Page 74 of Goaltender Interference

The guy shoved him back but a second later the whistle blew and a linesman was there, settling it down.

Connor caught Luke Crawford’s gaze from a few feet away and he lifted an eyebrow, clearly asking Connor if he wanted to make the game a little feistier. Connor nodded, because sometimes that was what it took to get the boys going, and he wasn’t about to leave the ice at the end of the period with a 0-0 score.

They neededsomething.

After the next faceoff, as New York pushed them back into their defensive zone, Crawford slammed into New York’s puck carrier, the open-ice hit sending him sprawling. One of New York’s defensemen—Trent Howell—took exception to it, barreling into Crawford.

They tangled, grappling for each other’s jerseys, a shout rising from the crowd.

The teams met in a clash of bodies and frustration. Connor grabbed for the nearest New York player, wrestling with him when he tried to land a hit. Connor had him outmatched in both size and experience, so he dodged the punch and got the guy in a headlock.

Crawford and Howell were still going at it, gloves flying to the ice and Crawford got in a few great hits, then pushed Howell down to the ice, still swinging.

Two linesmen finally got in there, pulling them apart.

Crawford shouted, “Fucking weak-ass pansy, needing to be rescued,” as he got pulled away.

The ref ignored the slur. They often did, especially if it wasn’t actually directed toward an out LGBTQ+ player, though Crawford went to the box for the fight of course.

Connor’s blood was singing in his veins as he hopped on the bench and Boston’s penalty kill unit took the ice.

They had a great chance in the offensive zone while they were killing the penalty, but once again, Walters batted the disc away and New York got control. The penalty had nearly expired when Tanner got control of the puck, shooting it toward GrahamPennington, who slammed it into New York’s net, Walters too slow to stop it.

Tapping gloves with Pennington, Connor let out a relieved sigh.Finally.

They were up 1-0 as they left the ice at the end of the first period.

The Harriers locker room was shaped like an oval and Connor clomped over to one of the long walls where his stall was situated about halfway down.

He stripped off a few layers to cool down, then guzzled some electrolyte water.

Jesse’s stall was set up along the narrow wall on the far end, across from the entrance, and he flashed Connor a fleeting grin when he lumbered by, bulky in all his gear. He stripped off some layers too, until he was bare from the waist up, lean torso flexing as he reached for a power bar.

Connor had to glance away, but he found his gaze returning to Jesse’s body, studying him while he joked around with Kady, gesturing excitedly about something. Kady nodded, laughing, and Connor wondered if he even understood what Jesse was saying, or if he was only responding to Jesse’s energy and excitement.

Back out for the second period, Coach Hoyt reminded the team to keep up the momentum and try to score early in the period.

Connor nodded, setting up for the faceoff.

He got the puck off to Crawford, who passed it to Anker. Anker skated hard along the wall, shooting it to Mickey Krause. Connor, deep in the offensive zone, wheeled around the net, calling out “open,” in the hopes Micky would shoot his way.

When he did, Connor swatted it toward the goal, the puck slipping cleanly between Walters’ catcher and pad.

Arms in the air, Connor shouted his joy, the noise lost in the roar of the crowd and the sound of the goal horn. Mickey slammed into Connor a moment later, Henriksen joining them and Crawford nearly bowled them all over in his enthusiasm to join the celly.

“Fuck yeah!” he shouted, jostling Mickey’s helmet. “Nice one, boys.”

Pleased, Connor skated to the bench to tap gloves with his teammates. That felt damn good. It was nice to get his first goal of the season out of the way so it wasn’t hanging over him.

A few minutes later, Boston was on the penalty kill, deep in the defensive zone, New York pressuring Boston until they were playing on their heels. Connor held his breath when Rasmussen fired, the puck pinging loudly off the post with a clash of iron.

For a moment, Connor thought they were safe but he groaned when he saw Jesse smack his stick on the ice, clearly frustrated. Connor glanced up at the Jumbotron, watching the replay and swore when he saw the puck had hit the post, then ricocheted into the net, landing New York their first goal.

There was nothing Jesse could have done to prevent it, but Connor glanced over to check in, watching him tilt his mask back and squirt some water in his mouth. After a full-body wiggle like he was literally shaking it off, he snapped the mask back into place. He seemed calm as he hunkered down in net again and Connor smiled to himself.

He liked how in control Jesse seemed. How rarely he appeared to get rattled.

For the next ten minutes, the score remained 2-1 in favor of Boston, though New York was clearly pushing hard to get another.

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