Page 127 of Second Chance with the Single Dad Goalie
A loose rebound, bodies crash into the crease - he sprawls, covering it up.
But then, Jace faces an onslaught, and I can see it happening before it does. Their captain rips a shot off from the point.
Boom. Goal.
1-2.
Jace’s shaking his head, stretching his legs like something’s off.
Coach notices. I notice. Everyone notices. Like it happened in quick succession.
One minute later, another rush. Their winger cuts inside and snaps a fast shot. Jace drops late.
Puck in.
1-3.
Carson finds an opening and breaks free on a partial breakaway. He fakes a shot, pulling the puck back with the tip of his stick and swooshes right past two Ironbacks and passes to James on his left, who skates towards the Ironbacks's net, dribbling his way past the defenders. He makes a move to shoot it into the net and pulls Whitaker out of position, only to pass it to Logan, who’s already there, open and ready to puck the shot.
And puck the shot he did. The opening we needed. In it goes…
GOOOAAALLL…
2-3.
Thirty seconds later, another Ironbacks’ rush. Their forward gets loose, sneaks inside, and fires a shot - Jace makes a brilliant stop. But the rebound is there. Scramble in front.
Bodies crash. The puck trickles behind him.
2–4.
The bench is silent. The arena is roaring. Jace skates toward the crease slowly, breathing heavily.
Then, he waves toward the bench.
Coach yells. "Blake! Get in there!"
I’m up in an instant, pulling my mask down, and stepping over the boards. The second my skates hit the ice, everything else fades.
Not to brag but this is my net now.
I drop into a quick butterfly, stretching my legs, tuning out the deafening roar of the crowd. The ref skates by, scooping up the puck from our crease, and I bang my stick against the post twice. My pulse is steady.
Coach leans over the boards, shouting to the guys, telling them to play smart, and keep the tempo up. It's the third period and we are down 2-4. We need a miracle.
The Ironbacks win the face off at center ice and dump the puck deep into our zone, trying to pin us down. It rims hard around the boards behind me. Their forecheckers are already closing in, looking to force a turnover.
I see it all happening before it does.
Their winger is flying in, hungry to steal the puck. Our defense is still pivoting, not quite in position yet. But Carson - fast as hell - is already breaking up the ice, cutting through the neutral zone like a bullet.
I have one second to make a decision.
I push off the post, sprinting behind the net to stop the puck. The Ironbacks winger is almost on me. I can feel the pressure, hear the blades cutting into the ice, the boards shaking from the crowd’s energy.
Then, in one smooth motion, I fire a rocket of a pass up the ice.
Not just a chip-off-the-glass kind of clear. A tape-to-tape, perfect stretch pass.
