Page 47 of Slap Shot

The pressure we’re applying is making the Rays scramble, and they’re turning sloppy. Frantic, almost, and I know the rest of our first line is ready to get back out there so we can put this game away.

“That goal of yours is going to be a Top Ten play for sure.” I squirt water in my mouth and wipe my neck with a towel. “You feeling good?”

“Every time I’m out there, I remember why I love this game so fucking much.” Mav grins and looks at me. “I have to show off tonight. Emmy is watching from home, and she said if I scored at least one point, she’d let me?—”

“Don’t finish that sentence.” I lean over the boards and watch Grant skate backward. He does a good job on defense, stopping a high hit with his glove before dropping the puck and taking off toward the other end of the ice. “You’re going to make my ears bleed.”

“We need to get you a point.” Maverick hits his stick against the boards when Connor misses a shot that goes wide right. “You haven’t scored yet this year.”

“We’ve played ten games. And you know I don’t care about scoring.” I fix my helmet and track the puck, waiting for Coach’s signal to switch lines. “Just want the win.”

“Selfless as always.”

Riley slings an arm over my shoulder and shakes me. “Do you think your chef is watching?”

“I don’t think she gives a crap about any of this.” I wave my glove around the packed arena. “She didn’t know who I was the first time we met—I highly doubt she’s spending her night watching us.” I clap when Liam dives on the puck and stops the Stingrays’ aggressive offensive push. “It’s not her thing.”

“Bummer, dude,” Maverick says, but I shrug.

I don’t care that she doesn’t watch hockey.

It’s refreshing to come home andnottalk about practice or games. It’s nice to have a part of my life that doesn’t involve around skating or how many assists I had the night before. I like knowing she hangs around the kitchen and pretends to clean up while I eat dinner because she likes me as a person, not me as an athlete.

The clock ticks down to five minutes, and Maverick, Riley and I tumble back onto the ice. The puck gets passed to Ethan who drops it back to me. I skate across center ice and toy with the Stingrays’ player who keeps trying to go for a steal. He moves to the right so I move to the left, passing to Riley who passes it over to Maverick.

His backhand shot hits the goal and ricochets off the post. I’m there to scoop up the rebound, skating backward while my teammates get in position.

“Take it, Hud,” Maverick yells as he powers himself forward, and I eye my other options.

The obvious play would be to pass it to him or Riley—they’re the best shooters on the ice right now—but neither are lined up in a good position. With three minutes left, we’re going to get one more break before we head back in for the rest of the period.

Our second line doesn’t have the defensive intensity our first line does. If we don’t score now, there’s a good chance the Rays will try to tie it up when we head to the bench.

One more scan of the ice tells me it’s now or never, because an opponent is charging toward me. He slices his stick at my skates and I jump, taking the puck with me as I move to the right.

I pivot and pretend like I’m going to pass the puck inside the crease to Maverick. The opposing goalie tracks my movements and turns, positioning himself to brace for an up-close shot. I take advantage of his misread and pull back, knocking the puck with a slap shot to the upper right corner of the goal.

It sails straight into the net and the horn sounds. The crowd groans in disappointment. My teammates surround me and I knock their helmets with mine in celebration.

I go down the bench to give all the guys a high five then I skate to Liam and tap his helmet.

“About time you got one,” he grunts, and I laugh, heading back to the bench.

“Incredible shot, man,” Riley says, and Maverick hugs me.

“Y’all need to stop acting like I just won us the Cup,” I say.

“Not yet. But maybe in June.” Grant touches my knuckles with his glove and jumps over the boards. “Love you, Huddy!”

“Nice shot, Hayes. That’s the kind of aggression I want to see this season,” Coach says, and I beam at his praise.

“Thanks, Coach. I’ll keep working on it.”

We close out the game with a well-earned 3-1 victory. After a short interview with Piper, I drop into my chair in the visitors’ locker room and start to peel off my gear. My phone buzzes in my cubby, and I reach up to grab it.

It’s probably a message from my dad. He sends a thumbs up after every game, and he hasn’t missed a single one since he got a cell phone. I slide my finger across the screen, surprised to see a message from someone else.

Madeline

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