Chapter 6
Joey
Crushing It
I’m in the zone! Except for that twisted wrist shot, I’ve blocked everything so far. It’s well into the third period and we’re still tied 1-1. Our offense needs to bombard the opponent’s goal with shot after shot if we hope to win the game. A goal for us will help take the heat off me.
The arena is rocking. With all the thunderous noise you’d swear we're at a Taylor Swift concert. It feels like an earthquake, wonder what it would register on the Richter scale.
I hope that Emma, Katie, and Scott are enjoying the game. I spotted them during pre-game warmups and my heart lurched because Emma looked...sexy. I’m used to seeing her in her baker’s uniform. Those tight blue jeans and V-neck jersey showing a hint of cleavage is definitely a look I could get used to.
Despite standing on a slab of ice, it’s unbearably hot under all these pads. The capacity crowd must be sending all their body heat to the arena. There’s a break in the action, so I remove my helmet and squirt the contents of my water bottle over my head. Flinging my head around, the water flies everywhere, then I pop my helmet back on. Time to focus. I need to continue to impress those NHL scouts.
I resume my position in the goal crease, now fully focused, knees slightly bent, with my stick firmly in my hand. The opposing forward skates toward me, eyes locked, fakes left, and snaps a wrist shot to my right. Instinctively, I drop into a butterfly position, my pads spread out to cover the bottom of the goal, and my gloved hand darts up to snag the puck before it finds the corner of the net. There’s a quick whistle. The crowd cheers wildly, with the stoppage of play.
There’s no chance to take a breather. Play resumes with a face-off in our end of the rink. The opponent wins the face-off and passes to a defenseman at our blue line. He fires a booming slapshot. I square up to the net and absorb the shot with my chest protector—a clean block. The rebound lands right in front of me, and before any opponent can reach it, I deftly slide my stick, directing the puck safely to the corner. Whew! That was close!
A line change sends our third line in without any stoppage of play. My anxiety ratchets up because these guys are mostly rookies, so I know I’ve got to be overly diligent when they’re on the ice. Play builds again and the opponents make a pass across the slot. I react quickly, shuffling side-to-side, my skates cutting arcs into the ice in front of the net. Just as one of their forwards shoots the puck, I extend my left pads into a full lateral split and the black disc ricochets off them with a loud crack. The crowd erupts, but I keep myself locked in, watching every player on the ice. When the puck heads to the other end of the rink, I rap my stick on the post, ready for whatever comes next.
The clock continues to count down. For me, each tick seems excruciatingly slow. With just two minutes left in regulation, it’s crunch time. Our offense is on attack and is doing a good job of keeping the puck in the opponent’s end of the rink. They slap shot after shot at the net. I’m not looking forward to playing overtime. I hope they get the job done and score a goal.
A whistle sounds as the puck deflects off a players stick into the crowd, resulting in a face-off. Otto steps up to the circle. The ref drops the puck, and both player’s sticks clack together as they scramble for control. I glance at the clock and it’s counting down the last twenty-five seconds of the game.
Somehow Otto makes a spectacular pass to one of our forwards. Henson skates towards the goal, keeping control of the puck as he shuffles it back and forth. When he shifts right, the goalie takes the fake and the Golden Star neatly slaps the puck into the goal. The red light on the goal lights up right as the buzzer sounds for the end of the game. Stars win 2-1!
There’s pandemonium inside the arena after the nail-biting, exciting win. The crowd sticks around for several minutes, giving us a standing ovation. My teammates mob me, giving backslaps and shouting words of gratitude as we head off the ice.
“You were money in the crease. You saved our bacon!”
“Svenson, you were a brick wall out there!”
“Nothing was getting by you tonight, Joey!”
Hopefully, the NHL scouts were equally impressed by my play. It’s my dream to play professional hockey.
When we get back to the locker room, Coach, in his usual gruff style, pulls me aside and says, “Svenson, you were a beast out there with all those saves! But don’t get a swelled head, there’s several games left in the season. You still could have one of those Swiss cheese games and I’d have to send in Blake.”
Fortunately, the euphoria of the win overrides any criticism from Coach. He gives a post-game speech that I hardly listen to as we all remove our pads and prepare for showers. Otto and I are picking up Mia, Emma, and the kids in the friends and family area. We’re going to grab a pizza and celebrate the victory. It’s nice to have someone special to celebrate this victory with and honestly I can’t wait to see Emma.
~*~
Emma is acting a little standoffish and I don’t know why. When Otto and I arrived at the friends and family waiting area, Mia gave him a smoking hot kiss while Emma gave me a finger wave.
