Page 93 of Poetry On Ice

They’ve played our goal song so many times I’ve almost lost count.

I’ve seen Robbie on fire before, sure, but holy shit, never like this. We came out here tonight knowing a win won’t do anything for us. We haven’t qualified for the cup and there’s nothing anyone can do about that. What’s done is done, but it’s hard not to feel defeated. A lot of us did before we came out. There was a somber, quiet mood in the locker room before the game.

Not Robbie.

And I know why. For better or worse, I’ve been added to the McGuire family group chat, and let’s just say it explains a lot about why Robbie is the way he is.

Dr. McGuire: Good luck, boys! Remember, the main thing is to have fun.

Mr. McGuire: Play like no one’s watching.

Dr. McGuire: But please rethink the cage helmets.

Robbie: No, Mom.

Dr. McGuire: Why not, sweetie? They were catching on…

Beth: Mom, stop talking about cage helmets.

Beth: Good luck, Robbie and Ant. Call me if anyone’s a dick to you, I’ll come kick their asses.

Beth: FYI, if you let anyone hurt Bodie, I’ll come kick YOUR asses.

Mr. McGuire: Beth, please stop saying ass. Ant’s new to the group.

They’re all here tonight. Stacey’s here too. She’s sitting with the McGuires, and I can’t wait to hear her take onthem after the game. I fully expect her to be in a deep state of shock by the time I see her.

There are only a few minutes left before the clock runs down and the season is officially over. I’m on the bench catching my breath, downing a Gatorade, and thinking about the mockery Robbie's been making of the other team’s defense. He’s infectious to watch. I can’t take my eyes off him. I’ve spent so much time trying not to look that it’s a relief to give in and let myself do it. I don’t take my eyes off him. I don’t try not to smile either. Nor do I make any effort to tamp down the look of love in my eyes.

He’s already on the ice when I go over the board. He’s tired, but he’s not lagging because he’s Robbie McGuire, and he’s built differently. He’s laughing with pure joy. Because he’s happy. Because he loves life and hockey.

Bodie has the puck and flicks it to me. He hits it so fast and so hard there’s a dull clunk as it connects with my stick. The clock is ticking, and there’s a sense of urgency in all of us. A rush. A resolve. We want the same thing. The same thing we always want.

One more goal.

I pass to Luddy. It’s a good pass. Solid and fast. He gets around the first player, but the next one checks him. Robbie’s there to snatch it up. He wasn’t a second ago,but because he’s magic, he’s there now. He slams into their wing and wins the puck. He controls it and makes it look easy. Tapping it left and right as he flies toward the goal. I chase him with everything I have.

A defenseman approaches him. Their center is close too. My gut clenches as I wait for the inevitable crunch. It doesn’t come. Robbie wrists the puck to me and comes to a stop, sending ice spraying. The player attacking him crashes into the board from his own momentum.

I pass the puck back to Robbie and he bats it to me. We do it because we can. Because it’s fun. Because these days, when one of us scores, the other does too.

I happen to put the puck in the net this time, knowing full well that next time, it’ll be Robbie who does it.

It’s an easy win, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t taste sweet. The crowd is euphoric. Baying. Roaring. And who can blame them? It’s not all that often you get to see your team win by six goals on home ground.

As always, the ice is quickly flooded with players when the final buzzer sounds. There are hands and fists offered to me. Taps on my helmet and slaps on the back. I work my way through the team, aware of Robbie the entire time. He’s on my left. A few paces behind me. A smoking hot presence that heats my skin.

I turn to him and smile. He smiles too, but he quickly drops his gaze and looks away. I skate over to him and sling an arm around his shoulders. He hums and leans into me for a second, then he’s gone.

He’s sticking with our protocol. Not putting a foot wrong.

The thing is, there’s not a goddamn thing wrong with what he is to me or I am to him, so I reach out and take his arm firmly, pulling him toward me and resting my helmet against his.

Camera flashes pop and players near us slow down.

There are thousands of eyes on us as I lift my hand to my mouth and rip open my glove with my teeth, pulling it off and dropping it onto the ice. I take Robbie’s hand in mine, taking my sweet time to loosen his glove and slide it off his beautiful hand. A warm hand, veiny and strong. A hand that wields a hockey stick like it’s an extension of him. A hand made to fit in mine.

He’s standing stock still, eyes wide and hopeful as the world around us goes quiet.

---