Page 81 of Married to Number 22
Into that open inch.
I have exactly one heartbeat to watch the puck slide over the goal line before I’m shoved hard from behind?—
And then I’m eating ice.
But I don’t give a fuck because the goal horn is blasting and the Grizzlies’ celebratory song is blaring through the arena’s speakers and Smitty is hauling me up from the ice and hugging me tight. “Fuck yeah, man!” he says, squeezing all the air from my lungs. “That wassick!”
He pounds me on the back, almost as hard as I was just crosschecked, pushing any of the air I just managed to suck in right back out of my lungs.
“Thanks,” I croak as we start skating to the bench, slipping out of reach and taking a second to breathe.
Then I’m skating along the boards, fist-bumping my teammates, knowing that I’m grinning wide.
I can’t believe that shit worked.
But I’ll take it.
“Nice, man,” Joel says as we pause by the open door and he stops to let me go ahead of him. “Really fucking nice.”
I nod my thanks, sit my tired ass on the bench and slide down to make room for the rest of my linemates.
Once we’re settled, Gray—as effusive as ever—lifts his hand for me to fist bump. “Killer,” he says. Then half his mouth quirks up. “Now let’s get one more.”
A word of praise.
Then right back to work.
If that doesn’t describe my captain then I don’t know what does.
I nod, fist bump him back, and then I focus on the game…
And by the end of the third, I don’t manage to score another goal, but I do manage to tally assists on two more of them.
We beat the Eagles for the first time this season.
I’m pulled aside to do press—answering questions about my goal, about my assists on the Gray’s and Joel’s subsequent goals.
My replies are nothing special—just the usual statements about there being many more games this season and that we need to continue to work hard and grind out our wins—but the questions aren’t all that special either.
Still, itispretty cool to see the replay on my goal.
Because that shitwassick.
“Thanks, guys,” I tell our post-game commentators before the camera feed cuts away and I take off my headphones, handing them back to the production staff, extending my thanks to them as well before I start down the hall.
Shower. Cool down routine.
Then back to my condo.
Because tomorrow we’re packing my shit up.
And the day after, we’re bringing it over to Grams’s house—or well, Luna’s and my house now. The team has two days off, one more home game, and then another short road trip.
I want to be moved in before I head out for that trip, want to make sure Luns isn’t exposed to her brother and father without me being there—the first is doable, the second…well, I’m still working on that portion of the plan.
Kind of hard to protect her when I’m on the road.
Shaking my head, I turn for the locker room, but before I can push through the door, a traffic jam of people has me halting, trying to find the source of the backup.
