He pressed his gloved hand to his heart, then to his lips, and I knew right then.
Surely, Jack loves me back.
SEVENTEEN
Jack
Sometimes the smallestthings make the biggest impressions.
Listening to the national anthems of the US and Canada being played as I stood with my teammates was surreal. A memory I would cherish forever if we won gold or came away with silver. Just being here, suited up, after having to sit on the sidelines was monumental.
So, while this was a memorable moment to carry with me always it was the short little moment at the glass with Tian that was burrowing into my heart where it began to take root. Now was not the time to be romantically daydreaming but when he had looked at me I saw so many things in his gaze. Pride, yes, obviously, but something more. A depth of emotion telling me he loved me, with a ferocity that matched my own feelings for him.
Knowing I should be focused on my game I pushed the emo stuff aside. This was hockey. Big things were about to play out. USA vs Canada for the gold. It had been quite a few years since our boys had brought home the gold. There had been some lean years for our teams, both men’s and women’s, so we were hungry. We had to bring the gold home. The women’s teamhad done it, so it was up to us to make it a double medal gold bonanza. I hoped my kidney was ready for what might come. I’d been cleared to play by several doctors then wrapped up like a saloon girl. My waist was so cinched I could appear onDrag Race. No hog body for old Jack. I’d taken all the precautions and felt good. Sure, there were some twinges when I moved a certain way but not enough to keep my ass on the bench. Singing along to our anthem, I felt as if this was perhaps a prelude to something monumental. Like a change was on the horizon. Not that I’d not experienced lots of change over the past few years. Now, though, there was a brightness to the future that I’d not felt in… well, I couldn’t recall when. What the change was I couldn’t say but it had to include Tian. Somehow, someway. I was not about to go back to the no-contact days. Nope. That was not an option. We’d work something out…
“Hey, O’Leary, they’re singing “O, Canada” now,” Starry whispered in my ear.
“I know. I’m singing it to show a sportsmanlike respect with the Canadian team,” I lied like a rug. Starry rolled his eyes.
“Okay, men, this is our game. The Canadians are all flash. They’re nowhere near ready to take us on! I need you all to go out there and show them what we can do!” Coach yelled as he stalked up and down the bench, his tie already askew. By the end of the game, it would be a tangled mess from him using it to express himself. Tie talking. Coach spoke it well. “I want everyone tight to their man. Limit their inside passes. I want every one of you to keep their captain tangled up. He’s one of their best forwards and they know we know it. Protect the net and fight like junkyard dogs in the corners.”
We hit the ice like a pack of mongrels facing off against a pack of purebreds. Yeah, the Canadians had won gold in this sport way more often than we had. The Soviet Union had moregold than the US. A long time had passed since that famous game in Lake Placid.
I drifted slowly to the left, settling in behind the blue line near a winger. Starry positioned himself behind the center, hoping we'd win the faceoff. Then we could react defensively or offensively depending on who won. The men in red sweaters won, their captain snapping the puck to one of his wingers. Off they went. The fuckers were fast—lightning fast, with skating moves that would challenge all our defensemen throughout all three periods.
I caught up with the man with the puck, and using my shoulder, introduced him to the boards to the right of our goal. He grunted. I kicked the puck free then shuttled it out of our zone to our resident speedster, Tony Pritchard, aka Pritch, the second-highest scorer in the league coming into the Olympic break. Pritch tore down the ice to take a shot on goal the Canadian goalie had to work hard to block.
That breakaway was special. Not because it was a thing of fucking beauty but because it seemed to set a trend, a precedent, blaze a path, create a benchmark. Call it what you wished but something seemed to overtake our team. We didn’t play perfect hockey. The Canadians were too slick and strong to not be robbed of the puck or sneaking in quality shots. Even with my back voicing its opinion about this much use even that still ugly contusion had to admit we were beyond in sync. We were playing all-out, balls-to-the-wall, ugly hockey.
Going into the first intermission we’d held the Canadians to five shots on goal. I felt it. The hits I gave as well as the ones I received. No one was seemingly targeting my kidney area but a few of the checks rattled not only my teeth but my poor kidney. One, delivered by a powerhouse of a French-Canadian defenseman near the end of the period, shook me right down tomy toenails. Clean check. A thing of beauty. I planned to return the favor at the first opportunity.
