I’m only here because the guy they wanted couldn’t be.
But I give him a sharp nod, anyway.
And the second my skates touch the ice, I’m filled with a sense of purpose, secure in my identity, onandoff the ice:
I’m the last line of defense.
They don’t want you, they need you,I can practically hear my ex say, the words bouncing in my head like a bad echo.
I shut the voice down like the slam of a door, and I skate into the crease.
The onslaught is immediate.
The Renegades know I’m the backup, that I’m colder than a glacier. The first low shot to the pads is a gimme. They’re trying to force a rebound, but I see it coming a mile away. I drop into a controlled butterfly, angling my pad to deflect the puck safely into the corner.
No nerves. No sound of blood rushing in my ears.
Just control.
Just efficient, repeatable movements that don’t draw attention to me at all. Because I’m not part of the team. Not really. I’m just here to mind the net until Bouchard is back in the game.
Fortunately for the Arsenal, no one’s a better backup than me.
The final buzzer sounds before I’ve caught my breath.
Before I’ve let it sink in that the Arsenal won.
Wewon.
My chest is heaving when the team swarms me, sticks tapping my pads and helmet, guys patting my shoulders. A chant starts in one section, low, at first, but it grows louder until the whole arena echoes with a sound I’m struggling to even process.
“O’Shan-nan! O’Shan-nan!”
Hughes and Johansson each pull me into a hug.
“Way to bail us out, man!” Hughes says.
“O’Shannan! That’s how you hold a post, brother!” Johansson shouts in my ear, his booming voice carrying over the thunderous celebration.
Soon, I’m getting pulled into the handshake line, and I have to shake myself that I’m here at all.
But I’m not really here. I’m a glorified seat filler. A might-have-been the Arsenal doesn’t mind wearing out. The kind of guy who’ll put my body on the line to help them win.
Though I didn’t on that last save …
Otto comes over with the head coach, Mike, and they both give me a hug and congratulate me.
Otto looks me over.
“That was a smart use of the stick,” he says in his light Finnish accent. “You let the play die on your terms. That’s the confidence you need.”
I’m already sweating, but his words make me flush with worry. “I hoped it was the right play. Not to drop into the butterfly, I mean.”
Otto gives me a sharp half smile that makes me think he’s second-guessing his “confidence” line. “You stopped the game-tying score. That’s the right play.”
I smile as he moves on, but I almost slump in relief, too.
The guys try to sweep me into their enthusiasm, but it still feels like I’ve just watched my favorite team win instead ofmyteam. And when a rinkside reporter with a microphone approaches me, I can’t help turning around to figure out who she’s trying to talk to.
