Page 120 of Goaltender Interference

The other guys …

Well, it was a crapshoot. Graham had been in charge of the music but Tanner had been up with the team for about two games before he took over.

Connor and some of the other vets might have argued at the audacity of the newbie taking the reins, but the truth was, they’d been in dire need of a good locker room DJ since Smitty left and Graham had been a poor substitute last season.

Now, music thumped on the speakers as Tanner yammered to his stall-mate. Crawford was a talker too, so he was jawing to whatever rookie was willing to listen.

Anker Henriksen and Mouse talked quietly, while Arkady sat quietly beside Jesse, dressed in backup gear and beaming every time someone looked in his direction, like he was just happy to be here.

Some of the new guys who hadn’t yet established a name for themselves looked quietly terrified, while the rest talked quietly among themselves.

Hoyt and a couple of other members of the coaching staff had popped their heads in before warmups but Hoyt rarely made speeches except for big games.

Connor liked to say a few words though so he rose to his feet. Tanner hitPauseon the music, Arkady elbowed Jesse in the pads until he glanced up, and the chatter of voices quieted, everyone staring expectantly at him.

“Alright,” Connor said with an easy grin he didn’t feel. “We’re up against my brother and his band of merry idiots. Evanston’s had a rough few seasons but the last thing I wanna do is get too comfortable. I know it’s early in the season but they’re ahead of us in the standings and I don’t need to remind you how hard we had to scramble last year to get a playoff spot. Keep it simple, keep it clean”—he shot a pointed look at Crawford who gave him a ‘who me?’ look—”and for fuck’s sake, keep an eye on Theriault.He’s the trigger man on their power play unit and his shot is lethal.”

Crawford snarled, showing off the gap between his teeth. The chiclets had gone flying during an off-ice altercation between the two of them a few seasons ago. While Theriault had calmed down considerably since then, there was a low-simmering grudge between the players even now and Connor knew there was always the possibility of it flaring to life again.

From what Connor knew, Crawford had more than deserved the punch he’d gotten but that didn’t mean they could afford to spend much time in the penalty box. Boston’s penalty kill unit was terrible and Evanston would happily take advantage.

“Let’s do this!” he shouted, realizing his team was still staring expectantly at him.

With a shout, guys rose to their feet and Jesse shot him a quick wink before he settled the mask on his head and clomped into the hallway to take the ice.

From the faceoff, Evanston controlled the play, and less than thirty seconds into the first period, Connor found himself racing to catch up with Shane Hurst as he barreled toward the Boston net, flanked by his wingers.

A clean snipe past Jesse’s elbow and the puck was in the net, giving Evanston the 1-0 lead. Connor swore.

Jesse looked irritated, but he quickly settled himself again.

Connor skated up and tapped his elbow. “You got this,” he said lowly.

Jesse gave him a short, sharp nod.

They settled into a rhythm, up and down the ice, and the Otters kept up the pressure. But despite some good quality chances on Evanston’s part, Jesse made save after save, keeping them from scoring another goal.

When they reached the halfway point in the first period, Connor was on the bench, watching intently as the Harriers’ second line went out.

Graham got a good shot on the Otters’ net but the puck deflected wide and Connor held his breath when Graham wheeled around the goal. He took another swipe at the puck, shooting it to Anker Henriksen, who snapped it in, Hajek’s diving save coming too late to prevent the Boston goal.

“Fuck!” Connor said, relieved. He pounded on the thigh of the guy next to him, belatedly realizing it was Mickey Krause, whose eyes widened.

Poor kid, the nickname kinda fit him.

He had the potential to be a good player but was, well, quite frankly, a bit mousey. Connor was honestly surprised the kid didn’t squeak when someone bumped him out on the ice.

They ended the first period tied at 1-1 and they were barely a minute and a half into the second period when Evanston scored again, a quick snap from the faceoff from Hurst back to Theriault, who got off a shot from the blue line that slid right past Jesse’s blocker.

Connor winced at the way Jesse’s shoulders slumped, obvious even under his bulky pads as he sat there on his knees, staring down at the ice. Clearly blaming himself for missing it, despite the fact that few goalies would have—or even could have—made that save. But after a moment, Jesse stood, wiggling to shake itoff, then skated a short little lap around his net before he got back into position.

Connor knew the feeling. He hadn’t gotten a single shot on goal tonight yet.

Thankfully, Boston managed to score again, this time on a shot from Krause.

“Good job, Mouse!” Connor shouted when Mickey took a seat next to him on the bench. He patted Mickey’s thigh again, relieved to have the game tied up at 2-2, and the kid gave him a weak smile.

Connor felt even better halfway through the second period when Graham Pennington got a short snapper into Evanston’s net, firing it in so fast Hajek had no time to react.

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