Page 101 of No Pucks

Their player goes to the box, and Anthony switches out the Ridgeway who got hit to make sure he’s okay. In comes Lovelace. He’s a menacing figure, massive, and the center for our second line.

What the fuck?

“It’s cool. Take the middle and give them hell,” Ridgeway tells Lovelace. Then, he looks at me. “It’s between me and you. Don’t fuck this up.”

Lovelace gets in the middle, and I see what he’s going to do. He’s big enough to play blocker to give us more time on the outside to get a shot off.

We set back up, and the puck is live. Archangel passes it to me, and I barely touch it with my stick before I’m redirecting it to Ridgeway. He takes it but doesn’t shoot. Fuck. He turns around as his defender catches up to him and gives it back to Seaborn. We keep working it around, but the defense keeps crashing the middle, clogging the center.

“We’ve got to spread it out,” I call.

Lovelace nods and gets to the side then darts up, opening some of the center. The defense doesn’t know to do, so he follows, but that prevents them from sliding between us effectively to cover the open man. I get the puck, and as one guy leaves Ridgeway to try and cover, another moves from the top. Still, we’ve caught them off guard. I slap it over to Ridgeway as he breaks for the goal. He redirects the puck midair right at the goal.

Time slows.

The puck ricochets off the goalie’s arm.

Fuck.

But the puck hits the cross bar, and we crash, swiping at the puck. My stick makes contact, flicking the puck. The goalie’s knee comes down but barely misses the puck. It slips in under right over the line.

The light blares.

Ridgeway slams into me, wrapping his arms around my shoulders, quickly followed by the rest of the guys on the ice.

“Nice fucking shot,” Anthony says to me when we finally make it off the ice.

I’m sitting in a bar,hours later, piss drunk. We all are. It has been a good night.

But I don’t want to be here. I want to be in bed with Anthony, and that blows my mind. I made the winning shot of the game. The entire school is out celebrating with us, including a ton of people who would love to “reward” my efforts, and I’m theboring guy who wants to be home with his boyfriend. Old me wouldn’t recognize this me.

I don’t need to forget.

It doesn’t even matter if we lose the conference or championship. We’re ranked well, but it’s not as big a deal as this. I’ve wanted to do this to my father as long as I can fucking remember.

Evander sits on the arm of my chair. “I’m shocked you’re still here.”

“Why are you here? Don’t you have a curfew?”

“Mother said I could come find you, and James promised to get me home before midnight.”

James waves from behind my brother.

“Is he happy to have you back in the city?”

“I think? He’s been acting weird,” Evander mutters so James can’t hear him over the music.

“Weird how?”

“Like long hugs. And asking me weird questions. He’s been clingy but also pessimistic.” Evander throws his hands up. “Like Dad is going to kidnap me or something.”

I glance between them. “Does he have a crush on you or something?”

Evander makes a face. “We’ve been friends since pre-school. No.”

“Just checking.”

“He’s like you. He likes older guys, and I like women.”

---