Page 183 of Desperate Pucker
I glance over at Coach Porter’s stone-faced expression as he frowns at the clock. Time is running out for us.
With two minutes left, we get ready for another face-off.
He calls out the players he wants on the ice.
“Williams, you’re up.” He looks at me. “You too, St. George.”
I stare at him, confused. I run plays with Xander in practice, and I’ve played a handful of times with him during games, but this isn’t my usual line.
“Kovalenko usually plays on this line,” I say.
“He’s smoked from that hit he took against the boards, so you’re up.” Coach Porter speaks without hesitation, like I’m the most obvious choice.
Despite the nerves throttling me, I stand up and move toward the ice. Before I turn, Coach Porter steps over to me.
“New York’s not expecting you to be out there. You know why?”
I start to shake my head, but then it hits me.
“Because I’m the old guy on the second line coming off a knee injury,” I say. “They don’t think I’ll be a threat.”
Coach Porter’s eyes flicker. “Exactly. But I know you, St. George. I’ve seen the kind of threat you can be. Go out there and show them.”
His words of encouragement send a fresh wave of determination through me.
The second my skates touch the ice, my focus sharpens. There’s a current of electricity running through me. I’m like a caged animal aching to break free, willing to destroy anything that comes in my path.
When the puck lands, Xander takes possession and speeds off. I head after him, pumping my legs harder than I ever thought I could. I slice across the ice, the edges of my skates like razors.
The Wolverines players are having a hard time keeping up with me. A couple of them mutter a curse when I maneuver around them. I fight a smile. It feels really fucking good to prove them wrong, to show them that this old guy can run their asses off.
I think of all the training Maddy put me through. How she pushed me out of my comfort zone and worked me to the bone. How I wouldn’t be able to do any of this right now if it hadn’t been for her.
My heart hammers in my chest. This is all because of her.
The seconds on the clock wind down. Less than a minute now.
Adrenaline fires up inside of me. It feels like jet fuel is pumping through my veins. I’m on edge, hyperfocused on the puck.
I watch Xander zero in on the Wolverines net, but he can’t get a clean shot with how their defense is all over him.
We’re down to thirty seconds left in the game now. My heart rate is off the charts. Xander needs to take this shot, or we’ll be headed into overtime.
But then he locks eyes with me and passes the puck over. Ten seconds left in the game.
None of the Wolverines players are covering me because they were so focused on Xander and everyone else.
They underestimated me because I’m the old, injured guy. They didn’t think I’d be capable of much.
Determination and excitement surge through me like a freight train. I slap the puck toward the net and hold my breath.
The Wolverines goalie raises his glove, but he’s a millisecond too late. The puck lands in the net right before the final seconds of the game run out.
We won.
I throw my stick in the air and scream, but I can’t even hear myself. The sound in the arena is deafening. All the fans are on their feet, screaming and cheering.
My teammates crash into me, and I fall onto the ice, a huge grin on my face.
