Page 35 of Pucking One Night Stand
The hit lands like a shot and he crashes into the boards. His stick flies.
Whistle.
Ref’s arm is up.
Penalty.
Stormhawks fans erupt, pounding on the glass as I skate toward the box. I slam the door behind me, my jaw locked and my breathing sharp.
The clock reads 1:57 on the kill.
Stormhawks set up.
Their center, Smithy, is already loading up.
He fires.
McAvoy snatches it mid-air. Glove save. No rebound. The crowd groans.
I lean forward and grip the top of the boards, locked in on the play. Every second crawls, and we're dialed in.
Shots blocked. Passing lanes shut. We bend, don’t break.
Bishy returns. Vasko taps out.
Finally, the ref points. I’m free.
I explode out, skating hard. Peters has the puck and feeds it up to me.
We’re alive again.
Then Bishy sees the gap.
He goes wide, loads up, and lets it fly.
“BRRRROOONNNK!” Goal. 1-2.
Our bench erupts. Gloves slap and sticks hit pads. Brody meets me with a grin and slaps my gloves as we turn.
The momentum is ours now.
And then the whistle blows. It’s the end of the second.
Back in the locker room, we’re soaked in sweat and steam. The air’s thick with frustration and adrenaline.
McCullum storms in. “This may be their ice. Their home. Their crowd. But it’s OUR GAME! We hit first, we strike fast.”
Danny’s already walking the room, tapping each of us. “We’re one play away. Every move counts.”
McAvoy throws a towel down. “We need tighter coverage on Smithy. He’s finding too much space.”
I stretch my legs out, my muscles twitching. “Damn it! We've got the momentum. Come on, guys, let’s capitalize on it. McCullum is right. It’s their home, so they’ve got more to lose. Makes them more nervous.”
Thumper chomps on an energy bar, nodding. “Let’s get this done.”
No wasted time.
Back down the tunnel. Third period. Do or die.
