Chapter 16
CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
GUNNER
It’s second intermission. Coach is yelling out plays for the final period of the game. I should really be paying attention.
Tonight’s been rocky. The opposing team is on a roll, and the Lucky Strikers are on… whatever the opposite of a roll is.
Chance, especially, seems to be in his head and missing shots that he’d spot a mile away any other night. Coach is being heavy-handed with the substitutions because of it and our plays keep falling apart.
I’ve tried to take up the strain. After living in the same town and playing together for years, I can read the guys with a look. That familiarity is the only reason we’ve been able to rally this far. We’re defaulting to our natural rhythm as a unit.
However, a natural rhythm and an intentional strategy are two different things. The other team is still ahead by a point and we’ll need more than scatter-brained desperation to pull ahead.
I force myself to pay attention to Coach, while keeping one eye on the Jumbotron.
An image of a little girl grinning up at the camera fills the giant monitor along with the words ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY, PRINCESS’. Music is pulsing and the announcer is interacting with the crowd, leading them in the happy birthday song.
It’s tradition to give fans a chance to post special messages on the main screen during the second intermission of a home game. Max didn’t have a choice when he bought the Lucky Strikers.
The players aren’t allowed to submit anything, since the privilege is reserved for the fans, but I begged Bobby—the stadium’s all-around maintenance man—to do me a favor.
If he succeeded, the message should come up any minute now…
“Kinsey!” Coach yells my name, along with a few, choice expletives. “Are you listening to me! Get your head in the game! I can’t have both you and McLanely running like chickens without heads on the ice.”
“Yes, coach!” Chance and I yell in tandem.
I glance at our team captain. He’s breathing hard, his head ducked and his eyes on the ground. Patting his shoulder, I get his attention and tilt my chin up in a silent ‘are you okay?’
Chance pulls his lips into his mouth and nods.
Whether he’s truly okay or not, I’m with coach. I hope he can get it together for the last period. We’ll need him if we want to finish tonight’s game with a win.
“Oh-ho! Would you look at that!” The announcer’s jovial voice perks my ears and I swing around. Congratulations to Rebel Hart on joining The Lady Luck Society! ”
Warmth spreads in my chest when I spot the announcement on the Jumbotron. There’s a picture of Rebel, smiling prettily at the camera in a pink, mechanic jumpsuit. I didn’t give Bobby a photo, but I’m glad he added it, so there’s no mistaking who this announcement is for.
Applause sweeps through the arena.
The announcer explains, “ For those out-of-towners, the Lady Luck Society is a staple in our town. Only the most prestigious, pure-hearted, and worthy are allowed to join, what with it being an organization dedicated to community service. There hasn’t been a new member in over six years. Congratulations, Miss Hart!”
The audience cheers louder, after the short explanation.
I’m not in her line of sight, so I can’t tell how Rebel’s reacting to it. I’m hoping she likes it, if only to secure her spot with the Society.
If she doesn’t like it, well, I doubt she’s going to jump to the conclusion that the announcement came from me.
Mom, on the other hand, probably knows without me having to say a thing. She’s always been able to sniff me out. When I get home later, there’s going to be another fight and maybe some more dramatic fainting, but I was prepared for that when I asked Bobby to slip the announcement into the second intermission.
“That you?” Chance asks, pointing to the Jumbotron.
I shrug.
A brief smile tugs across Chance’s face, but he doesn’t say anything more about it.
The photo changes to an announcement of a couple celebrating their twenty-fifth anniversary and I can finally focus on the last of coach’s directions.
The buzzer sounds and we’re back on the ice. Chance is in the game and I offer him my fist. Whatever’s causing this drought tonight doesn’t matter to me. I still believe he can overcome it.
He knocks his knuckles against mine in a determined fist bump and then skates into position.
At the drop of the puck, he takes off like a bullet. I’m glad to see that fire back in his eyes. It’s not long before he assists Theilan in scoring a point.
We’re in the game now.
The problem is that the other team lit a fire of their own. We’re now tied and the finish line is in sight, but their defense is like a solid brick wall.
Coach doesn’t call any more substitutions and I realize that tonight’s game is riding on every player currently on the ice.
This is it.
Chance and I pass each other and he makes a gesture with his hands. He’s going all in with an attack.
My heart slams against my chest in anticipation. This is the part of hockey I love. When all the odds are stacked against me. Pulling through in a time like this requires one thing. And it isn’t my family name or my family connections. It’s my skills on the ice.
I nod.
Theilan takes control of the puck and passes to Chance. I watch the other team swarm him, skating over the blue line.
I get into position waiting for the right moment to charge.
The clock counts down to the seconds.
We don’t have time for this not to work.
The goalie is locked in on Chance.
Before the other team’s wingers can converge on him, he passes to me and skates into position. I defend the puck and pass back to him just as he takes aim for the net.
The sweet sound of the puck colliding with synthetic fiber fills my ears.
Yes!
The arena comes alive with shouts of victory but, I can hear one voice much louder than the others. I swing around to the reserved section where Rebel is. I can just make out her light peach-pink blouse beneath my jacket from this distance. She’s on her feet, screaming along with the rest of the fans, her hands in the air.
The world fades around the edges. I feel this strange sense of deja vu. As if I’ve been in this exact moment before, hearing Rebel’s screams echoing over the ice.
I’m all the way across the stadium. We’re on opposite ends of the rink, actually. There’s no reason I should feel this way.
