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But for whatever reason, I’m just not in the mood to question what I’m feeling. I’m in the mood to just feel it.
And right now, I feel like I want to see Phoebe in the stands, I want to know she’s here watching me—and when I score a goal, I want to look to her seat and see her jumping up and down, cheering for me.
Okay, maybe that last part is a little unrealistic. It’s still Phoebe Sinclair we’re talking about. Maybe half a smile, a nod in my direction, and a polite clap is a more realistic expectation.
I skate around perimeter of the rink, playing to the crowd—and then I tilt my blade to grind to a stop, spotting Phoebe.
She’s here.
I bang on the glass barricade, motioning in her direction, trying to get her attention.
She turns. She smiles at me. She gives me a tiny wave with her left hand.
My chest swells.
I can feel my smile wide and high on my face. She returns it with a smile of her own. It’s more reserved, but it’s there.
She’s wearing a Hot Shots hoodie. I never even knew she had one. Maybe she just bought it from the concession stand.
I like seeing her with my team’s name stamped across the front.
Know what I’d really like to see?
Her in a jersey. My jersey. With my number on her sleeve and my last name on her back.
Something strong surges through me, a sort of possessive desire that I’ve never felt before.
The cheers turn into boos, and I know that means our opponents just joined us on the ice.
We’re playing Ohio State tonight. The best team we’ve faced all year. The sports media are touting them as the favorite for the Frozen Four Championship this year.
A spot they’ve usurped from us, thanks to our lackluster opening games.
Four weeks ago, this Ohio team would’ve absolutely crushed us, no doubt about it.
But we’re not that team anymore. If Ohio thinks we still are, they’re in for a rude awakening.
I win the opening face-off, but we don’t control the puck for long. Neither of us do. It’s a gritty, grinding battle as the puck changes hands left and right. The battle on the ice is too fierce for any player on either team to find a clear shot on goal.
The play is physical tonight, and the refs are clearly giving us a lot of leeway.
Ohio decides to test just how much leeway.
Freddie Rahls, one of Ohio’s top players and one of the hottest NHL prospects in the college game, smashes Walsh with a dirty hit that leaves him on the ice. The refs don’t call it.
Ohio uses their man advantage to execute a killer series of passes that ends with Rahls slap shotting the puck past Aaron, putting them up 1-0.
Once Walsh is back up, though, he’s playing with a vengeance. Ohio can’t get anything going because he’s always asserting himself, playing intensely physically and wresting the puck from them at every chance.
We control the puck for the longest stretch of the game so far. Shane passes to Liam, who passes in my direction, and I pull off a one-timer, slamming the puck past their goalie to tie us 1-1 as the first period ends.
The second period is deadlocked. No one scores, and most of the period is taken by the second line of both teams as the first lines rest.
We’re back out in the third period, both coaches knowing that it’ll take the big guns to secure the victory. It’s become such a defensive game that whoever is the first to score in the third period is all but guaranteed to walk out with the win.
Mid-way through, I pass the puck to Liam—and a good second and a half after the puck leaves the blade of my hockey stick, Rahls smashes into me at full speed, crushing me between him and the barricade.
It’s another obvious foul that the refs don’t call.
