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I pushed my hair off my face and wiped the grit from my eyes. This wasn’t her fault. I couldn’t blame Izzy. But something was off tonight. I couldn’t stay focused. I kept getting stuck in this loop in my head, instant replays of all my worst fumbles. Couldn’t get to my instincts through my second-guessing.
“So, who is she?” said Dan. He flumped down beside me. I shoved him away.
“Who’s who? Get lost.”
“Whatever woman’s got you so distracted.” He bumped our shoulders together, elbowed me hard. “Come on, we’ve all noticed. Who are you seeing?”
“I’m not seeing anyone. Go on, let me focus.”
“So that’s your lilac bodywash tickling my nose?” He leaned in and sniffed. I yelled, outraged. I knew what he meant — Izzy’s shampoo. I’d run out of mine, and hers was just nice. It made my hair soft and it smelled of Izzy. It hadn’t occurred to me the guys would clue in.
“It’s nothing,” I said. “It’s my roommate’s shampoo. She spilled mine, so I stole it, and I smell of lilacs.” I stood up abruptly and headed back for my locker. Maybe I had something of hers stashed in there. One of her hair ties. Those got everywhere. I could slip one on my wrist under my glove, and maybe I’d slip on some luck along with it.
I pulled out my duffel and dug through the pockets, and as I did, I felt my phone buzzing. At first, I ignored it, but it buzzed again. The screen lit up through the mesh, and I fished it out. A text bubble popped up, and my heart leaped. Izzy.
We’re watching, she’d written. Me and Leon both.
You’re looking great out there. That last goal was fire.
I smiled, a deep warmth welling inside me, and turned my back on my teammates so they wouldn’t see.
I believe in you, wrote Izzy. Remember, you love this. Pretend little-kid you is on the bench watching, barely believing how awesome he got. Show him his future. You can do this.
My smile widened. I closed my eyes. A sense of wellbeing radiated all through me, like she’d come up behind me and given me a hug. I could almost feel her arms around me, the heat of her body pressed to my back. I’d have that tonight, once Leon was sleeping. He’d be up early tomorrow for some out-of-town job, and we’d made an executive decision, we were safe to sleep over. No way would Leon come knocking at four a.m., wanting to borrow a shirt or a coat or my truck. Tonight would be ours. All mine and Izzy’s. And if I had my way, it would be a victory celebration.
I know it, I typed. Keep watching. I’ve got this.
Izzy sent back a beating red heart. Enrique came up and thumped me between my shoulders.
“What are you doing? We’re back on the ice.”
“Coming,” I said, and stashed my phone in my locker.
Second period, we pulled up the score to a tie. Third period, the air in the arena was crackling. We had fans on their feet, screaming and cursing. We had fights breaking out up in the stands. Someone slammed a placard up on the glass, my face, some girl’s face, and what I guessed was her number. I barely noticed. Inside, I’d gone quiet. All the clutter had flown out of my head, and all that was left was this body-mind sizzle. I saw the puck move and I was on it, faster than thought, moving on instinct. No one could block me — I could see the future, two moves, three moves, five moves ahead. At least, it felt that way, and the fans agreed. They were roaring my name, racetrack-loud, deafening. I caught myself skating in time with their chant, screeched to a halt, and fired off a long shot.
And he shoots— he shoots?—
Someone cut past me, blocking my view. I didn’t see the puck slam into the goal, but I saw the net shudder. I heard the horn blare. The crowd lost their minds, and the volume was stunning, so loud it shivered me down to my bones. I wondered if Izzy was cheering at home. Screaming our triumph at the TV. I liked the thought of her doing that, us fighting together.
Dan skated past me. “Nice. Keep it up.”
I scored again, then Enrique scored twice. Then the other team scored, but it was too late. With one minute left, we’d won. We were golden. I could pull down my pants and moon the stands if I wanted, do a little bare-ass dance and it wouldn’t matter. We didn’t have time to lose, but I couldn’t stop. I got hold of the puck again and squeaked in a slapshot, an improbable bonus. One more for the road. The goal horn blew, and then it was over: Two seconds left, and HE SCORES! HE SCORES!
I sailed off the ice in a storm of backslaps. There’s a high that comes after a truly great game, better than anything, better than sex. Well, at least normal hookup sex. Not the blown-mind kind. I came off the ice on that kind of high, my head full of clouds and the need to tell Izzy. To lift her and spin her — did you see? Did you see me? I needed to share with her, our joint victory. She’d helped me win this. We’d done it together.
“You’ve got to come out with us.” Dan grabbed my arm. “What even was that, in the last minute? It was like you were, I don’t know. Rabid? Possessed?”
I shook him off. “Rabid?”
“You should watch the replay.” Enrique had come up on my other side. “You had men all around you. A wall of solid flesh. A mouse couldn’t have squeaked through there, but you were like whoosh. You went squirting through like a damn melon seed, and then you were flying alone down the ice. No one could touch you. He scores. He scores!” He thumped me so hard I missed a step. Stumbled. Dan caught me and righted me, and we all laughed.
“I don’t know,” I said. “It must’ve been your angle. That space looked huge to me, where I cut through.”
“It wasn’t,” said Dan. “I was right with you. It was tight, but you went for it, and you got through.”
“A million to one, a play like that. Keep going like that, we’ll have a shot at the cup.” Enrique thumped me again and I shouldered him off. “You’ve got to come out with us. We’re hitting the clubs.”
I found a spot on the bench and sat down. “Not tonight.”
