear you don’t listen when I say things once.”
“You only ever point out the things I fuck up. What about the countless steals I made on Cosmo, the scoring chances I set up, the fucking seven shots I deflected from the goal? What about all the good shit?” he spits back, and I can feel everyone’s eyes on us.
“Raines,” Coach calls from the doorway. “Press conference in two.”
“Got it,” I called back over my shoulder.
Luka narrows his eyes. “Go on, go tell the world how the rookie fucked up your first game of the year,” he says, then turns his back on me and walks across the room to his locker.
White slaps a hand on my shoulder. “A bit harsh on the kid, don’t you think?”
My instant reaction is to turn and glare, but White and I came up together, both of us with the Foxes our whole career, and he’s probably one of my closest friends on and off the ice.
“Was I wrong?” I ask instead.
“No, but remember all the stupid shit we did in our rookie year?”
I flash back to my rookie season. After my parents died, I was pretty messed up, and I threw everything I had into hockey. In the seventh game, I got a letter from a distant relative claiming that my parents would have wanted them to raise my brothers, not me. They were going to try for custody, and I knew it was more about tryingto get their hands on my parents’ house than anything else. I was pissed, and I took it out on the opposing team. I went looking for hits that game; every second I was on the ice, I was searching for a body to slam into. Then I rammed their center so hard into the side that he broke his collarbone and fractured three ribs.
Luka’s recklessness might have contributed to our loss tonight, but he didn’t hurt anyone.
