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It’s hella fun for one night, though. And I’ve never had better seats for one of Wes’s games.
When the first period comes to an end, I once again try to catch the attention of anyone from Toronto, but those bastards are all arrogantly skating off toward the tunnel without a backward look. With a lead of 3-1, they have a right to feel cocky.
I trudge back into the locker room with the San Jose game for the intermission. My clothes are still there, on the bench. Just to be an asshole, I dig out my phone, remove my borrowed helmet and snap a selfie in the teal jersey. I text it to Wes. He won’t see it until after the game, but this is a moment that needs to be memorialized.
“Hey, pretty boy,” a player taunts. “Maybe save the photo shoots for after the game?”
“Cut him some slack, bro,” someone argues. “This is a big deal for the dude.”
“Sure is.” I glance over gratefully at the player who’d sided with me.
“Where you from?” the player asks. He’s a rookie D-m
an.
“Grew up in Marin County, but I live in Toronto now. I coach juniors hockey.”
“Cool!” His face brightens. “Toronto, huh? Kinda funny that you got called in for this game.”
“Um…” It’s so much funnier than he even knows.
“Hey, no fucking way,” a voice snaps. I look up into the snarling face of Nik Sokolav, San Jose’s star forward. He must follow the sports gossip sites because he obviously recognizes me. “This guy can’t be our backup! Coach! What the fuck?” He stands up, pointing at me. “He’s sleeping with the fucking enemy! If he ends up having to go in, he’ll hand the game to Ryan fucking Wesley.”
Now everyone is staring. Awesome.
“Look,” I chirp before Gerlach can answer. “Nothing makes me happier than kicking the hubby’s ass. We used to have one-on-one competitions when we were kids and I won my fair share of them. I know how to stop the asshole.”
There are some nervous chuckles in the room.
“Leave the man alone,” Gerlach grunts. “Put the puck into the net tonight, Sokolav, and then it won’t matter who’s in the net.”
And then? That fucker does.
He scores back-to-back goals during the second period, tying the game. From the bench, I don’t miss the tight set of Wes’s jaw as he flops onto the bench after his shift. He’s pissed. He doesn’t like losing. But Toronto turns it around at the end of the second, taking the lead again courtesy of a bullet from Blake Riley.
The buzzer sounds and once again I leave the ice with “my” team, unable to signal to a solitary Toronto player. I do shout out, “Yo, Wesley!” at my husband’s retreating back, which gets me a deep scowl from Sokolav. Besides, my yell is drowned out by the thousands of other yells reverberating through the arena. I guess my short stint as a professional hockey player isn’t destined to be witnessed, but the story’ll be just as good when I tell it to Wes and the guys after the game.
The third period kicks off. Pitti once again is under attack, and once again holding his own against Toronto’s powerful offense.
At least until the dive. It’s not as beautiful and fluid as the dive he took in the first period. This time it’s clunky and all wrong, and two Toronto forwards accidentally collide with him when he’s down. There’s a scuffle, and Pitti is blocked from my view. Whistles blow. The refs skate over to the net.
Relief washes over me when Pitti is helped up. He’s okay. He made the save and took a couple of hits, but—
He’s not okay, I realize.
He’s cradling his stick arm, holding it tight to his chest. One of the refs is urgently speaking to him, and Pitti begins shaking his head. His padded shoulders droop slightly as he begins to skate away from the net.
On the bench, all eyes turn to me.
5
Wes
Injuries suck. They really, really suck.
With that said, we’re already beating San Jose by one, and now we’re about to play the last fourteen minutes facing their third-string goalie? We’ll be up by a dozen goals by the time this game ends.
I feel for Tim Pitti, I really do. He’s clearly in pain as he heads for the tunnel toward the locker room. I wasn’t on the ice for that play, but Blake said he heard a bone snap. The mere thought makes me shiver.
