Soon enough, the puck drops, and I’m in my happy place. Between the pipes, everything makes more sense. The world narrows down to angles and trajectories. I concentrate on reading players’ intentions via their shoulders and their stick blades.
Unlike my usual competition, none of these guys are very good at disguising their intentions. Regardless, they’re not afraid to shoot, or to crash the net.
Five minutes in, their captain tries to deke me on a breakaway, but I’ve seen better moves in juniors, and my glove is there to snag it. He swears—real creative stuff about my mother and a moose.
“Sorry,” I call after him. “But your stick handling is giving me secondhand embarrassment. It’s like watching someone try to eat soup with a fork.”
His face turns purple, and now I’m really enjoying myself. The first period ends scoreless, which seems to really piss them off.
“Looking solid out there, Beck,” Forest says during the break.
I light up inside like a Star Wars droid. “Thanks. I’d say I’m trying to impress you, but that would be desperate. And I’m saving my desperation for later.” I wink at him, then immediately regret it because I probably look like I have something in my eye.
But he laughs, soft and low, and the sound goes straight through all these pads and right to my dick.
We head out for the second period. Unfortunately, the Plague scores early—a garbage goal off a scramble in front. I should have had it, but there were three guys in my crease, and I couldn’t find the puck.
Those assholes celebrate like they just won the Stanley Cup.
“That all you got?” their center sneers as he skates by.
“Nah, I’m just getting warmed up. Like your mom at a truck stop.”
“What did you say?”
“Sorry, was that too complicated? I can draw you a picture. Though you’d probably eat the crayons.”
His friend hauls him away, which is probably for the best. If I blacken some chump’s eye, I’d have to explain that to management.
Besides, our fortunes have turned. A minute later, Scully draws blood with the first goal for our side.
“There it is!” Forest yells.
Both teams seem to draw energy off the goals, and the game becomes a blur of saves and chirps. The Plague play dirty, but they’re not as good as they think they are. I make save after save. It’s like I’m back in high school, except everyone has better facial hair. I feel completely competent for the first time in months.
And our skaters? They’re playing like they’ve got something to prove. With two minutes left, we’re up 3-1, and the Plague is getting desperate. Their captain takes a run at Forest, boarding him hard. He goes down, and I’m halfway out of my crease before I remember I’m supposed to be anonymous here.
Forest gets up slowly, shaking it off, and I force myself to stay put. But when the same guy comes in on a breakaway ten seconds later, I’m ready. He tries to go five-hole, but my pads are already there, and the rebound rockets into the corner.
“Sorry,” I call after him. “This goal is closed for business. Try us tomorrow between the hours of nine and five. Or leave a message after the beep.”
The buzzer sounds, and just like that, it’s over. We won. The Plague players slam their sticks against the boards as they leave, but the Stickhandlers don’t even notice. They’re all at center ice, slapping backs and exchanging high-fives. Like they’ve never been happier.
It’s the most useful I’ve been to anyone in months.
Afterward, I hurry to the showers. I need to be clean, just in case lightning strikes and Forest lets me follow him home.
By the time I’m dressed, guys are headed for the doors. I would have thought that “beer league” involved actual beer after a win, but our game started at nine, and it’s already eleven. They make plans to celebrate tomorrow night.
But I’ll be on the road, which sucks.
The parking lot is almost empty, just a few cars under lights that flicker like they’re beaming messages into space.
“Great win, boys!” Scully calls out, jangling his keys with way too much enthusiasm. “Oh shoot, Forest—I forgot to mention. I promised Javier a ride home. His car’s in the shop.” He turns to me with a broad grin. “Beck, you wouldn’t mind giving Forest a lift, would you? He’s out in Erie. It’s on your way.”
My heart does that thing where it forgets how to beat normally. “No! I mean, not at all. That would be... if you want?” I glance at Forest, trying not to look desperate. But also trying to look reliable. And attractive.
Forest could totally call an Uber. He’s probably going to call an Uber. But then he nods, just slightly. “Yeah, thanks. If it’s not too much trouble.”
