Page 261 of On His Team

“What am I supposed to look like?”

She thinks about that for a second and doesn’t have an answer to it. She shrugs, and then she says, “I’m really proud of you.”

I could say something to move that along. There are about four things available.

“Thanks, G,” I say instead.

She nods at me. Then she holds up two fingers. “Two.”

“Yeah.”

“Go eat your chicken.”

Minnesota owns the first ten minutes.

We’ve beaten them twice this season, so they come out looking nothing like the team we saw in January and not much like the one we beat in March. They’re taking away the middle on every retrieval and sending the second man down the wall before Mackey or I can turn. Percy sees nine shots before we have five of our own, and by our third shift Fuller is yelling for shorter exits instead of trying to stretch the ice.

It takes us a while to listen.

By eight minutes, Mackey and I are going every other shift against Minnesota’s first line. I get to the bench, take maybe three full breaths, and Fuller points at us again.

Mackey looks over. “Again.”

“Yeah.”

We go.

Minnesota traps us after an icing a few minutes later, and Percy freezes the puck long enough to skate toward the corner while the linesman sorts out the faceoff. He taps the back of my leg with his stick.

“They’re sending the weak side early.”

“I know.”

“No. Earlier.”

I look toward their bench.

He’s right.

The next time the puck goes behind us, I stop short instead of chasing it around. Mackey takes the wall. I stay inside, and Minnesota’s weak-side forward comes exactly where Percy said he would.

There’s nobody there for him.

Mackey strips the puck and moves it up.

Thirty seconds later, we finally get a shift in their end.

Benson loses the next offensive-zone draw, but the puck gets tangled under three sets of skates before Minnesota can get it clean. It squirts toward the wall, and their defenseman tries to chip it out under pressure.

Blue is already on him. He knocks it down with his glove, drops it to his stick, and cuts inside before anybody can close the lane. He has maybe nine feet and a defender coming from his right.

Blue doesn’t wind up. The puck is off his blade almost immediately. Glove side. Net.

Our bench comes up all at once.

Blue gets one stride toward the corner before Stanley hits him from the side. Benson gets there next, then everybody else.

1-0.