Page 100 of No Pucks

I put one of my headphones in and turn up my music. I go through my play in my mind. I slow my breathing and walk myself through shots, running them over and over in my head until I can taste it.

“Cox, come on.” Ridgeway slaps my shoulder. “Wake up. We need you.”

“I’m not sleeping. I’m visualizing, dickhead.” I sit up and roll my neck.

“It’s okay. We all need a quick nap sometimes.” Savage pushes my shoulder as he walks by.

Ridgeway lingers as I get my skates laced up. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Sure, what’s up?”

He sits next to me. “My brother isn’t playing like he should be.”

I frown. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know.” He looks away. “But I’m going to need to rely on you to feed it in to the hole. I’ve talked to the other guys, and they are going to pass it up to you.”

“Why isn’t he out?”

Ridgeway puts a hand on the back of his neck. “He’s not bad. He’s just not with me today. He’s in his head. I don’t know, but we need to win this, and I know you won’t let me down.”

“I won’t.”

He holds out his hand, helping me up.

The crowd is deafening as we step onto the ice. I take the left wing and hunker down, eyes glued to the puck.

The ref drops it, and Ridgeway clashes with his opponent. He gets possession and passes it back to Archangel. We sprint to the line while our defense moves it up. I glance over my shoulder, fighting for position, looking for the puck.

Archangel launches it up to me. I cradle it in, giving Ridgeway a minute to set himself up before flicking it to him. His defense slams into him, knocking him forward. Ridgeway grunts but recovers, sweeping around the goal, sending the puck along the wall as his defense fights for it.

My father is screaming something, but I can’t make it out. I glance around to make sure I’m not about to be crashed as I dart for the puck. I pass it to Archangel, and he redirects it to the other Ridgeway, who loses position.

Anthony swears from the bench.

They take a quick shot on goal with their fast break, but Wolfe catches it. We change direction, sprinting back down the ice. I turn ahead of my defense, and Seaborn slaps it down the ice. I lift my stick, bringing the puck down before flipping around, charging the goalie.

I have a second to hold and see Ridgeway coming up and out. I fake a pass to him—his defender is tight, and their goalie falls for it, trying to move to cover us both, giving me just enough open net. I shoot and hold my breath.

The light ignites.

I put my fist in the air, looking right at my father. “Yes.”

He avoids my eyes, switching out a few guys. Anthony makes a couple of changes, calling me in.

“Nice fucking shot, Cox.”

“Thank you.” I grab a water, still breathing hard.

We hold them off from making another goal, but it’s close.

I’m back on the ice, and we have less than a minute to make something happen.

We’re moving the puck, looking for a shot, and Ridgeway on the wing gets it. His defense charges him, knocking him into the glass. His brother snarls, going after the guy, but I grab his jersey as the ref calls it.

“We’re getting a power play. Don’t fuck this up,” I hiss into his ear. “Fight him later.”

Ridgeway stops fighting me, breathing hard.

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