Chapter 20
Apparently, the promise of a reward was very motivating to Liam, because he scored within the first five minutes of the game. As his teammates surrounded him in celebration, I was sure he looked up to the owner’s box and winked.
The announcer’s voice boomed over the cheering crowd. “With the first goal ever at Knight Arena, your captain, Liam O’Conner.”
A little thrill ran through me. The first regular season goal for the team, the first goal in the new arena. It was a pretty big deal. I glanced over at my brother, huddled up with the GM and a few management guys and was surprised to see a broad grin on his face.
Huh. I was pretty sure Andy had never smiled over Liam O’Conner in his life. I guess it was a whole night of firsts.
Andy’s box was set up high in the upper bowl of the arena, with breathtaking views of the entire sheet of ice.
I knew Andy had been pleased with how full the arena was.
With the team’s terrible showing in the pre-season, there had been some concern that it would be difficult to get the locals to pay attention.
Apparently, the novelty of the city’s first NHL game was a big enough draw though, because this place was packed.
Which felt slightly less fortunate when the opposing team scored the next two goals in quick succession.
I watched as my brother’s face grew tighter and tighter. “What’s Enzo’s save percentage?” he asked a minion.
“.921,” the guy responded, checking the score card he’d been keeping.
Andy shook his head and muttered something about the defense leaving him out to dry.
After another lackluster shift, he barked at the score keeper again.
“How many minutes does Dalton have?”
So he had noticed that, too. I couldn’t understand why the coach wasn’t playing him more. He was the best winger the team had, yet he was putting him out on the 3rd line.
Andy looked downright pissed now as he glared down at the ice. When I heard him snapping at Deb, I decided to step in.
I walked to the bar in the corner and ordered him a Shirley Temple, then brought the disgustingly pink drink to my brother.
“No thanks,” he snapped without looking up.
I raised an eyebrow at Greg next to him. “Mind if I take your seat for a minute?”
“Better you than me,” he said cheerily, standing.
Andy grunted as I sat down. “Didn’t realize that was you,” he muttered.
“That wasn’t a nice way to talk to anyone,” I told him. “But I think you can be forgiven when this many millions of your money is self-destructing on the ice.” I held out the drink. “Here, I got you this.”
He took one look at the glass and cracked up.
Andy never drank alcohol, preferring to stick to diet soda, which he might as well have injected by IV with how much he consumed.
He’d had a few wild months in college, and I think they scared him, with our mom’s history of addiction.
My brother exercised control in every area of his life, so I could see why the idea of becoming dependent on alcohol would have been terrifying to him.
Sometimes I liked to give him a hard time by offering him kid drinks, but only because he knew how proud I really was of his decision.
He took the Shirley Temple from me and downed it in one gulp, grimacing. “Jesus that’s sweet.”
“You didn’t actually have to drink it,” I pointed out.
“I paid for it,” he reminded me, grinning. “You think I got to where I am by wasting money?”
“I’ll remember that the next time you drop five hundo on a pair of sneakers.”
He flipped me off and we lapsed into silence, watching the action down on the ice. Well into the third period, we were now down by two.
“He’s not playing Dalton enough,” I mutter after a few minutes.
“I know,” Andy practically snarled. “Olsen is going to have a word with him.”
“Goalie looks pretty strong.”
“That kid is definitely a bright spot,” he agreed.
Down on the ice, Liam got control of the puck, flying past the blue line.
His head snapped in every direction, looking for someone to pass to as the opposing defensemen closed in.
There was no one, and Liam seemed to come to the same conclusion at the same moment as me, because he sent a blistering shot towards the net.
But the angle wasn’t great and it ricocheted off the cross bar with a loud clang that could be heard even up here.
“The golden boy is on his game, at least,” Andy muttered, and I rolled my eyes. He’d always insisted on calling Liam that.
“He needs more wing support,” I said, and Andy nodded once before sighing.
“If nothing else, this game is demonstrating our weak spots.”
“And weak spots can be addressed,” I reminded him.
His gaze swept over the crowd, which was slowly starting to filter out.
Not a good sign when the fans would rather avoid traffic than watch the last ten minutes of the game.
