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Good, so are we.
Coach gives us some final rah-rah talk, and we make our way down the tunnel that leads to the ice.
With the lights in the arena flashing and changing colors, the team is introduced one by one.
When it’s my turn to take the ice, I’m met with mostly cheers. Though, as I raise my stick and skate around in a circle, I do hear a few boos.
That’s okay. I just have to win over the doubters by playing good hockey. Although Addison, and the team, would say I can also improve my image by shining at the promo events.
I’m more interested in the former, especially since I’m in a good position to excel after I did indeed win the top-line spot over Finn.
It was a tough battle, as he was giving it his all, too, but I came out the winner. I worked my ass off at what was left of training camp and scored in our preseason games.
Coach Barnes called me in his office and told me I earned it.
You bet your ass I did, and tonight is my chance to show him he made the right decision.
I get started on doing exactly that when the first puck drops, and I win the face-off. Arden gets the puck, but then a Devils defenseman pokes it away.
From there, both teams do a lot of trapping, making it a tight defensive game.
The first period ends with a score of 0-0.
But then things start to open up a bit in the second.
Deep in the opponent’s zone, I handle the puck behind the net, assessing any opportunities.
Nils is in front of the net but heavily covered.
Oh, what the hell?
I try a wraparound goal of my own.
The puck doesn’t go in, but it pops out to Nils, who, despite a Devils player hanging all over him, gets a shot in.
Annnnd we score.
Yes!
The boys and I celebrate around the net. It’s the first goal of the game and of the season.
And I get the assist.
Coach Barnes pats me on the shoulder when I return to the bench. “Nice play, Harrington,” he says.
That makes me feel good.
I don’t rack up any more points the rest of the game, but we do win with a score of 3-1.
Everyone is in a good mood in the locker room.
After showering and dressing in the same suits we wore before the game, Arden, Nils, and I head out for a late dinner at a nice, upscale steak restaurant.
“I am fucking famished,” I tell the guys as we sit down at a square table tucked away in a quiet corner.
Not that we need the privacy. It’s late, and there is only a sprinkling of diners.
Nils and Arden tell me they’re hungry, too, so we all order big-ass porterhouse steaks, loaded baked potatoes, and sides of steamed asparagus and broccoli.
