Page 30 of Of Pucking Course

I think about what Coach Porter said to me at practice the other day.

You could stand to score more.

Nerves fire off inside of me. He wants me to score more points. I need to do what he tells me, even if I don’t want to. Even if it doesn’t feel right.

My muscles tense as I look toward the Nashville net. Two of their defensemen crowd the front of it, and another one of their players is headed right for me.

I wouldn’t normally try to score in this situation, when the net is crowded and an opposing player is on my ass. But Coach Porter’s words are burned into my brain. I have to do it.

I take the shot, but the goalie blocks it with his stick.

A familiar disappointment tumbles through me. Like I knew that puck wasn’t going to make it in.

I shake off the feeling and refocus. I can’t let one failed shot bring me down.

The puck flies toward Camden and a Nashville defenseman. They scuffle for it. A Wolves player is all over me, but I manage to get around him.

Camden sees that I’m open and sends the puck to me. I’m in a perfect position for a slap shot, so I ignore the doubt that rockets through me and force myself to attempt another shot.

But the second the blade of my stick makes contact, itcracks in half. The puck goes flying, not even close to the net. I’d laugh if I weren’t so embarrassed. If that’s not a sign that I shouldn’t be trying to shoot goals, I don’t know what is.

I mutter a curse and skate as fast as I can to the Bashers bench. I toss away my broken stick and look for Will, the equipment manager, but I don’t see him.

“I got you, McKesson,” Nathan, the assistant equipment manager, says. He tosses me a new stick.

“Thanks, man.” I race over to help my teammates as they scuffle for control of the puck.

The Wolves winger has the puck and is headed for our net. Camden is on his ass, so the winger passes it toward his teammate. I speed up and manage to steal it. The second it hits my stick, I shoot it over to Del. I know better than to try and score again. I’ll end up fucking it up.

Del takes off toward the Wolves’ goalie and blasts the puck to the back of the net. The home crowd is on their feet, cheering. We all crowd around Del and celebrate the goal. We’re two ahead of Nashville now with less than five minutes left in the third period. If we can hold on for the rest of the game, we’ll be one step closer to the playoffs.

We manage to hang on to our lead for the rest of the game. When the buzzer sounds, we go nuts.

“Fuck, yeah!” Theo hollers as we crowd around each other. “One game away from going to the playoffs, boys!”

Blomdahl skates over to us. He crashes into Del, and the two of them fall onto the ice.

I’m laughing as I lean down and help them up.

“Sorry, dude,” Blomdahl says to Del. “I got the zoomies.”

Del cracks a smile. “It’s alright.”

As we skate off the ice and head to the lockerroom, I catch eyes with Dakota. She’s sitting behind the Bashers net with Maya and Ingrid. She smiles at me. My heart beats faster.

I wonder if she found the surprise I left for her earlier today on the kitchen island. For a second, I’m nervous. I hope she doesn’t think it’s weird.

She holds my gaze and mouths, “Good game.” I grin and mouth, “Thanks,” back to her.

A small wave of relief hits. She probably wouldn’t be smiling like that if my gift upset her.

Back in the locker room, Coach Porter addresses the team.

“What a win, gentlemen. Nashville dominated in the playoffs last season, and you just beat them.”

We all holler and cheer.

“I’m proud of what I saw out there on the ice tonight,” Porter says. “You were hungry for that win. You wanted it more than anything.”

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