41. Timothy
Chapter forty-one
Timothy
Coach reads the starting lineup without looking up from his clipboard.
“Ivanov. Reeves. Mercer.”
No surprises there.
He names the defensive pair behind them, then moves to the next unit.
“Sterling. Wilde. Boone.”
Across the locker room, Wesley stops winding tape around his stick.
Jonah looks up.
Maxon’s hands pause on his skate laces.
Coach keeps reading.
“Hollis. Brenton.”
My hands stop.
For one second, I think I heard him wrong.
Shane sits on the bench beside me, one skate planted on the rubber floor.
He bumps his shoulder against mine.
“He put us together.”
“I heard him.”
Across the room, Wesley points between himself, Jonah, and Maxon, then toward Shane and me.
Coach moves on to the rest of the lineup, outlining matchups and defensive assignments. I force myself to listen. I know the details. I have studied them all week.
For most of the season, I have measured opportunity in scraps. One extra shift in the second period. Forty seconds here or there.
Tonight I am not filling a hole.
I am in the rotation.
And apparently, with the rest of the Hockey House misfits.
Wesley leans forward from across the room.
“Brenton.”
I look at him.
He points two fingers at his eyes, then at me. “What does that mean?”
“I’m watching you.”
“That feels threatening.”
“It is supposed to be supportive.”
Jonah reaches over and pushes Wesley’s hand down. “Stop helping.”
“I am giving encouragement.”
Shane adjusts his gloves. “You ready?”
I flex my fingers. “Yes.”
Coach looks around the room. “Set the pace early. Smart changes. Short shifts. Make them work for every inch. Let's go."
The team rises together.
Sticks knock against the floor.
The door opens.
Noise from the arena rushes in.
***
I step onto the ice, and the familiar sounds settle around me. Blades cutting. Pucks striking boards. The low roar of conversation building toward the opening announcement.
I skate toward the boards and glance into the stands.
The crowd is still settling. Fans move through the aisles carrying drinks and food.
Ivanov and Reeves are already snapping shots at the goalie near the far circle.
I skate toward the boards and glance into the stands.
My gaze passes over the section behind our bench.
Then stops.
Bethany sits beside Jenna, laughing at something she says. Laurie and Grant are on her other side.
They are all here.
Then Bethany stands to let someone pass down the row.
She turns.
My name is across her shoulders.
I almost miss the puck Wesley sends toward me. It hits my skate.
He glides closer. “You alive?”
Bethany raises one hand. I lift my stick.
Wesley follows my gaze.
“Oh.”
“Do not.”
He grins. “Just don't let it affect your game.”
The starting lineup is announced.
Our unit waits along the boards.
The puck drops.
I lean over the boards, watching the play develop.
My leg bounces once beneath me.
Shane taps my shin pad with his stick.
“Next.”
Coach watches the ice.
Thirty-eight seconds later, he points at our unit.
Wesley is already moving.
My pulse kicks.
Second shift.
Ours.
Shane says, “Here we go.”
The referee leans over the dot. The centers lower their sticks. The puck drops.
Their winger attacks our blue line with speed.
I hold my gap until he cuts toward the middle, then knock the puck free. Shane collects it and moves it up to Maxon.
We spend the rest of the shift in their zone.
When the puck reaches me at the blue line, I find Maxon open near the circle. His shot forces a save before the whistle blows.
I exhale.
Maxon skates past me.
I reach the bench expecting the top pair to take the next defensive-zone draw.
They do.
Then the third unit goes.
I settle in.
This is how rotations work.
But when our turn comes back around, Coach does not skip us.
“Brenton. Hollis.”
Shane is already over the boards.
I follow.
And the rotation keeps coming back to us.
Offensive-zone draw.
Neutral-zone change.
Then, late in the period, Coach sends us out against their top line.
We keep them outside for forty-two seconds and clear the zone without giving up a shot.
When I reach the bench, Coach gives one short nod.
By the end of the first, we are still tied at zero.
In the locker room, Shane drops onto the bench beside me.
“You stopped playing like you’re waiting to get pulled,” Shane says.
I look at him.
“You’re just playing hockey now.”
Coach calls us back.
I stand. “Then I’ll keep playing.”
We score early in the second when Maxon finds Jonah in front of the net.
Jonah buries it.
The bench erupts as the three of them return.
Wesley points at himself. “I distracted the goalie.”
“You fell,” Maxon says.
Coach points toward the ice. “Stay sharp.”
The lead lasts four minutes before they tie it.
I expect Coach to shorten the rotation.
To lean harder on Ivanov and Reeves now that the game is tied.
Instead, he looks down the bench.
“Second unit.”
Their top line wins the faceoff in our zone. A shot rebounds into the slot, and I reach it first.
For one instant, every bad possibility flashes through my mind.
I look up.
Wesley is breaking through the middle. I send the puck between two sticks. He carries it into the offensive zone and passes to Maxon.
The red light comes on.
The arena explodes.
At the bench, Maxon hits my helmet with his glove.
The announcer gives the goal to Maxon, then the assists to Wesley and me.
I look into the stands.
