Chapter Fourteen
Rowan
“You ready?” Luka asks as he skates up beside me.
We have four more games in the regular season, and the outcome of these last couple of games will determine if we make it to the semifinals.
Tonight’s game is up against Wyatt’s old team, the Wolverines, and our biggest rivals, the team we will most likely face in the semifinals and, hopefully, the championship game.
I feel jittery and off-kilter, but it’s nothing new. I’ve felt that way all season. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
Luka skates forward so he’s in front of me. We’re all on the ice doing our warmups before the game starts in fifteen minutes.
“You’re supposed to say, hell yeah, I’m ready!”
I halfheartedly lift the corner of my mouth. “Hell yeah, I’m ready," I mimic with less enthusiasm.
“I’m serious, brother.”
“I know you are," I scoff. “Why do I feel like we constantly have this conversation? I don’t know how else to tell you I’m fine.”
“I guess we’ll keep having it until you stop lying to me.”
Damn, that one hurts. He grabs me around my shoulder and pulls me towards him, tapping his helmet on mine. “You got this.”
I grab him behind his neck and give him one quick squeeze before I let go. “We got this.”
A horn blares, signaling that the warmup is over.
I take a deep breath. I feel a buzzing deep in my chest from anticipation, but underneath that is the new but ever-present swarm of uneasiness in my stomach.
Nerves. I never used to get nervous; skating has been a part of my life since I could walk.
My skates and my gear used to feel like a second skin, but now they feel almost foreign.
I close my eyes and repeat what my therapist told me to when I feel out of control. I don’t think it’s helping, but I’ve said it before every game. At this point, it’s just become part of my ritual. I accept this feeling, for it is only temporary.
I try to center myself as best I can. The echoes of the crowd’s chants reverberate through my ears. The sound of them banging on the plexiglass hums through my chest.
When I open my eyes, I feel the most focused I have since the accident.
I desperately reach out to try to hold onto that feeling with everything I have.
I’m met with a chorus of shouts as soon as I near the player’s bench.
It’s time for the show. I throw on an easy smile and raise both hands in the air, my voice deep and loud when I say fight, fight, fight to get the boys even more excited.
The guys follow suit, and before long, everyone is ready to get out on the ice and pummel our opponents. The other team starts out swinging from the moment the puck drops, and they don’t stop until the whistle is called for our first intermission.
I’m out of breath, my chest tight with exhaustion, and we still have two more periods to play, and the other team is up by two.
“What kind of fucking Wheaties did they eat tonight?” Beau asks as he skates up, seemingly just as out of breath as me.
I tip my helmet back and squirt water directly into my mouth, welcoming the ice-cold liquid to help cool my body temperature.
“Fuck if I know, but we better find our own Wheaties real quick,” I answer, pissed and feeling even more frustrated than I did before the start of the game.
Whatever relief or sense of focus I had evaporated as soon as I lost the faceoff, flubbing it when I was a millisecond slower than the other captain.
We’ve been trying to play catch-up since then.
“Fuck if I don’t know it.”
We both make our way over to the bench where coach is already pacing back and forth. I brace for my ass chewing because I know it’s coming. Coach may be a quiet man, but he doesn’t mince his words, and when he’s pissed, he’s really pissed.
“Pierce!” Right on cue, Coach comes up and leans down into my face. “You planning on pulling your head out of your ass anytime soon?! Or do I need to pull you from the game?!” he practically spits.
I visibly wince from the verbal gut punch. I’ve never been pulled from a game before, and I sure as shit am not starting now. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”
“Yes, sir I need to pull you? Or yes, sir I’m going to start playing hockey like I actually know what the hell I’m doing?! Which is it, Pierce?” he seethes.
Damn, he’s mad. “Yes, sir. I’ll pull my head out of my ass, sir," I answer, thoroughly and properly chastised.
“You freaking better!” He turns and faces the boys. “If all of you don’t get your shit together, we can kiss the championship goodbye.”
The boys hang their heads in shame. Guilt starts to take up residence deep in my core.
I haven’t been a hundred percent in months, slack that my team, the team I’m supposed to be leading, has had to make up for.
It’s not fair to them, but I don’t know how to fix it. If I did, I would have done so already.
