Page 52 of Empty Net

“Yes, baby, yes!” I yell as I skate up to the end of the bench as Lawson, Hayes, Thomas, and our two defensemen skate by, bumping fists with the team.

“You see that, Foxy?” Lawson asks, grinning proudly.

“Oh, I saw. Fucking rights, boys!” I shout to the guys as they skate by and high-five my gloved hand.

I peek at the clock. There’s still a lot of time left to play. If we’re going to come out with this win, we have to play our best hockey of the game right now.

“Come on,” I say to myself as I skate back into my crease. “You can do this.”

The ref drops the puck, and it’s a mad scramble, but Edmonton wins it and immediately gets to work, throwing the puck in deep and slamming our players into the boards with much more force than they’ve used all game. They’re pissed now. They’re going to be throwing everything at the net, trying to tie the game again.

With just five minutes to go, they attempt to go five-hole, and I get my pads down just in time to block it, covering the puck with my glove to get a whistle. We go for another face-off, and once again, they win. They shoot it toward us, and Icover the puck, earning us a whistle. Another reset and they do the same thing again, this time pulling the goalie once they gain possession, then driving toward the net.

“Fuck!” Keller calls, the puck zinging off his leg. He goes down in a heap but keeps in the play, swinging his stick back and forth to block a pass. It’s fucking ballsy, and I love the guy for it, especially when he gets back to his feet and intercepts another shot, launching the puck down the ice for an icing call.

We can’t change, which sucks because we’ve been hemmed in our zone for far too long, but it’s worth it for the break.

“Holy shit,” Keller grumbles, his hands on his knees as he works to catch his breath and stretch out the pain in his leg.

I skate over and tap him with my stick. “Thanks, Kells.”

He gives me a twisted grin. “Any time.”

I think he could mean it. Keller lives for the game’s physicality, happy to play the enforcer role.

Edmonton wins another face-off, and we’re back to battling. Wefinallycatch a break on a bad bounce, the puck going out of the zone but not far enough for icing, and we get a much-needed line change, but it’s risky. Edmonton is fast. Suddenly, they’re barreling into our zone with a speed we don’t have, and we just don’t have the ability to keep up as they fire the puck right at me. Their first attempt pings right off the crossbar, and the crowd’s cheers echo through the building. If we come out of this with two regulation points, I might have to kiss that damn bar later.

They pick up the rebound and try again—I stop it with my blocker. Another free rebound and another rush from their forwards. It’s a mad scramble in front of the net, and I’m barely able to track the puck, so many sticks and skates in my way. I’m down. I have the puck just under the edge of my glove, but it’s not completely covered, and Edmonton knows it too, poking at me, trying to get it past me.

And it fucking works.

The buzzer sounds, indicating a good goal, and I sit on my ass, hanging my head as the opposing team rallies together, cheering because they’ve tied up the game with just under a minute to go. The crowd is stunned silent, and someone pats my head. I don’t know who, and I don’t care. It does nothing to make me feel better about failing my team again. We’re going to overtime. There’s no doubt about it. Another point we’re giving away, and it’s all on me.

The boys win the next draw and drag the puck back into our zone, both teams content with where we’re headed, and when the final buzzer sounds, signaling the end of the regulation, I don’t bolt toward the bench. I rest there, elbows on my pads, trying to reconcile how I once again let my team down.

“Shake it off,” Locke says, skating up to me. “We got this, Foxy.”

I nod, tapping the posts before grabbing my water bottle and pushing off. I peel off my mask and skate to the bench as the guys gather for a quick session with Coach while the ice crew cleans off the snow.

“We’re winning this,” he says sternly. Coach Smith is a controlled man. He commands our attention without being flashy and isn’t one of those coaches who gets riled up easily. But I can tell in his voice that he’s unhappy about our play. I don’t blame him. I’m not happy about it either. “We’re not letting them come into our barn and leave with two points. Lawsy, you’re on the face-off.”

“Got it,” Lawson responds, laser focused, which doesn’t happen often with him. He’s as determined to win this as I am.

“Get the puck and get it up the ice as fast as you can. Fire everything. Don’t wait for the pretty goal. We aren’t looking to make the highlight reels tonight. We just want that point, you got it?”

“Yes, Coach,” the team says as one.

Coach Smith nods. “All right. Let’s go finish this thing.”

His eyes collide with mine as I squirt some water into my mouth, and we have a silent conversation.

It wasn’t your fault, he says.Get back in there and do your job.

I dip my head at him and skate away from the bench, taking my time getting to the net. I don’t know how it happens, maybe intuition or just pure fucking magic, but when I lift my head, I see the prettiest pair of blue eyes I’ve ever seen.

Lilah.

She sends me a wave, a soft grin on her just-as-soft lips. I instantly smile back, and I try not to read too much into that as I skate into my crease, never once taking my eyes off her. The fans are going crazy around her, pounding on the glass and gearing up for the thrill of bonus hockey. But they aren’t my focus right now.

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