I knew just what Andy was thinking—how many of these people had come just for curiosity’s sake?
And how many would be eager to come back after this performance?
Down on the ice, Gabriel Dalton got control of the puck. Andy straightened, seeing the opening at the same time as Dalton. He deked around a defenseman then took off, his path to the net clear if he could just move fast enough.
At the last second, the tall rookie—Weaver—crashed towards the net.
“Stick on the ice!” Andy yelled. I was sure the coaches were screaming the same thing. But they needn’t have worried. When the pass came from Dalton, Weaver’s stick was in exactly the right place to tip the puck into the net.
From the way the owner’s box exploded, you’d have thought the Sting had just won the Stanley Cup. Down on the ice, the tall kid had a dazed-looking smile on his face while Dalton pounded his back in celebration and the red lamp behind the goal continued to flash.
I watched the kid take his seat on the bench, getting back slaps from everyone but Liam, who pulled his helmet off and ruffled up his hair. I couldn’t help but grin—what was it about hockey that made these giant men turn into little boys when they scored goals?
But we were still down by one and the clock was ticking.
On his next shift, Liam went hard for the net, shaking off a defensive player.
He took a shot that just missed before grabbing his own rebound.
Without even pausing, he planted his skates and swung his stick back, firing off what I was pretty sure was the hardest slapshot I’d ever seen.
The goalie didn’t even seem to see the puck as it sailed over his shoulder into the net. Tied up.
Andy was grinning even as his eyes went back and forth between the ice and the time clock.
If the game was tied at the end of regulation, there would be one five-minute, sudden-death overtime period.
If no one scored, they’d move onto a shoot-out.
It would be a pretty exciting way to end the first game in the arena, but I knew Andy would much rather see the team get the win straight out.
Down on the bench I could see Liam hollering at his teammates, banging his stick against the boards, trying to rile them up. He’s a good captain, I thought to myself.
I was still watching Liam on the bench when the crowd drew a collective sharp breath.
Liam jumped to his skates, his eyes on the net, and I quickly tore my attention back to the action.
When I did, my heart stopped. Two guys were barreling down the ice towards Enzo, not a single Sting defenseman in their way.
The entire arena seemed to hold its breath as the forward took his shot and then—
“Holy shit!” Greg called out, pounding Andy on the back. “That’s a hell of a goaltender you got there!”
I could only stare at the ice in shock. Damn, that had been a pretty save.
Like, highlight-reel worthy. But there wasn’t time to catch my breath because Dalton had grabbed the rebound and was streaking back up the ice.
Twenty seconds left now, as he dodged a defenseman and got past the blue line.
He fired off a rocket of a shot but it was wide, there was no way it was going in—and then Jay appeared right next to the goal on the other side, an opposing defenseman practically hanging off his back to keep him from getting into position.
There was a scrum of players by the net and I was sure the officials were going to blow their whistle any second—until Jay somehow managed to grab a bouncing rebound and just tip it into the net.
The red lamp went off. 4-3. We won.
Down on the ice, Jay was staring at the net in what looked like confusion while the rest of his teammates swarmed him, streaming off the bench to go celebrate the first win of the year.
When Liam got to his friend he tackled him, knocking Jay off his feet and into the net, slapping his helmet over and over while the two laughed like little kids.
Next to me, my brother’s grin matched the ones down on the ice.
After lots of hugs and handshakes around the owner’s box, I followed Andy downstairs.
The hallway outside the locker room was chaotic, reporters and family members all trying to get to the players.
Andy shook a few hands before a pretty blonde in a red suit and yellow blouse—team colors— came to direct him to a side room for the press conference.
“You’ll speak right after the coach and before the players,” I heard her tell him. Andy held up a hand to stop her and turned back to me. “You okay down here?”
“I’m fine, Andy. Go gloat about your team.”
He winked at me before allowing the woman to drag him off to meet the press.
“Miss K!” A familiar voice called and I spun to see Josie pushing past the adults who clogged up the hallway. I bent at the waist just in time to catch her as she threw herself into my arms.
“Did you see that?” she cried in my ear. “My daddy scored twice! And my Uncle Jay scored, and he like, never scores!”