Chapter 21 Mackenzie #2
It quickly became clear that Parker wasn’t messing around today.
He was relentless in the first period, and it felt like he’d somehow heard my internal mumblings, because he did a good job of keeping the puck in the offensive zone.
On the few occasions the Chargers crossed the blue line, Seth and Jansen defended well, without crowding my crease, but I still couldn’t relax.
Not even when Parker scored the opening goal of the game.
Another faceoff, a line change, and suddenly the puck was coming my way.
An opposing forward streaked toward me. He was fast and skillful, and he fired off a powerful shot.
My legs flared, my chest squared, and I dropped into a butterfly instinctively.
Thud. The puck hit my pad. I managed to control the rebound and flick the puck away to Seth.
“Nice one, Foster!” He gathered the puck and took off down the ice.
My heart was racing. One save down. But how many more to go?
As the period went on, I grew in confidence. The sessions with Parker must have been helping. I even managed to shrug off the condescending comments that Chargers players threw at me. I just kept telling myself that none of them would ever come close to being as annoying as Parker Darling.
The second period, however, wasn’t so good.
I was starting to tire, and it began to feel like I was wading through quicksand as I moved in front of the net.
My legs were heavy, and every movement felt slower than it should have been.
The Chargers scored their first goal after I failed to clear a rebound, and then the forward with the powerful shot scored another.
There wasn’t much I could do to stop it.
He was seriously good. Maybe even close to Parker.
Now that the Chargers were ahead by one, time seemed to fly by.
I could sense the crowd getting nervous, my father’s temper growing, and my teammates becoming more desperate as we tried to find a goal.
All of us knew the Devils couldn’t afford to lose another game.
It seemed like one loss was unheard of at this school.
Three in a row would be catastrophic. And for me, it could mean I never got to play another game again.
With only a few minutes left in the third period, Parker drove past the Chargers’ blue line and streaked around the back of their net, his stick guiding the puck as though it was part of him.
One moment he was behind the goalie, the next he was tucking the puck just inside the post. A perfect wraparound goal.
The arena erupted. My teammates cheered. And my heart filled with relief. The game was tied.
“And that’s how it’s done,” I said to my posts. Parker caught my gaze as he skated back to center ice and flashed me a cocky grin. It was no wonder he had such a big ego; he had the moves on the ice to back up every inch of it. I only wished I could stop myself from smiling back at him.
All we had to do now was score once more.
But we were running out of time. And the Chargers had the exact same ambition.
After a poor pass from Jansen to Owen, suddenly the Chargers had the puck.
Their forward was thundering toward me like an out-of-control train.
My eyes were on the puck as he drew close.
I held my ground. He took aim and fired.
The puck hit my blocker and dropped right in front of me.
I’d made the save, but the puck landed in the perfect spot for a rebound.
The Chargers player lunged. I dropped fast and my glove clamped down on the puck.
The whistle blew and play stopped. I could breathe a little easier.
Wham.
A body collided with mine and I was thrown against the post. My head knocked hard against the metal, and I’d never been more grateful for my helmet. But then a knee jabbed my rib, and a stick was forced under my glove. The Chargers’ forward was scrambling for the puck as if it was still live.
“Get off me!” I snapped.
Then his leering face was hanging over mine. “If you can’t handle the heat, get off the ice.”
I didn’t have a chance to respond as he was yanked away. I pulled myself up, breathing hard. Everything hurt, but adrenaline propelled me forward. Seth was already squaring up to the guy.
“She can handle the heat just fine,” he shouted.
“Yeah, back off,” Owen added, shouldering in beside him.
But then Parker appeared, like an unexpected bolt of lightning.
He grabbed the guy’s jersey and drove him into the boards.
Their sticks clattered to the ice as the two of them grappled.
Parker was out for blood. And he was too strong for the guy, despite their equally impressive heights.
He practically lifted him off the ice and sent him sprawling to the ground.
Whistles blared. The refs rushed in. Every player on both benches was standing, and Owen and Seth dragged Parker off the guy before any other Chargers players decided to get involved.
When the chaos settled, Parker was sent to the penalty box; two minutes for roughing.
But the Chargers’ forward was only given a warning.
For a moment we all stared in stunned silence.
Then the place exploded again. The crowd was booing.
Several Devils players were protesting to the refs, and I could hear my dad yelling from the bench.
I couldn’t believe they hadn’t penalized the Chargers player; had the refs forgotten he’d totally taken me out? Did they think it was an accident?
The refs refused to listen to our complaints, though, even when my dad pulled one of them aside to make his feelings clear.
I looked to the penalty box where Parker was sitting stone-faced, his jaw clenched.
What had possessed him? There was no need to go after the player like that.
And with less than two minutes left in the game, when we were still searching for a goal, it felt like any chance we had of winning was stuck in the box with him.
By the time play restarted, the atmosphere in the arena had shifted.
Moments ago, we’d been celebrating a goal, and now we were shorthanded.
I felt rattled, angry and hurt—both physically and mentally.
And as much as I wanted to get my head back in the game, I was struggling.
I wasn’t the only one. The whole team seemed on edge, more frantic, as we desperately tried to hold off a relentless onslaught from a fired-up Chargers team.
Eventually, their extra player proved too much for us, and they scored the winning goal just before the final siren sounded.
Defeat rang through me, cold and hard. I’d done my best, but it still wasn’t enough. That was strike number two for me, and the look my dad gave me as I came off the ice only confirmed it. I needed to pull off something truly special in my last game if I wanted to stay on the team.
We gathered in the boys’ locker room to listen to my father’s post-game speech. He pretty much told us, in as many ways he could think of, how disappointed he was. But his most cutting criticisms were reserved for Parker.
“Your time in the penalty box cost us the game, Twelve, it’s as simple as that. You need to start thinking about the team, not your own personal battles. Scoring two goals doesn’t mean anything if you’re not there in the last two minutes when your teammates need you.”
Parker didn’t respond. He simply nodded, taking each verbal blow. He’d been on fire until the final minutes, and I knew my dad was being unfair.
The moment my dad left the room, Parker slammed his gloves down on the bench beside him. I was sure everyone felt like doing the same. The nightmare of suffering a third straight loss had become a reality. And my dad’s rant seemed to have shattered the little confidence my teammates had left.
“We’ll do better next game,” Owen said hopefully. “We’ve got the whole season ahead of us.”
Parker didn’t respond. His eyes lifted to meet mine, and as they connected, I knew exactly what he was thinking. We didn’t all have the whole season ahead of us. For some of us, there was only one game left.