Huh? No hug? No high-five?
Obviously, I wasn’t expecting a kiss, but I thought we’d crossed over from enemies to friends. At least Katie and Scott greeted me enthusiastically with hugs and high-fives.
We go straight to the pizza place. When we get there, Emma sits on the other side of the table where she proceeds to ignore me. She jockeyed with Blake for a seat, leaving my teammate sitting beside me. With her sitting over there it’s impossible to talk to her one-on-one to learn what I’ve done to make her mad.
Blake turns to me as we sit. “I thought you and Emma were getting along.”
I grunt. “Apparently not.”
He chuckles. “She’s a tough one to read. Believe me, I know.”
I swivel in my seat to talk directly to Blake so Emma can’t read my lips. “Did she run hot and cold when you dated her?”
“Sometimes, but it was usually because she got a bout of cold feet and not something that I did.”
Arching an eyebrow, I ask, “Why would she get cold feet?”
“You know, the usual stuff women do. Overthink the relationship. Become worried that I’d break up with her. Stuff like that.”
Have I given Emma any reason for these worries? The truth hits me like a ton of bricks. I haven’t even talked to Emma about what our relationship is. I just assumed we moved from mortal enemies into the friendzone, and possibly into something more serious like boyfriend/girlfriend status.
Maybe she thinks I’m just taking advantage of her, so she’ll help me out while I’m watching the kids. Time to fix this.
As luck would have it, Emma pops up and announces she’s going to the restroom. Fortunately, neither Mia nor Katie tag along with her, so I don’t have to deal with a girl’s entourage. After she begins to stride off to the restroom, I jump up and follow her.
“Hey, Emma! Hold up.” My heart stutters when I notice she’s wearing my jersey. What does that mean?
Her feet skid to a stop. She slowly turns, with a look of reluctance on her pretty face. “Hey, Joey! I’m headed to the little girl’s room.” She resumes walking, but I put a gentle hand on her shoulder and turn her back around to face me.
“Why are you giving me the cold shoulder? Have I done something to make you mad at me?”
Her brown eyes drill into mine, as if she’s trying to read my mind. She nibbles on her lower lip, hesitating for several long seconds before replying.
“I think I liked it better when we were sworn enemies. I’m confused by this new relationship, whatever it is.” She waves her hand back and forth, pointing between her chest and mine.
Grabbing her hands, I squeeze them, amazed that her small hands fit perfectly in my much larger ones. “Listen, Emma. I hope you don’t think I’m just being nice to you, so you’ll help me with the kids.” When she opens her mouth to speak, I plow on. “These last few days have been great! I’d like to keep getting to know you better and see where this leads.”
She tilts her head. “Won’t you be moving on when you get drafted at the end of the semester? I don’t see how our relationship can be anything other than short term, and I’m not looking for that.”
I blow out a long-suffering breath. She’s hit the nail on the head, because I’ve had the same concerns. Even though my brain screams a warning, my heart refuses to listen. I’m willing to set aside my worries because Emma is worth it.
“I like you, Emma. A lot.”
Her brows draw together. “I don’t know what to say to that.”
Deciding to take the bull by the horns, I tug her closer. “Then, let me show you how I feel.” I lean my head towards hers, giving her time to pull away or slap my face, whatever she chooses. When she does neither, I slowly touch my lips to hers, and the attraction we’ve been denying flares to life. She wraps her arms around my neck and kisses me back.
Wowza! I feel the kiss from the top of my head all the way down to my toes. It’s like a jolt of electricity, the rush of blocking a shot on goal, and tumbling down a cliff, all at once. I don’t know how long we kiss—possibly one minute or five—but I finally pull out, my sides heaving while I breathe heavily. We stare at each other as if the world just tilted on its axis.
She blinks up at me and I rub my thumbs against her cheeks. “Did that convince you?”
“Yes,” she whispers, swaying slightly against my chest.
“Good. No more doubts or worries. Let’s just see where this goes. Are you with me?”
“Yes,” she repeats. I release her hands, and she proceeds on toward the ladies room.
“My jersey looks great on you!” I shout when she’s several steps down the hall.
She smiles and waves as she disappears into the restroom. With Emma wearing my name on her back, it makes me feel possessive. I don’t want any other guy to even look at her.
When did I become a caveman? I shake my head to clear it, then walk back to our table. At least I made my feelings clear with that kiss. Now it’s up to Emma to get over her cold feet or tell me to buzz off. I sure hope it’s the former.