Kirkston wins it and sends it immediately back to Luka. Luka passes back to Kirkston, who sends it to White, then it’s dropped back to Luka again, and I notice I’m in pretty much the exact position I’d be if we were running the trick shot I didn’t pull off last time.
Luka glances my way. He sees it too, and when I nod, he cocks his hip and sends it right to me. I take off like a shot.
The crowd’s volume increases like they know something amazing is about to happen. Fuck, it better work this time. No. It will work. I’ll make it work. I can do this.
I don’t look back, and just have to trust that Luka is skating around the D-man on him and White’s moving over to back me up, which hopefully has them thinking I’m going to drop the puck back to him. But I’m lined up just to the right of the post, and when I get close, my skates slide out. My feet move so fast, skidding around the back of the net, the puck with my stick the whole way.
Time slows down; I’m almost there. The goalie is tracking me, his head jolting back and forth between Luka and me like he’s waiting for me to pass it off, and Luka’s ready for when I do.
But that’s what the goalie’s expecting me to do. It’s what Luka’s expecting me to do too. I want to try something else. Something I’ve only done once, in secret, because as much as I claim to want to play things safe, the more time I’ve spent with Luka, the more I’ve seen that that’s what I’ve been doing my whole life since my parents passed. I played it safe to secure a contract, to provide for the boys and to set the example, but expecting them to dim their light isn’t going to help us win. What it will do is make them resent me, and I think in some ways, I resent myself for not letting the flashy rookie I started off as continue to surprise the fans and myself.
I move my skates so fast the blades cut through the ice, propelling me all the way around the net, then just before the puck lines up with the post, I lift my stick and the goalie’s head snaps to Luka.
But I’m not passing it this time. I want to try to get this on my own. If he blocks it, Luka is well positioned to collect a rebound. But hopefully he won’t have to.
Before their goalie can look back, my stick sweeps the puck, lifts it, and tosses it right by his head, tickling the net and lighting up the lamp. I spin through the momentum, falling briefly forward, my gloves skimming the ice to help steady myself, and the second I’m upright, Luka slams into my side, wrapping his arms around me.
“Did the horn sound?” I ask almost in disbelief.
“That was fucking brilliant,” Luka screams, and I look past him to the scoreboard hanging in the middle above the rink.
“Fuck yeah. It went in.”
White and Kirkston join us in the embrace. Colt is cheering up the other end, tapping his posts as he does, and the cheers of the crowd push through the noise of rushing blood in my ears. They’re all on their feet, arms pumping, jumping up and down, basically losing their minds over something I did.
“Where did that come from?” White asks over the crowd’s cheers.
“The rook might have shown me a few tricks,” I say with a wink in his direction. My heart is still pounding like I’m running a marathon, and we head to the bench for a break.
“Nice moves, Raines,” Coach Dennings says on my way past.
“Thanks, Coach,” I reply, unable to stop myself from smiling. I take a seat next to Luka on the bench as we watch the next puck drop.
“I guess youcanteach an old dog new tricks,“ he says, nudging my leg with his knee.
“I thought I wasn’t that old,” I reply, and he nudges me back but leaves his leg to rest against mine, and it’s perfect.
***
I was on cloud nine after I pulled off that shot, and my defense was unmatched through the whole second period. In the third, I try for a slap shot, but it bounces off the goalie’s leg pad. Thankfully, Luka’s right there, like he instinctively knew to be, and he swoops it in for a goal off the rebound.
Washington is tired, out of sync. Their winger is having a harder time evading our defense, and not two minutes after our last goal I steal the puck and pass it up to Kirkston, who scores, threading the needle right between the goalie’s legs, lighting up the lamp post again, and giving us the win.
Cheers echo through the rink, our teammates rush the ice,whoopingand raising their sticks in the air at the celebrating crowd. A few of the guys launch into Colt, practically tackling him into thenet and pushing it back a few feet. This is the moment, the validation of all the hard work we put in every day, training on and off the ice.
In the line, shaking hands with Washington, their captain, Lawrence Tuft, pauses when he gets to me, tightening his grip on my hand.
“Aren’t you a little old to be playing games on the ice?” he asks.
I chuckle, and he snaps his hand back.
“Apparently, I’m not that old,” I reply, and he shakes his head and slinks off the ice along with the rest of his team. Lawrence and I played against each other in college, so he’s probably just pissed that I’m still lighting up the ice with new moves.
Now just to get through all the post-game crap so I can celebrate my new moves on the ice with some new moves in the bedroom, with the rookie who inspired them all.
Chapter twenty-seven
Luka
