Chapter 27 #2
I slant my eyes in Sabe’s direction, and he acknowledges with a micro-nod.
We’ve drilled this play—along with every center-wing pair in the league—a thousand times.
We have a better chance than most to score a goal.
After the usual jockeying for position, I hold myself still as granite and wait for the puck drop.
My eyes laser in on the spot above the ice where my stick will make contact with the puck.
Because there’s no way I’m letting it hit the ice.
With his arm raised and puck in hand, the ref drops it.
Then the next two seconds are a blur as I whack the puck out of the air just above the ice in Sabien’s direction, and he’s ready for it.
He catches it on his stick and, in the same instant, whips it across his body to the far corner of the net.
The goal light flashes on, and the crowd drowns out my yell as we descend on Sabe.
“Perfect shot, man. Feels good to get the first goal against this team.”
“It was all you,” Sabe says, gloving me on the head and grinning. “Let’s go back and do it again.”
I laugh as we regroup for another faceoff, this time at center ice, and skate hard for the rest of my shift. When I come off the ice, I don’t admit that it felt like a long shift, but the coach can see that I’m winded, and he glances at Jason to move up to the front row.
I don’t say a word because this is a game, and the coach is god on this bench for the duration. That’s what I’ve always been taught, and that’s the way it is.
But I vow to make the most of my next shift and let my juices simmer until then.
After Jason gets a goal, I finally score coming from behind the net in a swing move at the end of the second period to tie the game 3-3. Doc has a look at me, checking my eyes without his doo-hickey. “Who are you kidding, Doc? You can’t see a thing with those ancient eyeballs of yours.”
He purses his lips, and he may be squelching a smile. “I know why you’re giving me this special treatment.”
“No one’s getting any special treatment. I’m checking—”
I laugh, and Sabe, who’s sitting next to me, chuckles.
“Relax, Doc. I don’t mind. It just shows me how much you really care.”
“I ought to stitch your mouth shut.” He backs off, muttering something about how I appear to be fine except for a runny mouth.
The game remains tied with the minutes ticking down to seconds in the third period, and we’re staring at the clock as much as the ice. The whistle blows with one minute and twenty seconds left, and the second line heads to the bench.
It’s killing me to hold my tongue and not ask the coach to put me in now. But he saves me when he turns to me and Sabien and nods for us to get out there.
As Windy comes off the ice, he taps Sabien’s shoulder. “Get the win for us, Captain.”
Sabe nods and points to me. “I’m counting on the kid. He promised a hat trick.” He grins at me. “You think you can get two goals in less than a minute and a half, big shot?” I don’t mind the teasing from Sabien because I know he has my back, in spite of the Vegas All-Star weekend fiasco.
“Sure. Just don’t tell me empty netters don’t count.” He snorts, and we skate to the faceoff circle, getting serious while we wait for the commercial break to end and the game to resume.
I win the faceoff and get it to Sabien as I rush forward to the blue line.
In a lightning-quick move, he passes me the puck.
I reach it and spin around the defenseman on my hip, then deke past the second and last defenseman of the opposing team.
Flashing forward on a breakaway, I swoop wide in front of the net, getting the goalie to move, then shoot the puck across my body into the opposite corner to light up the goal.
The crowd is deafening, and I pump my fist once as I skate around the net to meet my teammates, but I point up at the clock because we still have forty-two seconds left.
“You bastard,” Sabe says. “Couldn’t you have circled around a few times and then taken the shot?” He laughs. “Now we need to kill the clock.”
At the bench, the coach is motioning for a line change, and the guys switch it up, but something in me rebels.
I need a hat trick. When the ref blows the whistle signaling that it’s time to line up for the faceoff, I glance at the bench where Jason is waiting to skate out here and shake my head. He freezes.
“Line up,” the ref barks, and I take my place at center ice.
This isn’t my usual line, but I’ve played with these guys surrounding me before and nod at each of them.
With satisfaction, I glance at the opposing team’s lineup and confirm that they’ve pulled their goalie.
It’s risky, but I’m standing opposite the best faceoff man in the NHL.
Ax is on defense behind me, and he grins. “I got your back, Bro.”
That’s the signal for our play. We’ve practiced it after hours since before the season started because, as rookies, we figured we needed to do something to make our mark.
I grin back at him and settle into my spot, stick poised and ready for the puck drop. The hardest part of the play we practiced is winning the faceoff first, so I concentrate on doing that.
The ref blows the whistle, the puck drops, and my stick scoops the puck behind me, though my legs to where Ax waits, and he spins around and passes out to his left where I’ve skated to take his pass. I beat the defenseman, barely, and hold him off with my right shoulder as I move toward the net.
Every one of our opponents races there because the net is empty. One of their defensemen plays goalie as I push between two defensemen and with a quick mini-deke to my left, then right. All I need is one flinch from the stand-in goalie, and I get it.
I aim my wrist shot for the top corner, and it lifts up and over the man’s shoulder, past his ear, into the underside of the crossbar with a clang.
I hold my breath in that heartbeat, everything in slow motion as I watch the puck deflect downward.
It hits the ice, and I shoot forward and push it past the goal line before the defenseman in net sees the puck.
The goal light flashes on, and the crowd roars. My teammates crowd me and pull me up from the ice. I look for Ax and give him a hug, thumping him on the back as he laughs like a maniac.
We skate to the bench to join the rest of the team, and Sabe comes onto the ice.
He thumps my shoulder and ruffles my hair, reaching up because I’m taller than him. “As empty net goals go, that was a good one.”
I laugh, and as we skate to the tunnel, I see Coach Logan at the gate. He’s not smiling. Shit. I broke the number one rule I learned as a kid and held all through my career until now. I disobeyed coach, the hockey god on the ice.
And I’m sure now there’ll be hell to pay.