Page 3 of Wyatt

Wyatt had always been at practice. Or a game. Or on a trip for a tournament.

But still, shots, sharp and bold, and the crowd was on their feet as he kicked out the puck to the refs for a new drop.

The puck came out, and Brummer shot it down the ice to Deke, and Wyatt was back at the hotel last night, reading the email from his sister.

York will meet you after the game in the lobby of the Intourist Hotel. He will connect you with Coco.

Wyatt felt a little like he might be in a Jack Higgins novel, but he was game—

The puck flew down the ice, along the boards, and he moved out of the crease into the corner to field it, slap it back to Brummer.

The hit came hard and fast. One of the Poles, a wing maybe, checked him into the boards.

Pain exploded through Wyatt’s body as his feet went out from him and he landed on his hip.

And sure, he was wearing pads, but sometimes he hit just right—he bit back a word, and realized the wing had fallen with him.

Maybe it was the frustration of the game, maybe the fact that his entire body turned to flame, but Wyatt rolled over and slammed his fist into the Pole’s helmet as he got up.

He didn’t want a fight. Just a reminder.

You didn’t check the goalie.

Except it seemed that the Poles didn’t like his gentle reminder, and suddenly the benches erupted in a brawl. Brummer plowed into a nearby Polish player, and then Deke was there, and the entire second line poured off the bench, and Wyatt went down again.

He lay like a freakin’ turtle, pushing off attackers, throwing his own punches, and for a second, he was thirteen again.

Marshall—what are you doing?

He started it!

Whistles and shouts and the refs were pulling players away, but helmets spun on the ice, and guys were pulling off their jerseys, and the Russian roar of the crowd seemed to fan the flames.

Wyatt rolled to his feet, only to have someone jump on him. His helmet and face mask went flying.

And yeah, he’d had it, so he boxed the guy with his elbow, rolled, and added another punch. This one mattered because the guy’s helmet had also been kicked off, and then there was blood.

Some of it his.

His nose was bleeding, and his eye burned, getting fat, and shoot, they might not have anyone left to play after the penalties were assessed.

The refs finally broke it up and hauled Brummer and Deke to the box, along with the Pole who’d boxed Wyatt.

Which left the Blue Ox two men down and the Poles on a power play.

Wyatt shoved cotton up his nose and took the net. He fielded twenty shots before one ricocheted in off his glove.

Tie game with two minutes left, and Wyatt just tried to breathe.

Goaltending is mental. You have to be able to handle your emotions.

This from his juniors’ coach. Or maybe his uncle John. He couldn’t remember. But he hunkered down and tried to pry Coco from his brain as the last two minutes ticked down.

He couldn’t help her if he was shipped out of the country.

C’mon, Deke.Deke came over the wall, and dove in, swiping the puck and slapping a quick shot on goal. Warkowski stopped it, but Deke followed with another.

Another save.

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