Chapter 17
ZANE
Calloway blows his whistle sharply.
“Alright, bring it in.”
Players glide toward the bench, carving shallow arcs into the ice until we form a loose half-circle around him. Sticks tap against the boards, blades scraping lightly.
The arena is already filling up behind us. The low rumble of the crowd carries across the rink, mixed with the sharp crack of pucks hitting glass during warm-ups at the other end.
Calloway leans forward slightly over the boards.
“Two more wins,” he says. “We take care of tonight and tomorrow, we’re playing at the Showcase.”
The top four teams in the league play the Conference Showcase in November each year. We didn’t make it the last two years I’ve been on this team, but everyone knows that Scouts attend - it’s a huge opportunity. The kind of event that can change a career.
Five years ago, scouts were practically lined up outside Blackwood’s arena. The Giants used to be a team people talked about. Then the wins stopped coming and suddenly scouts were looking somewhere else. But this year is different.
Calloway’s eyes sweep across the line.
“You earned this opportunity. These wins didn’t happen by accident. So don’t make it bigger than it is. Play the way you’ve been playing.”
The words almost sound wrong. At the start off the season, we were barely scraping through games and trying not to embarrass ourselves. Now teams actually look nervous skating against us.
Then his gaze lands on me. “Blake. Stay back a second.”
“You know there’ll be scouts at Showcase,” he adds. “You deserve to be there. So, make sure you are.”
I nod. “I will. Thanks, coach.”
He pats my shoulder once. “Now go score some goals.”
Warm-ups are a blur.
The arena lights burn bright against the ice.
I tell myself not to think about what this game means. Which of course means I can’t stop thinking about it.
The puck drops.
The first few minutes are awful. Not visibly awful - not enough for anybody else to notice… but I feel it immediately. I’m playing too cautiously. Passes I normally make instinctively, I hesitate on. My brain is working too hard.
“Blake!”
Russo’s voice snaps me back.
I pivot just in time to catch the puck sliding across the neutral zone.
A defender closes fast.
Normally I’d cut inside, but instead I hesitate.
The defenceman strips the puck clean and sends it the other way.
I swear under my breath and chase back.
Great start.
Two shifts later it’s the same story. It’s like the game is moving faster than my thoughts.
And that’s the problem - I’m thinking.
Halfway through the first period we line up for another offensive zone faceoff.
Russo wins it clean.
The puck slides toward the boards.
Shaw gets there first.
I’m still replaying my last mistake when the play develops.
Shaw takes one stride, drawing the defender toward him.
Then he pivots sharply and slips the puck through a narrow gap between two sticks.
Perfect pass.
It lands on my blade.
There’s no time to think. Instinct takes over.
One step.
Snap shot.
The puck rockets past the goalie and into the net.
Goal.
The noise from the arena is overwhelming.
Russo slams into my shoulder. Mercer jumps the boards yelling something unintelligible.
But my eyes go straight to Shaw.
He’s already gliding back toward center ice.
No celebration - just a quick nod in my direction.
It’s like he’s telling me to stop thinking and just play.
And by the second period everything is working exactly how hockey is supposed to.
This is the part of life that makes sense.
Not lectures or assignments. Not the stack of exam prep sitting on my desk back in the dorm.
I’m aware of January exams looming. My degree is supposed to be the sensible backup plan. Something my parents can point to and say see, at least he has options.
But when I’m on the ice, none of that feels real.
Hockey is the only thing that ever has. The only place where everything lines up. It’s what makes the rest of life feel worth navigating.
Showcase or no showcase.
This is what I want.
Late in the third period the scoreboard still shows our lead.
There’s two minutes left.
The puck bounces loose in the neutral zone.
Shaw reaches it first. He slides it across the ice right onto my stick.
I don’t hesitate. The puck slides clean into the net.
Goal.
Game over.
The buzzer sounds seconds later.
One down.
One to go.
LEONORA
The Showcase isn’t a certainty yet. Not quite. But there’s only one game now between the Giants and it.
I sit on the bench in the physio room, slowly peeling off my gloves, trying to let the noise of the arena fade out of my head.
The adrenaline is still buzzing through my veins.
Part of me feels like I could skate another full game. Another part of me feels like I might throw up.
When I first stepped onto the ice as Lee Shaw, the plan had been simple and very temporary - just a few games to help the team while Grant was injured. To see if I could pull it off.
That was before the Giants started winning.
Now the whole thing is gathering momentum like a snowball rolling downhill.
And if we win tomorrow, we’ll be playing at the Conference Showcase the following weekend.
The thought should feel incredible. A huge part of it does.
But the Showcase is different. There’ll be Scouts, media, packed arenas, and a huge amount of attention.
If we make the Showcase - the whole league will be watching.