Page 38 of Pucker Up
The red light flashed and suddenly the sleepy fans were on their feet. Gliding around the net, I raised my hands in the air and couldn’t stop myself from screaming a victory roar. My teammates slammed into me and the celebratory music boomed. Nothing felt as good as scoring a goal, well, almost nothing.
The owner’s box was far away, and it was impossible to see the looks on everyone’s face, but every single person inside of that room was on their feet, cheering and clapping.
My chest puffed and I took in the feeling in the air. The game was tied. Against the forty to one odds, we still had a chance to win. Thanks to Goldie.
“Nice shot, Acer.” Coach patted my shoulder as I settled into place on the bench.
My asshole brother leaned forward to see past Ethan. “That was a stupid risk. You should’ve gone low.”
Technically, he was right.
“Fuck off, Bailey.” Ethan propped his elbows on the boards ahead of him, blocking him from my sight. “You’ve got some good instincts there, Acer. It’s not always a thinking game.” He smiled from behind the cage of his helmet.
“Idiots,” Gideon muttered and returned his zombie stare to the ice.
With the game tied, the score clock ticked down to zero and then was reset to our five minutes of overtime. Biting my lip, I wondered who Coach was going to select for the first line of three-on-three overtime play.
His hand pressed on my shoulder and I shot onto the ice. After the final period of play, its surface was cut up and full of ruts. Ethan was on the left and I skidded to a stop in front of the linesman, face to face with Curt Selnor, the Las Vegas first-round draft pick. A hush came over the arena as number eight glided to center ice. Gideon.
Hadn’t Coach realized that Gideon and I were cursed? How could he put him on the ice? Together, I was a stick of dynamite, Gideon the wick, and coach had just lit the damn fuse. This was our first chance at a win in months, and it was going to blow up in our faces.
I tapped my stick on the ice, an old habit that I hadn’t done since I was a teenager. Gideon did the same, and nostalgia surged through my body.
Right before the puck dropped, I sneaked a look at the owner’s box. Everyone was lined up against the glass. Back when I was in high school, all of the puck bunnies used to sit in one section of the rink. As a horny teenager, I didn’t want the distraction, or feel like I had to show off for a bunch of giggly girls with shiny lips. I never looked at the bunny section. So why, as a grown man of twenty-seven, did I risk losing focusing by looking up? I couldn’t be sure, but deep in my guts, I knew Goldie was watching my every move. My eyes squeezed tight, and out of the corner of my eye, the black flash of the puck falling through the air brought me back to the task at hand.
The drill that coach had Gideon and me do until we felt like we were going to puke, played out as if we were in the playbook itself.
In the first five seconds of overtime, Gideon passed to Ethan, who dropped the puck back to Gideon—who faked, deked around their player, and did a blind backhand pass to me, gliding into the exact place I needed to be—in front of the net, to tap the puck between Bellamy’s pads.
The arena erupted into a sound that I hadn’t heard since I’d been traded. A victory roar of joy is the best way that I could describe it.
Ethan slammed into me so hard I almost lost my footing. His arms wrapped around me as I stabilized myself. The rest of the team swarmed the ice, the orange and black jerseys swirling around me like I was in a beehive. With the exception of one bee. Gideon had skated away.
He was a stubborn bastard, and one moment of greatness between the two of us wasn’t going to change the fact that he hated my guts.
For the first time in a long time, I realized that I couldn’t keep caring. I turned my back on number eight and slung my arm over Ethan’s shoulder. What was blood? I had new brothers, and bonds made in sports were stronger than those in blood.
As we exited the ice,the sportscaster was waiting for me. She presented me the network’s branded towel, an honor. It had happened to me before, but not in a long time. I had a couple in my laundry pile, but Gideon could start a Bed Bath & Beyond with his stock of ABT towels.
I gripped the terry cloth, bringing one end to wipe the bead of sweat dripping down my forehead. The camera lights burned hot as the newscaster asked me some boilerplate questions. Whenthey got to the one that I knew they’d ask—I let go of the towel and ran my hand through my soaking wet hair.
“Why did you go high on that shot?” the woman with the perfect red lipstick asked and then stuck the microphone in my face.
Well, sometimes a player has to trust his instincts. I’ve been practicing hard and Bellamy’s a great goalie, as you know, but I persevered and stuck with it, and it was a mixture of luck and hard work.
That’s what I should have said—the standard “work hard, discipline, hockey hard” script.
“A pretty girl told me she’d go on a date with me if I did it.”
The interviewer did not have a poker face and looked like she had just witnessed a car accident.
“Just kidding.” I swung the towel from around my neck and swatted it at the camera. “Instinct. I’ve been practicing that shot. Discipline.”
“There you have it, folks, the all star of tonight’s game. Ace Bailey.”
Stars flickered in my vision as the lights were turned off, then the camera crew trudged off to interview the surprise losers of tonight’s game.
Part of me hoped that Goldie would see the clip. It wasn’t exactly the truth, but I wasn’t going to give up on getting a date with her. As I walked into the dressing room, I had made up my mind. If the only thing stopping Goldie from going out with me was her study, I was going to find a way to get out of it.
