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“And what if you can’t—“
“You heard the man,” Axel took over, flashing his usual charismatic grin. “Make the damn play. And make it work, too, instead of worrying about what happens if you miss.”
I nodded my thanks, drawing everyone forward into a tight circle. Our faces were dripping sweat. Our bodies heaved, our lungs burning from having played three full periods with two men down.
“Calgary on three,” I shouted, getting ready to break. “One… two… three—“
“CALGARY!”
We skated away to our respective positions, and I reflected on how our whole season had come down to this one crucial moment. We were a single win from the playoffs. A single goal from taking the team into Canada for the international playoffs; a goal we’d set as a team four years back and still hadn’t achieved yet.
The referee skated up, whistle in his mouth, puck in hand. This was it. This was our moment. This was the difference between going home with our tails between our legs, or sharpening our skates and packing for—
The puck left the referee’s open hand, spinning end over end as gravity took over. The opposing center followed it with his steel blue eyes, stick ready, teeth clenched…
But Axel was quick on the drop.
He glued the puck to his stick, those strong legs propelling him forward as he deked left and shifted right. He got around the left-winger and shot straight down the boards, skating behind the goalie so fast, so quick, the guy’s neck almost snapped clean off.
At the last second he let go of the puck and faked a quick wraparound goal. His trick worked. The goalie dove to his right, pinning himself against the post, while the natural momentum carried the puck straight between the defenseman’s legs and over to me.
We’d practiced the play a hundred times, maybe even five hundred. We’d been playing so long together it was impossible to tell, but when it worked…
I cradled the puck with the curve of my stick for a split second, and only a split second. Then, with a quick jerk of my wrist, I put it over the goalie’s shoulder and deep into the right back corner of the net.
The light went on, and it was the most beautiful sight in the world. But my team was already screaming.
“FUCK YES, TYLER!”
There were two seconds of shock, and maybe another two of exultation. And then I was buried, tackled beneath my onrushing teammates. Crushed happily to the ice in a rain of bodies and gloves and sticks as they dog-piled me, cheering and screaming our victory.
When I finally got up and the guys peeled off, I looked to the stands. The place Lexus usually sat to watch us play was conspicuously empty. She hadn’t come late to the game, or even at all.
Damn.
In the beginning she came all the time, watching my every shift, cheering alongside us. But lately she’d only come to some of our games. The ones she did, she only paid partial attention. Half the time her face was lit up by the glow of her phone.
I skated back and forth along the boards, hoping I’d missed her somehow. Surely she wouldn’t miss a game this important! The crowd was already surging, some of them onto the ice. The other team’s fans were already leaving, so maybe—
“Hey!”
I turned, just as a pair of lips smacked themselves hard against my cheek. An arm slid around me. It gave me a squeeze.
“Hey baby! Did you see—“
I stopped mid-sentence to find Ariana blinking up at me.
“Of course I saw!” she practically screamed. “Tyler, that was amazing! You made the playoffs and you’re all going to Canada and—“
She stopped mid-sentence, searching my expression.
“Oh shit,” she chuckled, nodding in sudden acknowledgment. “You thought I was Lexus!”
I shook my head. “No, I—“
“Yes you did. I can see the disappointment in your eyes.”
I started to stay something, but it only came out as a sigh. Seeing Ariana was always the furthest thing from disappointment. And unlike my so-called girlfriend, she’d made almost every game so far.
