Chapter 26 - The Gauntlet #2
Not officially. I sound like I’m twelve years old. Not that I was dating then, either. Or even when I was sixteen. This year has probably been my dating peak, and fingers crossed that it’s not over. Do you think he still wants to go out with me?
It’s Mats. He’s like a fucking cruise ship—steady on his course and almost impossible to turn, she replies.
Yes, but he didn’t hesitate to break up with me when he found out I had lied. Of course, that won’t happen again. My essential nature is honesty, and from now on, I won’t be pursuing love and approval from the wrong people.
Obviously, I’ve been to tons of hockey games, but I’ve never had this feeling before—like everything Mats does out on the ice is thrilling and we’re completely connected. I knew he was a good player, but it’s amazing to see him in action. He sees the ice and anticipates so well.
I have exactly the same thought I had when I first saw him play: Why isn’t this guy at a higher level?
He’s really good, right? I ask.
Becks grunts. I fucking hate to admit this, but the men’s game is on a different level. And yeah, Mats is a stud. Did you see that takeaway on his last shift? And the shot?
He has the softest hands, I agree.
Then we snort with laughter because we have the same dirty minds.
At the beginning, the game is very close. Both teams are pretty even talent-wise, and they’re dialled-up for the playoffs. But by the end of the first period, Hoover has a two-goal lead, much to the disappointment of everyone in the arena.
However, the Mustangs come out flying in the second. Coach Norman must have given the best pep talk of all time. They come close to scoring so many times.
Who the fuck have Hoover got in net? Peak Carey Price? Becks snarks.
Yeah, he’s pretty tough to beat. It’s gonna have to be a rebound. Or maybe get him moving side-to-side, I say.
Almost as soon as the words leave my mouth, Big Z takes a hard shot that the Hoover goalie deflects.
The puck skitters way out and Sinc rushes in from the point and whacks that rebound.
For a moment, it’s like the puck moves in slow motion as it sails towards the net.
Big Z is screening, so the goalie doesn’t see the puck until the last second, and when he reaches out his glove to catch it, he’s too late.
The puck is in! Goal!
The arena explodes! The crowd is on their feet, screaming and jumping. Sinc is mobbed by his teammates, and Becks and I hug each other and jump up and down. Somewhere in the arena, Andy must be ecstatic.
The Mus-tangs chant begins again, growing in volume. Nobody sits down right away because we’re too jittery with excitement.
Coach Norman leaves the same players out on the ice, and before the chants of Mus-tangs have even died down, Schmidty zooms in with the puck and draws the Hoover defenceman and goalie towards him.
But, instead of shooting, he passes through the blue paint to where Big Z is waiting.
The goalie tries to slide over, but Big Z is too fast.
Goal! Tie game!
Incredibly, the cheering is even louder now. The crowd goes fucking bananas; cheering, hugging, even dancing in the stands. It’s pure insanity, and I love it. The second period ends and we’re back to scratch, 2–2.
During the intermission, Becks and I walk around to burn off tension and also to get the arena cheese fries, which I love.
You know, I’ve been eating clean all week, just so I wouldn’t test positive for anything, I mumble, my mouth full of fries.
Becks rolls her eyes. They weren’t testing for cholesterol, you moron.
Maybe it was just another way I was punishing myself. But I’m over that now. As we walk back towards our seats, Becks stops short. Hey, you know what I just realized?
I swallow another mouthful of greasy goodness, feeling more like myself. No clue.
She smacks me on the shoulder. You called them, Nellie!
I rub my delt. Ouch. What did I call?
The two goals! You said rebound, and get the goalie moving. That’s exactly what happened.
Oh, I guess I did. Yay, me. I do a fist pump.
So, call the next goal, she challenges.
One word… I pause for the drama. Mats.
Oooh, Becks coos. Is that your fantasy? Going home with the guy who scores the game winner?
While I feel good about his chances of scoring, I feel less certain about my chances of scoring. I reply calmly, He’s due. He’s been close about five times tonight.
When the third period starts, I can tell from up here that Mats is in the zone.
He must know where I’m sitting, but he hasn’t looked this way once, and that’s exactly right.