Coach finally settles down and starts going over some new plays that he wants to try. Nerves flare in my belly at the thought of introducing new plays at this stage, but our opponents seem to know our next move before we can make it.
When he calls Wyatt and Aiden’s name because he wants to run the play that the two of them have been practicing for months now, I want to protest. I should be the one leading this team, but when I look around at all of their faces, at how much determination they have to win this game, I don’t.
I won’t stand in their way, and right now, it feels like every play I lead falls apart before it can come to fruition. Maybe it’s time someone else takes the lead. I just hate the fact that Wyatt’s the one to do it.
Wyatt nods along with Coach and then says, “We won’t let you down, Coach.”
His words cut deep, opening a wound that was already festering from my recent insecurities. I need to get my shit together. I have to pull my head out of my ass for my team.
Just as we break, I grab Wyatt by the shoulder to stop him before he skates out onto the ice. “Jones likes to hog the puck, but once he breaks away, he gets cocky and his dangles get sloppy. That’s where you make your move,” I say, encouragingly.
Wyatt looks puzzled at first, probably because I never talk to him, which needs to stop tonight.
I’ve been a shit captain to him ever since he transferred because of the beef with him and Stella, but that isn’t fair to him or the team for me to purposely ignore him.
It’s my job to lead everyone. We may have our differences, but out on the ice, we’re supposed to operate as one.
It’s about damn time I started acting like it.
He eyes me questioningly, “I got it, Cap.”
I nod, “I know you do.”
Before I know it, we’re in the middle of the play.
Wyatt and Aiden have set it up beautifully, and just like I told him, Wyatt makes his move as soon as Jones lets his guard down, going in for the puck with ruthless precision.
I’m on Jones before he has time to blink, and it gives Wyatt the head start towards the opposing team’s goal where Aiden is waiting patiently to finish the shot.
Wyatt pulls back and sends the puck sailing straight to Aiden. The puck hits Aiden’s stick, and in a millisecond, he’s poised to take the shot. He pulls his stick back and sends the puck straight for the net. The air horn goes off as soon as the puck sails past the goalie’s glove and into the net.
The crowd loses it. A smile so big it feels like it’s going to split my face takes over. The boys surround Aiden and Wyatt for a quick hoorah before we’re back at it again.
I’m back at center ice for the face-off.
Nerves start to flare in my belly as I readjust my grip on my twig.
I feel my pulse pick up. I shake my head to clear it.
The puck drops, and I make my grab for it.
I’m a second too late, again. The captain of the other team breaks away with it and heads straight for Nash.
“Fuck!” I roar, my pulse now pounding behind my eyes as I do everything in my power to get the puck away from him. This is the second time tonight that I’ve lost the puck on the face-off. Something that used to be unprecedented but now seems to be a regular occurrence.
Energy bursts from my body, powering my legs forward, hot on the tail of the Wolverine’s captain. I use every ounce of energy I have to stay on him. I may have screwed up the face-off, but I’m not letting him get anywhere near Nash and the goal.
My stick battles with his as we both fight for control of the puck.
It isn’t long before I win. I’m spinning on my skates in one second flat, and then I’m heading straight for the opposite goal.
The goalie shuffles forward, and I see his skates slightly lean towards the left, which means he most likely thinks he knows where I’m going to shoot the puck.
Usually, he would be right. My go-to is the left top corner because it’s a shot that will land ninety percent of the time, but this guy is ready for me.
I change gears at the last second and go for low right.
I don’t overthink it or waste any time because I can feel the Wolverine’s captain hot on my heels.
I sling my stick back and send the puck shooting forward. I close my eyes and pray that it lands where I intended. When I don’t hear the cheers of the crowd, my eyes pop open in time to see the puck bounce off the side of the goal and back into play territory.
“Shit!” I yell just as Aiden comes up from behind, scoops the puck up, and finds a small pocket of unmanned net. His shot is clean and direct. The goalie doesn’t have enough time to react before the puck is in the net, and the cheers I was hoping I would hear sound across the arena.
My boys slam into my back in celebration. Aiden’s point officially puts us in the lead, but we still have one more period before the game’s over, and I feel like I’ve already failed them.