Bethany is on her feet with both hands in the air.
She taps the name on her jersey, then points at me.
Coach trusted our unit with the matchup.
And when the play came to me, I did not just survive it.
I made something happen.
The guys pound my helmet hard enough to rattle my teeth.
We enter the third leading two-one.
The top unit takes the opening shift.
Then ours.
With six minutes left, they tie the game.
Two-two.
The bench tightens.
From here, coaches usually shorten everything.
Top lines.
Top pairs.
The players they trust most.
Ivanov and Reeves go over the boards first.
They generate a chance but cannot finish it.
The whistle blows with just over four minutes remaining.
Coach looks down the bench.
For one heartbeat, I expect him to call the stars again.
“Second unit.”
Every guy from Hockey House moves at once.
Their winger dumps the puck behind us.
I reach it first and absorb the hit long enough for Shane to pull the puck free.
He moves it to Wesley.
We break out together.
Maxon’s first shot rebounds into the corner. Jonah crashes after it while Wesley wins the battle along the boards.
Then Wesley looks back toward the blue line.
The lane opens.
I go.
His pass reaches me just as their winger closes.
I fake the shot and step around him.
For half a second, I have space.
I send the puck low through traffic.
Jonah gets his stick on it.
Inside post.
Goal.
The arena erupts.
Three-two.
Two minutes and eleven seconds remain.
The clock drains below a minute.
Their goalie heads for the bench. The other team is gambling that an extra skater can help them make a goal, but they had to remove the goalie to make that happen.
Coach starts calling names.
Ivanov.
Reeves.
Then:
“Hollis and Brenton.”
My head snaps toward him.
“Go.”
I am over the boards before he can say it twice.
A shot comes through traffic. I block it, find the loose puck, and sweep it toward the boards.
Ivanov clears the zone.
The buzzer sounds.
Game over.
Jonah catches me around the shoulders while Wesley pounds my helmet.
“Tonight, Timothy Brenton became a star,” Wesley announces.
Shane grabs the back of his jersey and pulls him away. “Let him breathe.”
“I am celebrating him.”
I look toward Bethany.
She is waiting near the glass.
Grant, Laurie, and Jenna stand beside her, but Bethany is looking at me.
Only me.
I skate toward the glass. She meets me there. The barrier keeps us apart, but she puts her palm against it. I place my glove over the same spot.
She points toward the scoreboard, then toward me.
I point toward the guys.
She rolls her eyes and points at me again.
Then she turns around showing me the name on her jersey.
brENTON.
I laugh.
She glances over her shoulder at me. She looks proud, certain, and beautiful.
The guys begin banging their sticks against the boards behind me.
I turn.
Wesley gestures dramatically toward the tunnel.
Bethany waves.
I lift my stick once and skate toward the tunnel.
The locker room is louder than it has been all season.
Music pounds through the speakers while Wesley attempts to pour water over Jonah’s head and gets most of it on himself.
Coach walks in and surveys the room.
“Good win.”
Sticks knock against the floor.
He gives a few quick notes. Praises the top unit for setting the pace. Calls out Ivanov’s forecheck and Reeves’s pressure through the neutral zone.
Then his gaze moves toward the five of us.
“Second unit.”
Wesley sits up straighter.
“That was the best you five have looked together.”
As Coach walks by me, he says, “Brenton. You earned every minute I gave you tonight.”
My throat tightens.
“Thank you.”
“You made smart plays under pressure. You didn’t force what wasn’t there, and when I put you out late, you handled it.”
He pauses.
“That earns another opportunity. It doesn’t guarantee one.”
I nod.
“I know.”
“Good. Keep working.”
“Yes, sir.”
The moment Coach turns away, Wesley launches himself across the room and lands half on me. “You earned your minutes tonight.”
“Get off.”
Jonah grips the back of my neck while Maxon knocks his glove against my shoulder.
“We played well,” Maxon says.
I grin. “We did.”
Jonah releases my neck.
Shane finally shoves Wesley onto the floor.
Wesley stays there.
“Also,” he says, staring at the ceiling, “Bethany looked excellent in your jersey.”
Four heads turn toward me.
I pull off one glove. "We are not discussing that."
Maxon grins. “You nearly skated into the boards during warmups.”
“Because you were staring,” Jonah says.
I throw my balled-up sock at Wesley.
He catches it.
“Another assist for Brenton.”
The room erupts.
I laugh with them.
Tomorrow, I will return to practice and work for the next shift.
Tonight, I earned this one.
I reach for my phone.
A message from Bethany waits on the screen.
You were amazing. I’m proud of you.
Below it is a picture Jenna took of her looking over one shoulder, my name across her back.
I save it.
Then I type:
You look good in my jersey.
Her reply comes almost immediately.
I thought you might like it.
I smile.
Wesley leans over my shoulder.
I shove him away.
“Privacy.”
“I saw romance.”
Shane throws a towel over his head.
I look at Bethany’s picture again.
Tomorrow brings another practice and another chance to earn the minutes.
Tonight, Bethany wore my name, Coach trusted me when the game tightened, and my teammates celebrated like the win belonged to all of us.
Because it did.