When we hit the ice to start the second, things were still sitting at a goose egg each. This period was always a bit of a bitch. The long change was felt by all. Skating that longer distance added to fatigue, which led to fuckups. I nearly lost my man midway through and had to take a penalty to stop him from breaking away. Coach was not impressed. I wasn’t either to be honest but if you gotta trip a dude to save a high quality scoring chance then you trip a dude. The Canadian captain knew he had drawn me into that trip, but he wasn’t a showy type. He didn’t have to be. He led his team into a power play that cost us a goal.
Coach read me the riot act when I made the skate of shame back to our bench. An ass reaming I deserved. My body was not up to par, not wholly. My back ached like a rotten tooth, but I was playing on despite the aches. A bruise did not keep a hockey player on the bench. I’d seen other guys skate with punctured lungs, broken bones, and busted noses. I’d been known to yank a loose tooth from my mouth, rinse and spit, and go back out for my next shift.
Now, though, I had something to prove. Even if I was old and battered like a farm horse I could still plow a field. Starry and I amped things up. We played old-style defense, skating right on that edge where the refs would give us looks but couldn’t call us on anything as we were keeping our skates and sticks on the ice. Like the good noodles that we were. No check went unfinished. No man left uncovered. We fucking blanketed the Canadian offense for ten minutes, our alternate captain pulling a slashing call with three minutes left from a weary Canada player. That led to a goal for our team that carried us into the third tied one to one.
I gulped energy drinks, downed four Ibuprofen, and sat with a heating pad tucked into the back of my hockey pants as Coachgave us our orders. Simple orders. Keep playing ugly. I gave Starry a wink that he returned. Ugly we could do.
With seven minutes in the third it was ugly that did the deed. Thankfully I was on the ice with Starry and our top line, buzzing around the Canadian net like irritated hornets when Dave Killings, a winger from Seattle, took a sloppy shot on goal. Marleau, the Canadian goalie, batted it away with his glove back out into play. Pritch found the puck as it landed, drew back and let the black rubber fly. It hit a Canadian player in the shin which changed its trajectory toward the net. The goalie flailed at the puck as it soared over his left shoulder but couldn’t make the save. The red lamp lit. The USA backers—Tian, his folks, and my sister among the hundreds wearing our colors—roared. We fell on Pritch along the boards, slapping his back, patting his helmet, and whooping like demented hyenas. Getting people to the front of the net was never a bad thing. It wasn’t a slick, beautiful goal. It would not win any sports writer awards or accolades. It was butt-ugly, but it was a goal. And that, at the end of the day, was all that mattered.
I’d never known seven minutes to take so damned long. The Canadians did not back down. They came out with a fire under their asses that ran us ragged. They were firing from every angle.
“Fuckers are shooting from the fucking concession stands,” I grumbled, limping off the ice after blocking a shot with my knee. That was going to need ice. My whole body was going to be nothing but a contusion. Pretty romantic to gaze at when Tian and I were ferreted away by my sister to some secret getaway in Milan. Had no clue where we would spend our two days, but Fiona was certain it would please. She’d brought us together so I was sure she would do us good for this little break from the world. Lord knows we both needed a recharge.
I tossed my helmet to the floor to wipe my head with a towel. The trainer asked if I was all right. I said I was then I shoved myhelmet back on to be ready for the next line change. My sight darted between the on-ice action and the clock above center ice. The final two minutes were sheer chaos, but we held tight. We guarded our net as if it were our sister’s chastity. When the final five seconds ran out, things got more than a little madcap. They veered right into insanity.
The buzzer sounded and for a moment I heard silence and then…
We’d done it!
Gold!
We rolled out onto the ice, burying our goalie, who’d stood on his head to not allow one of those blistering shots in, to celebrate. We met on the ice to shake hands with the Canadians, who were obviously disappointed but polite as always.
It was a blur of activity and celebration that ran right into the medal ceremony. The Canadians went first. We went second, our names called out as had been the case for the silver medalists, as a representative of the Olympic committee draped a gold medal over our sweaty heads, then shook my hand. The American anthem was played once more, then we gathered at center ice, a large flag with us, to have our pictures taken.
Ramped up on the victory, pride flowing through me, I was sure I wouldn’t come down from this high for a long time. I couldn’t wait to see my loved ones. There were parties to attend, I was sure, and I would go to one, but what I was looking forward to the most was tomorrow morning when Tian and I could leave all of this hoopla behind for just a little while. But tonight, we partied!