I mean, unless Rebel Hart got surgery to turn her voice into a megaphone.
Or…
Unless…
I’ve always been listening for her voice after a game.
The revelation takes me by surprise, but I don’t have time to dwell on it as I’m jolted into a team huddle. We all dogpile on top of Chance. The guy’s probably a pancake beneath our bodies.
We finally let up to give Chance air. He barrels straight for me, slinging an arm over my shoulder.
“You read me, Kinsey. How’d you understand that sign? We haven’t practiced it before.”
I shrug again. Back when Chance first came to the team, he challenged me to a game and beat me so badly that I limped home with my tail tucked between my legs. Right after he humiliated me, he let it slip that he’d studied our tapes.
Two could play that game and I decided to study his tapes too. Not just for entertainment, but to really learn how he played so I could beat him the next time we took to the ice for a showdown.
The more I watched Chance’s plays, the more I learned how he thought on the ice. He had a temper, sure. And he hated being pushed into the boards. The guy was a hot head.
But he was also loyal. He looked out for his teammates, didn’t hog the puck, and was fast to shift plays when the situation called for it.
My intense dislike slowly turned into a grudging admiration.
“I’m not letting you get away that easy, Kinsey. You gotta tell me.” Chance playfully hooks his arm around my neck as we skate to the player’s bench.
Thankfully, he’s distracted by Theilan, Watson and Renthrow. The guys are talking about the game and raving about the last play.
The coach does not look happy that we went off-script, but I know he’s on his way out so it doesn’t bother me.
I take off my helmet and grab my bottle of water. As I sip, I glance at the section where Rebel sat during the game. The bleachers are emptying out. Rebel’s probably lost among the masses who are heading home.
If I know her, she’s probably running to be the first through the gate. I doubt she wants to see me right now. Not with the way she was blushing after I caught her yelling ‘ my boyfriend’ over and over.
The memory feels just as good as the win tonight.
I really enjoyed hearing her say that.
A lot.
The adrenaline fades from my veins while I move through the after-game routine.
Reporters are clamoring for an interview. Chance takes most of the questions, which I’m extremely grateful for. Prancing around in front of the press is the worst part of hockey for me.
When I’m asked specific questions, I offer the lines I’ve rehearsed a million times over, making sure to give praise to the entire team for any win of my own.
Then, finally, the frenzy is over and we jog back to the lockers where most of the team is congregated. Theilan is chatty, as usual, but most of the other guys are tuckered out. We came out the victors tonight, but that battle felt ten times harder than usual.
“Guys,” Chance says, clearing his throat as he steps forward. “About tonight, I’m sorry.”
Everyone’s head whips around to look at him.
It’s so quiet, a pin could drop.
“I’ve been overthinking a lot of things since I came back to the team. For some reason, the pressure here feels ten times heavier than it did in the league.”
Watson grins. “That’s because you care about us.”
“Yeah, actually giving a crap messes with you,” Theilan agrees.
Renthrow nods. “I felt the same way with Gordie. Every decision felt so important. I second-guessed myself a lot.”
Chance seems to appreciate that because he nods at Renthrow.
“What’s important is that you came through.” Theilan pats Chance on the back. “And even if you didn’t, we would have still had your back.”
Chance blinks a bit as if he’s trying not to get emotional. He opens his mouth to speak and then clears his throat instead.
I silently move toward him and squeeze his shoulder in support.
The entire team gets up to give Chance a hearty smack on his shoulders, chest and back. Rumbles of ‘it’s okay’ and ‘you’re good, man’ fill the entire locker room.
Watson breaks the sober moment by teasing, “Enough with the sappy stuff. Go take a shower, McLanely. And don’t worry. This time, we won’t steal your clothes.”
Guffaws break out as we all think about our prank on Chance when he first got here.
He smirks. “Hey, I promise I’m not stealing your clothes either.”
I chuckle and head over to my gym bag, extracting a pair of sweatpants, underwear and a fresh jersey.
After I’ve showered and changed, I walk out of the locker room with Chance. The other guys are going to The Tuna to celebrate and Renthrow is, of course, going home to his daughter. So we’re the only two heading up this way.
The stadium is completely empty except for Bobby who’s running the Zamboni. He waves to us from the ice and congratulates us on the win.
“Thanks, Bobby!” Chance yells.
I lift my hand in acknowledgment.
“Are you and Rebel hanging out after this?” Chance asks, checking his phone. Probably to message April.
I shake my head.
“Do you want me to ask April to invite her to the Tuna tonight?” He grins and nudges me with an elbow. “I can sacrifice a date night to help you out.”
I’m considering the idea when I hear a familiar voice call out, “Gunner . ”
Rebel walks toward me, her ponytail swishing behind her. My gaze tracks down her body as she gets closer, taking in her slender figure swallowed up by my jacket and her long, long legs in the gray leggings and sneakers. I’ve never seen a woman in Lucky Strikers merch and tennis shoes look so enticing in my life.
I’m so occupied with Rebel that I don’t notice her eyes twitching weirdly to the side. When I finally do, it’s too late.
My mother emerges from the shadows like a villain in a low budget film. Her eyes are as hard as marbles and she lifts her chin stiffly.
“Hello, son ,” mom says, her voice sending a shiver down my spine.
“Hi, Gunner,” Victoria says, walking beside mom. “Great game tonight.”
I swallow hard.
This can’t be good.