Page 123 of On Ice

With six minutes left, Henderson strikes again for Buffalo, capitalizing on a defensive zone turnover. His snap shot beats Noah high glove side.

2-2.

The KeyBank Center is deafening now, the crowd sensing another Ice Hawks road collapse. My ears ring with their cheers, my mouth dry from exertion and tension.

“Stay with it,” I call to my teammates as we line up for the center ice faceoff. “One shift at a time.”

The final five minutes are a blur of desperation and determination. Both teams trade chances, the play flowing endto end. Noah comes up huge again, sprawling to deny Wilson on a two-on-one with an acrobatic glove save that defies physics.

“Holy shit,” Miller mutters as we tap Noah’s pads on the way to the bench.

With ninety seconds left, Coach calls timeout. We gather around, gasping for breath, sweat dripping onto the ice beneath us.

“One more push,” he says simply. “Riley’s line with Torres and Mills. Get it deep, cycle, find a lane.”

The faceoff is in the neutral zone. I line up against Kowalski, our eyes locked in mutual respect and determination. The linesman drops the puck, and I manage to tie him up just enough for Rodriguez to swoop in and kick it ahead.

Torres retrieves it, carrying it deep into Buffalo territory before taking a hit to make a play, sliding it behind the net to Rodriguez. The clock ticks under a minute.

Rodriguez circles behind the net, patient, scanning for options. Mills activates from the point, drawing coverage. I battle for position in the slot, Baranov’s stick digging into my lower back, right between the pads.

“Here,” Rodriguez calls to me, indicating a pass is coming.

But it’s a decoy. Instead, he feathers a perfect pass to Torres, who’s drifted in from the point unnoticed. Torres doesn’t hesitate, one-timing it through a maze of bodies.

The sound of the puck hitting the back of the net is the sweetest music I’ve heard in weeks.

3-2 Ice Hawks. 42.3 seconds remaining.

Buffalo pulls Vitek for an extra attacker, throwing everything at us in a desperate final push. The last shift is eternal, clearing attempts that don’t quite make it out, blocked shots, scrambling recoveries. My lungs burn, legs leaden from exhaustion.

Noah makes one final spectacular save with 5.8 seconds left, smothering the puck against his chest, refusing to give up a rebound.

The final faceoff is to Noah’s right. I’m not on the ice. Coach has our best defensive unit out, but I stand at the boards, knuckles white around my stick. Rodriguez takes the draw, but Miller reads the play and jumps on the loose puck, controlling it cleanly before moving it to Reeves.

The horn sounds. Game over.

The bench empties as we mob Noah, a tangle of exhausted limbs and exhilarated voices. Breaking our road losing streak feels like exorcising a demon, the collective relief palpable as we line up for handshakes.

“Didn’t think you had it in you,” Kowalski says with grudging respect as we shake hands.

Neither did we.

In the locker room, the mood is euphoric but tempered. We need to win one more game, and it’s the most important. Our final game against the Montreal Renegades is in three days. Even though we still have that obstacle to face, I allow myself a moment to savor this win. The ache in my muscles, the lingering taste of victory, the knowledge that we’ve kept our playoff hopes alive for at least one more game.

“How’s the cheek?” I ask Torres, dropping into the stall beside him.

“Worth it,” he says, grinning. “I told you we’d get the next one, Cap.”

I smile. “Yeah, you did.”

Tomorrow we fly home, but tonight, in this cramped visitor’s locker room that smells of sweaty balls and victory, we’ve proven something to ourselves. On the road, against the odds, we found a way. We didn’t give up. We kept fighting.

And in hockey, sometimes that’s all that matters.

****

While my love life and hockey are going well, Mom’s health has been in a steady decline recently. I visit her every week if I can make it happen, but she caught pneumonia a few weeks back, and she isn’t bouncing back like we’d hoped.

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