Offensive Plays: A Surprise Baby Hockey Romance (Heatwave Hockey Series)

1. Michael

Male Commentator:Paige, this is one for the books. By some miracle on the ice, the Heatwave have been able to come back from a three-point deficit in the final four minutes.

Female Commentator:I”ve never seen anything like it, Hank. That has got to be one of hockey”s all-time best playoff comebacks.

Male Commentator:History in the making. In case you”re just tuning in, we”re in the final minute of Round two, Game six of the Stanley Cup playoffs live from Space City Arena in Houston, Texas.

Female Commentator:And there goes the puck drop. Keelan Landry battles it out, and the Heatwave wins the face-off.

Male Commentator:It”s been good to see Landry back on the ice after nearly six months on long-term injured reserve. It”s like he never left.

Female Commentator:According to his teammates, he never did. He was at every practice and every game. A true captain through and through.

Male Commentator: What a comeback. And here goes Joshua Hicks, the Heatwave”s first-line left winger, who just scored that last rebound shot. He passes it back to an open Landry. They”re heading straight to the Nashville goaltender.

Female Commentator:Hicks makes a quick pass to his lineman, Michael Ferguson. Ferguson lines it up. Oh, Nashville steals it back.

Male Commentator:You can just see the frustration in Ferguson”s body language. He turns to skate back across the neutral zone. Oh, Nashville receives a check on the boards from defenseman Zane O”Connor. Tell you what, Paige, I wouldn”t want to be caught in that position.

Female Commentator: Speak for yourself, Hank.

Both:(chuckle)

Male Commentator:The puck is loose. And there goes Hicks taking it back across the Houston offensive zone. The arena is the loudest it”s been all night. Fans are on their feet.

Female Commentator:Hicks passes it to Ferguson. Ferguson lines it up with seven seconds left on the clock.

Male Commentator: What is he doing?

Female Commentator:Something distracted him, but he takes the shot...and it...hits the iron! No goal.

Male Commentator: Oh! And there”s our buzzer.

Female Commentator:Nashville wins this one, Hank. The boys were so close. That last shot would”ve won them the series. But now they”re tied with their rivals. What do you think was the hesitation there just before Ferguson took that shot and missed?

Male Commentator:The amount of pressure these players face in the final seconds of a game like this...one could only imagine, Paige.

Female Commentator: Well, they have one more shot to make it into the conference finals. Let”s hope they can get it together for Monday night in Nashville.

”Ican”t believe I missed that shot!”

The words rip out of my throat like a roar as I yank off my helmet and toss it to the waiting equipment manager.

”It happens to the best of us, man,” Zane says from behind me.

I shake my head as we round the corner into the locker room.

Just before I took the shot, I could feel the reverberations from the crowd”s cheers inside my chest. We were right there. The fans were counting on me.

And then, I saw...her. And I fumbled. One split second was all it took. Now, I”ve let my team and my city down.

We”re all quiet as we take off our gear. I don”t even bother to look at our team captain. We both know I screwed up. I don”t need his heated glares reminding me.

Coach Murray doesn”t even announce himself like he usually does. He strolls in, hands in his suit pocket followed by the assistant coaches.

”Chin up, boys. This isn”t over.”

”Sure feels like it is,” the rookie defenseman says, looking defeated.

My eyes shift around the room. One shot. I had one shot. And I blew it—and worse, they all know it.

”It”s not over until it”s over. And even then...you fight to the last possible second, you understand?” Coach says. “One game isn”t going to change the fact that this was the least likely team to make it to the playoffs at the beginning of the season. Well, look around. You made it. That”s a packed barn screaming for their team to win this thing. Keep fighting.” He holds a fist out to emphasize.

”We”ll review tapes tomorrow,” says one of the assistant coaches. ”Tonight, just rest up.”

Rest? Yeah right.

I can already feel my brain doing re-runs of that stupid play. I look around the locker room and see our goaltender, Ryker Balinger, with his head hanging low between his knees.

He had a rough night, too.

”Rest up,” Coach reiterates before walking out.

Our PR manager, Rina Lopez, steps in next. All stilettos and business. ”Landry, Balinger, and Ferguson. We need you for interviews.”

And this is the worst part. Like rubbing salt in the wounds, the press will ask us how we feel and how we think we can improve. Our answers are always the same. But somehow today, it feels like an even bigger hit to my already bruised ego.

”Five minutes,” Rina says before clacking out into the hall and not saying anything else.

We”re all quiet again—this group is never quiet—but we’ve been running ragged. We”ve played eleven games in the last twenty-two days with no break. Normally, with the regular season being over, we”d be enjoying a long-awaited vacation.

But it”s our first playoff season and getting this close and potentially losing our chance of making it into the conference finals feels wrong. The only sounds are the swishing of jerseys and the shuffling of tired feet, followed by the zipping of bags.

”I fucked up,” I finally say. I can”t let this awkward silence go on.

Tired faces look up all around me from what they”re doing.

”It”s not just on you,” Ryker says. ”We all had a part to play.”

Ryker’s one of the older guys. A veteran on the team. And if Ryker”s okay with the loss, then maybe I should be too. But a bag slams onto the floor just as the thought leaves me.

I turn to my left to see Landry huffing as he rips off his equipment, replacing it with an orange heatwave tech shirt.

”What”s your problem?” Ryker asks him. His best friend doesn”t mince words with the team captain like the rest of us might.

