Chapter 33
E LLIE
A gasp escapes my lips as Jude flips the puck into the air with his hockey stick, sending it flying over the head of the opposing team member that has him cornered. The puck sails through the air across the rink before one of the other Icebergs smacks it down and gains control of it on the ice.
I turn to Henry in wonder. “Can they do that?”
He shrugs. “The ref isn't calling out any wrongs, so I guess so.”
“That's amazing!” My focus returns to the ice just in time to see Jude's teammate skate around the back of the goal, carefully dodging the opposing players. He sneaks the puck between the skates of another player, and it slides across the ice to Jude, who is suddenly right in front of the goalie. Jude flicks the puck with his stick and sends it into the air again. It flies right past the goalie's head and into the net.
The crowd roars and I find myself on my feet with Henry and the rest of the group around us.
“Go, Jude!” Henry laughs in delight.
I throw my arms around Henry. “He did it!” I cheer.
Henry squeezes me tight, and I meet his warm gaze that absolutely melts my insides. Suddenly, I am thinking about so much more than just a hockey game.
A hand on my shoulder yanks us back down. “Come on, guys! People behind you are trying to watch the game too.” Elijah scowls at us.
I shrink down in embarrassment. “Sorry!”
Henry grips my hand instead and gives me a wink. And my insides start melting all over again.
We return our focus to the game.
The buzz in the crowd is electrifying. With every trick shot the players perform, we cheer. Every time someone slips on the ice, we groan. Every time the goalie sprays his bottle of water directly onto his face, we laugh. Every time the referee calls out a penalty on the Icebergs, we shout. The fervor of the fans lights up the air in a way that is almost intoxicating.
The Indianapolis Icebergs are up, three to one, and there are only eight minutes left on the clock.
Suddenly the opposing team's goalie begins skating off the ice. He trades places with a teammate. Now there are six players on the ice, yet no goalie.
“What are they doing?” I ask Henry.
He shakes his head. “I'm not sure exactly. I didn't realize they could leave their goal wide open like that.”
“That's called an empty net.” A voice says from behind us. We glance back to see Sage Graves, the coach's daughter, whom Jude introduced us to earlier.
She leans forward, elbows on her knees, her eyes glued to the rink as she continues. “Any team can trade in their goalie for another forward in the hopes of turning the game around. The Hawks know they have no chance of winning right now so they're gonna push hard and get extra offense to try and score some goals.”
I glance back at the rink, where another face-off is about to begin. “Do you think it will work?”
Sage's eyes flick to meet mine for just a second and I read the concern there. “It just might.”
As if on cue, the puck drops, and the Hawks player snatches it away before Jude. He flings it backwards to a teammate, who takes it around the backside of the goal. A scuffle ensues. Someone gets checked into the boards. Another player pulls a one-eighty and sneaks the puck back the other direction. An Iceberg snags it away, only to have it stolen from him.
The Hawks crowd in front of the goal as the Icebergs’ defensemen fight to gain control of the puck. The goalie shifts positions, standing, then crouching, making every effort to keep his body and massive gear in the way of the goal.
The puck is flicked into the air, flying toward the net.
The goalie reaches out a giant gloved hand and deflects the shot.
The crowd roars.
We rise to our feet, cheering at the victory. What an impressive save!
Then groans and shouts fill the air.
I yank my attention back to the ice and see members of the Hawks team cheering. “What happened?”
A video above the rink replays the goal. From different angles it shows how the puck was saved by the goalie. It landed on the ice just to get smacked again and sent flying back at the net. This time it flew past the goalie's head and hit the top bar of the goal, the force pushing it down into the net.
“That's called a bar down,” Sage says from behind us.
Henry twines my fingers with his as we watch the play unfolding on the ice. We lean forward together, shoulder to shoulder, arm to arm, hand in hand.
The teams face off again, then battle it out, each fighting for possession of the small rubber puck. It flies back and forth across the ice. The Hawks work hard to keep it from nearing their wide-open goal. Their plan seems to be working as they manage to score another goal.
The game is now tied, three to three. Only two minutes and sixteen seconds left.
Instead of bringing their goalie back onto the ice, the Hawks continue with six offensive players. They are determined to snag another goal and win the game. They push the puck forward, seeming to inch nearer and nearer to the Icebergs’ goal. A Hawk slaps the puck around the backside of the goal to his teammate. An Iceberg snatches it away and passes it to Jude, who begins tearing across the ice toward the Hawks’ wide-open goal. The puck is deftly maneuvered back and forth by Jude's stick until he reaches back and smacks the puck.
It flies straight into the net. Nothing in its way.
I turn to Henry and realize we are both jumping up and down along with the rest of the crowd. My heart is pounding so loudly I barely notice the buzzer sounding the ending of the game.
“What a great game!” I can't help the massive grin stretching my cheeks wide.
Henry's bright eyes hold equal joy in their depths. Without warning, his hands cup my cheeks, and he bends down to plant his lips on mine. I kiss him back with all the fervor and excitement of the game we just witnessed—and the pleasure of being able to experience it all together with him.
Ach , how blessed I am to have Henry in my life!