CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT #2
Leif cross-checked him in the chest, shouting that he was tired of his shit.
“Dude! What’s your fucking problem?” Tanner snapped, dropping his stick onto the ice with a clatter, riled up from the adrenaline and the anticipation.
Scowling, Leif threw off his gloves and grabbed the front of Tanner’s jersey. He shook him like a ragdoll but Tanner grinned. Leif would never hurt him for real.
But Leif looked genuinely mad and they grappled for a moment. Tanner’s helmet popped off and a moment later he was on his knees on the ice, laughing up at Leif. God they were so bad at this. Neither of them were really fighters.
He stared up at Leif, blowing him a kiss, knowing it would piss him off but also that he’d know that Tanner had done it because it was the only way in the moment he could show Leif how much he cared for him.
How much he loved him. Oh shit. He was in love with Leif!
And Tanner felt dizzy as the realization hit, as he finally knew that was what all his missing Leif and hating the fact they hadn’t been talking much had been about.
But then Crawford was there, pulling Leif away, shouting something at him. Mirsad got pissed about that and then Crawford and Renner were squaring up, sticks and gloves flying to ice and fists coming up.
Crawford ducked a hit and got a couple of solid punches in before he wrestled Renner to the ground. They both got dragged apart by referees and forcibly skated toward the penalty boxes. Too bad Crawford wasn’t much of a goal scorer or he’d have a Gordie Howe hat trick.
Tanner shook his head and gathered his helmet, flipping his damp hair off his forehead before he slipped the helmet back on.
He caught a glimpse of a scowling Leif skating away and faltered, wondering if he’d gone too far.
“All Crawford needs now was a goal and he’ll have a Gordie Howe,” Connor said wryly as Tanner skated past him.
Tanner laughed that they’d had the same thought, putting Leif from his mind for now. “If only Crawford was a goal scorer.”
The second period ended before Crawford’s penalty was up.
The mood in the Rockets’ locker room was tense. Nicky gave a small speech about pushing hard in the third and Coach Pittman popped his head in for a few minutes to discuss strategy.
Leif focused on that, unable to think about how things had gone in the second period. How he’d let Tanner get under his skin. How he could have cost his team the game.
He had to do better in the third. Nothing mattered but the game. Not Tanner, not his feelings for him.
Just his team. Just their chances at the playoffs.
Thankfully, Ian Salter got a sneaky little goal a few minutes into the third period, bringing the score to 3–1.
Finally, the Rockets were on the board.
The Harriers poured on the speed, forcing the Rockets into their defensive zone. They were out for long shifts, battling with everything they had. They scrambled to keep the puck out of their net but during a messy play in front of Poole’s crease Connor O’Shea managed to poke one in.
4–1.
Leif gripped his stick tightly, sweat stinging his eyes as he raced to the net with the puck. He pulled up hard and jammed it in, muscles screaming, mouth open wide as the goal horn lit up.
4–2.
His teammates piled around him, shaking him and shouting their appreciation. Leif skated to the bench, heart pounding. They were down by two but there were still nearly ten minutes left in the period.
They got a third just a few minutes later, a flukey bounce off Nicky’s stick that Webber did everything to stop. He lay there for a moment, flat on his belly and Leif wondered if he’d been injured.
But no, he was on his feet again and the game resumed.
For the next few minutes it was a battle. No rest. No relief. Just up and down the ice.
With three minutes to go, Pittman shouted for Poole to come off the ice and then they had the extra attacker on, the net empty.
The score was still at 4–3 and it was a long shot that they could even it up, but they tried. They battled in their offensive zone, vying for every opportunity.
No hesitation, just shot after shot.
Webber kept fending them off, dialed in, unwavering.
Leif’s throat grew tight as the seconds ticked down. Just one more goal. Leif could do it, he knew he could.
But Anker Henriksen snagged the puck, shooting it toward center ice where Crawford hovered. Leif tore after him but he was too far away and Crawford skated toward the empty net. He fired the puck in from the slot and it went in cleanly, bounced off the twine, then back out into the crease.
The lamp lit up and the crowd lost their mind as Luke Crawford somehow managed a Gordie Howe hat trick. Ugh. The guy wasn’t a goal scorer at all. A good year for him was maybe five goals. Did he have to get one tonight?
Nicky muttered something under his breath about Crawford’s parentage and Leif sighed.
With just seconds left in the game, they’d give it one final shot on the next faceoff …
But the horn sounded and the game was over.
The Harriers had won the game 5–3.
“Good hustle!” Nicky called out as he slapped Leif’s shoulder. “And I’ve got some good news for you. We’re going to the playoffs!”
Despite the loss, hope bubbled up in Leif’s chest. “Yeah?” he asked hoarsely.
“Washington lost to New Jersey. The wild card spot is ours.” Nicky beamed.
“Then we’re gonna have to kick some ass in the first round because I want a rematch with Boston in the second.”
“So do I,” Nicky said, his eyes sparkling with the kind of fire that Leif knew meant he was ready to compete. “Let’s fucking do it!”
Leif grinned back at him. Oh yeah, their captain was back.