”Nothing,” he says, unlacing his skates. But his eyes meet mine in a quick heated glare.

”It was a mistake, Kee,” Ryker says.

”Of course it was,” Zane says on the opposite side of the room. ”So we need to let it go and move on. Don”t we, Cap?”

”Yep, let it go. I”ll just,” he slams a fist into the wall of his stall. ”Let. It. Go.” He punches with each word. His chest is heaving, but he takes a few deep breaths and finally calms down.

Hicks says under his breath, ”I don”t think he”s gonna let it go.”

We all get undressed in silence, knowing Rina will be waiting with her heel tapping in front of the press room if we”re even a second late. Keelan and Ryker both head out the second they”re done. And I take just a little longer, trying to delay the inevitable.

Zane is looking down at his phone when he gets up from his place on the bench and brings it over to me, screen first. He doesn”t say anything but holds it out for me to see.

It”s a clip of me when I hesitated to take the shot. A fan must”ve taken it from the stands because, from the angle...it”s very clear what distracted me. My eyes trace back up to my teammate, who”s looking at me with what I think might be pity.

”It”s not...” my words trail off before I finish the thought.

He nods toward the hall, and we walk out into it, away from the rest of the team.

”Fergie,” he begins. ”Your little crush is about to cost us the playoffs.” He sighs when he says it.

Is he serious right now? This is coming from the guy who avoided telling the girl he pined after for years exactly how he felt about her, until just recently.

He puts a hand on my shoulder, and I tense. ”I”m telling you this as a friend, Ferg. Libby isn”t like other girls.”

I stare at him blankly. ”I don”t know why you”re telling me this.”

”Because,” he says, lowering his hand and leaning against the wall behind him. ”I don”t want to see you risk it all for a girl who, truth be told, is kind of a man-eater.”

I think my jaw just dropped. I run a hand over my chin...yep. It did.

”All I”m saying,” Zane continues, ”Is maybe to set your sights on someone that isn”t going to make your life hell. Man to man? Libby will eat you alive and use your bones to pick her teeth.”

”I”m not interested in your sister, Zane.” It comes out a little too zealous, but he”s got a lot of nerve.

He puts his hands up in surrender, ”Ok, bud. I”m just sayin””

I look at the time on my phone. Gah! I”m late.

”Good talk,” I say over my shoulder as I power walk away from the defensemen.

”Yep, good talk,” he calls back to me. And in his tone I know that this conversation isn”t over.

I don”t know if I”m embarrassed because he”s right—I do have a crush on Zane”s sister. An epic one. Or if it”s because our whole team is paying for it, and he knows.

Either way, the last thing I want to do is be interviewed about the shot heard around the world while I”m still reeling from it.

Rina”s waiting for me outside the press room, arms crossed and face scowling. Great. Someone else I can add to my people I”ve pissed off today list.

”Fergie,” she says with a warning in her tone.

”Hi, Rina. Lovely to see you as always.”

”You”re next. Hurry up,” she whispers, opening the door and following me inside.

The second I step inside, cameras are whirling on me—flashes, questions, and eager faces pushing mics into my face.

I struggle to clear my throat as I make my way to the front to join my teammates.

”Michael, were you licking your wounds in the locker room just now?”

“Mr. Ferguson, do you think you failed your team by missing that shot?”

”Did you have a stroke out there, Fergie?”

Coach Murray shakes his head and says to the crowd, ”Ok, ok. One question at a time. You know how this works, folks.”

I take my seat next to Ryker who gives me a reassuring smile. Landry still looks pissed next to him.

Pulling my mic toward me, I lean forward. “First of all, Mr. Ferguson is my father. Though, I’m sure you’re all well aware of that. And second, I”m also sure you”re all aware that I missed the game-winning shot.”

There are chuckles all around the now quiet room.

“That”s hockey,” I continue. “It happens. It”s just part of the game. We take shots, and sometimes we get a goal, and sometimes we don”t.”

”Yeah, but this is the playoffs. Every shot counts,” one guy says from the back.

”Oh, I didn”t realize we were in the playoffs. I really should”ve just scored then, yeah?” More chuckles at my smart ass remark.

”Look. I hate letting down my team. But all we can do is review the tapes. See what we can do better and hit them hard in the next game.”

”We”ll get them in Nashville,” Ryker adds, patting me on the back.

With that, the heat on me seems to die down, and the attention goes back onto my team captain; where I would much rather it be.

”Landry, can you tell us about your first game back and what it”s been like?”

Keelan fields the questions like a pro, and I zone out until some flashing lights from the cameras wake me up from my stupor.

Finally, it”s over. And it wasn”t too bad. Outside the press room, Keelan stops me.

”Hey, Fergie. Wait up.” I turn to see him jogging down the hall toward me. Ryker is taking his time talking to Rina and his fiancee, Izzy, outside the room.

”I was a dick back there. It”s like I forgot how to be a team player. Sorry about that, man.”

Is my team captain actually apologizing to me?Being off the roster for a while has changed him.

”Thanks, Lando.”

He shrugs and slaps a hand onto my shoulder. ”We”ll get ”em in Nashville. So what are you doing tonight?”

I know exactly what I”ll be doing tonight. It”s the same thing I”ve been doing every night for the last few months. But I”m not about to tell him that. Not until I”m ready.

”Rest,” I guess.

”Yeah, we”re going to need it,” Keelan agrees.