Page 56 of Pucker Up
The Miami fanswere rowdier than Toronto’s. The Miami Barracudas were one of the top-ranked teams in the league, and were expected to make it to the Cup finals.
As we left the dressing room for warm-up, Mikey jogged to walk out beside me. “What are you going to do?”
“Come on.” I patted his back. “Follow me.”
Holmes turned and motioned for the guys to follow him. Our goalie, a quiet guy name Robbie, was shuffling back and forth in the net, getting the ice ready for the game.
“Robbie,” I shouted.
He squirted water through the cage of his mask. “Yeah.”
I took his helmet in my hands and planted a kiss on the Tiger’s logo at the front.
“Really?” Holmes said.
“What was that for?” Robbie asked.
“It’s our new thing,” I replied.
Holmes shrugged and planted a smooch on the logo. The rest of our line followed suit, and the other players, who had been stretching, noticed and lined up to kiss the logo. The last playerto do it was Gideon. I thought he might grumble about it, but he didn’t.
We finished our warm-up and, after the National anthem, took our spots on the bench. Coach Swanson patted my shoulder. “That was some nice leadership there, Bailey.”
It didn’t slip my attention that he used my last name. Was there room for two Baileys on the team, or had I orchestrated a takeover of the throne?
After the second period, we were ahead by one goal. The Miami players were off their game, and Coach thought that they’d underestimated us. We had them scrambling. We were outshooting them, and had killed all of their power plays, while keeping our own penalties down.
With five minutes left in the game, the Barracudas scored, and while Heart’s song of the same name boomed through the arena, I felt a sense of dread. I couldn’t do the Michigan while we were tied. If that was the reason we lost the game, I’d… I didn’t know what would happen. We would lose and I didn’t want that on my conscience.
The clock ticked away. Just like in the Vegas game, in the last minute, Coach put Gideon and me on the same line. Gideon skated into place and tapped the ice at the faceoff circle with his stick. I replied with the same tap. We weren’t speaking in words in real life, but there on the ice, we were communicating.
He won the faceoff and we charged up the ice.
It wasn’t me who initiated the play, it was Ethan. I circled the net and he passed the puck to me from the corner. We had trained the trick so often, my reflexes took over, bypassing my brain. The puck sat on my stick as I dug in hard and circled the goaltender, spinning as I flicked the puck into the net.
The goal light lit up in my peripheral vision, and then Ethan and Evgeny slammed into me. “Holy fuck,” Ethan whispered. “It worked.”
“He wasn’t expecting that,” I replied.
Gideon looked at me, his eyes dark and his brow furrowed behind his fish tank.What the fuck?he mouthed.
I turned away. I wasn’t going to let him get to me anymore.
The announcement of the goal confirmed it had worked. There was twenty seconds left in the game, but Miami couldn’t get past our defense.
We had won two games in a row, and as we shook hands with the Barracudas, I wondered if Goldie had seen the game.
After the game, the guys wanted to celebrate, but instead, I went back to my room. I wanted to call Goldie, not to see if she saw the game, but to ask her the question that had been burning in my brain since the win. How did she know? Was she a time traveler? Was she a psychic? One could be dismissed as a coincidence, or a fluke, but two predictions in a row? I couldn’t brush off the feeling that there was more to Goldie, and I had to find out what it was.
I settled into my hotel room, but before I could call Goldie, there was a knock on the door. It was Coach.
“Can I come in?” He was still in his coach’s suit and tie. I had already changed into my sweatpants and T-shirt.
“Sure, Coach.” I opened the door and gestured for him to come inside. He sat down on one of the beds. I was watching replays from the game and had to turn down the TV. The light from the screen flickered behind him. Over his shoulder I could see the slow-motion replays of the puck on my stick before I tossed it into the net.
I sat on the other bed and rubbed my hands on my sweatpants. “I know what you’re going to say. I don’t know why we did that shot—”
Coach held up his hand. “We can talk about that at practice. It was foolish, and in my books, showboating, but it worked. You’re a good player, Ace. You’ve got a feel for the game that I’veonly seen with one or two players in my career. Your brother is a great player, but he doesn’t feel it like you do. I want you to start trusting your instincts a little more. Maybe not trick shots, but stop second-guessing yourself. I’ve noticed that your hesitation has disappeared and it has made you a better player.