He’s not a hot dog like me; he has focus and determination.
We both compete hard, but our playing styles are completely opposite—like pretty much everything about us.
I admire Mats for being exactly who he is.
The game is a real battle, since whoever loses is eliminated from the playoffs. Nobody wants to be the one to fuck up, so the play is pretty cautious. The clock ticks down to the final five minutes.
Fuck, I don’t know if I can handle OT, moans Becks.
It’s nail-biting, next-goal-wins time.
Then it happens. Sinc picks up the puck from behind the Monarch net, races out of their zone, and leads the rush into the Hoover zone.
Ethan and Murph skate alongside him, but Mats stays back on the point to cover for Sinc.
There’s a mad scramble in front of Hoover’s net, with players from both teams battling.
Sinc takes a shot that bounces off several bodies and gets cross-checked to the ice for his efforts.
The puck squirts out of the scrum, and Murph grabs the rebound and passes it back to Mats on the point.
With zero hesitation, Mats leans his whole body into the shot—a hard slap shot. The puck rockets through the air, past all the jostling players, and so close to the Hoover goalie. I see the back of the net bulge, and then the red light goes on.
There’s one millisecond of quiet as everyone releases the breath they’ve been holding, and then the place goes abso-fucking-lutely insane. Everyone is jumping and screaming in celebration. I’ve never heard the arena this loud.
I throw my arms around Becks, and we hug and jump for joy. Mats is swarmed by his teammates, so I only get a glimpse of his delighted face. But he’s still smiling once he’s back on the bench. Perfect. It’ll be easier to ask him to get back together when he’s in a good mood.
Oh my god, you called it again, Becks yells through the roar.
I raise both hands in victory signs. I am the fucking oracle of hockey.
The crowd stays on their feet for the rest of the game, chanting Mus-tangs, Mus-tangs, Mus-tangs at a deafening volume as Hoover desperately tries to manufacture a tying goal.
They pull their goalie for the extra man, but our guys stay strong.
Big Z seems to play almost the whole time, because he can win draws and maintain puck possession.
As the clock winds down, the crowd chants, Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two… one!
The buzzer sounds, and Monarch has won their first playoff game.
I fucking love hockey, I declare. Because this sport has it all: the tension, the drama, and the game hero. And of course, Mats is named the first star of the game.
Becks takes off as the crowd filters out, and I wonder, now what?
Should I message Mats and see if he wants to meet?
Because otherwise, I’ll have to go down and stand with all the WAGs in the hallway outside the dressing room, which feels potentially awkward and embarrassing.
What if he rejects me again, in front of everyone?
But then I remember how good it felt to see a relaxed Mats waiting for me after my game. Maybe he’d enjoy that too. I head straight for the hallway. It’s crowded with people, but my teammates, Caroline and Dani, call me over right away.
Nellie, hey. Are you back together with Mats? Caroline asks excitedly.
I notice Lana, in the midst of her sorority sisters, has turned to stare at me. Is she interested in the answer? Her new boyfriend didn’t figure into any of tonight’s scoring. Not that I’m keeping track, of course.
I hope so. It’s the truth, so I’m sticking with it.
His goal was so good, Caroline exclaims. And then the three of us discuss the game and our own upcoming playoffs.
Tonight is getting me in the playoff mood, Dani declares. I nod vigorously. All I want is to be cleared—not just to play, but to start getting psyched up. I’ve been so pessimistic about my future that I haven’t let myself feel the excitement.
We’ll find out who we play after tomorrow’s games, says Caroline. I’m not going to jinx anything, but there’s one team I really hope we get.
She means Lakeside, who we’ve beaten every game this year. But I agree, it’s best not to hope for that, and certainly not out loud.
The guys trickle out and they’re all so happy and excited. I long for that feeling too: the post-game euphoria. A win feels even bigger when you come back after being down two goals.
Finally, Mats appears. People keep stopping him for congratulations, so it’s taking an agonizing amount of time for him to make his way down the hall.
As always, he looks gorgeous in his dark suit and grey wool coat.
He’s so desirable that everyone must want him.
I see Lana put her hand on his arm and say something to him.
My stomach plunges. Please, don’t let it be too late.