Page 46 of Desperate Pucker
“That was a stellar showing you had today. How are you feeling?” He glances down at my knee and ankle.
“Really good.”
“You had the youngest guys on the team struggling to keep up with you.” He crosses his arms over his chest, a focused look in his eyes. “How would you feel about playing Friday? You think you’re ready?”
“Without a doubt.”
I hold my breath as he glances down at my knee and ankle again.
“Okay. You’re in.”
I try to keep my expression neutral despite the thrill I feel.
“You won’t be playing full shifts like normal,” he says. “We’re going to ease you back into this so that you don’t get injured again.”
I nod, a little disappointed, but I see where he’s coming from. I need to do whatever it takes to stay off the injury list. Plus, he’s the head coach. What he says goes, so if he only wants me to play a few minutes at our next game, then I need to be okay with that.
“Thanks for giving me a chance, Coach. And for sticking with me while I got back on track.”
His frown eases as he nods. “I’m part of the reason you got injured. The least I could do is have your back while you recover.”
I think back to December when I got into that massive brawl that caused my knee injury.
We were playing Calgary, and as we were walking to the locker room, one of their players, Zach McCoy, said something disrespectful about Coach Porter’s girlfriend, Abby. Coach Porter decked him, which caused a huge fight in the hallway between both teams.
McCoy was a trash player who had targeted me for a cheap shot earlier in the game, and I ended up with a hurt ankle because of it. I didn’t hesitate to jump in. I wanted to make that fucker pay for insulting Coach’s girlfriend and for screwing up my ankle.
“You don’t owe me. I chose to fight,” I say to him.
“You’re a great player, St. George. I think you’ve got a lot of playing time left in you. You’re worth keeping around.”
He walks off, and I head to the locker room, feeling heartened by his words and pumped as hell for our next game.
“St. George. You’re up,” Coach Porter calls out.
I hop off the bench, hit the ice, and get set up for face-off.
This is my first game back since I hurt my ankle and knee, and I’m buzzing with adrenaline, aching to play.
When the puck lands on the ice, Del hits it back to Theo, who takes off with it. We’re playing the Nashville Wolves, it’s near the end of the first period, and the game is scoreless.
Theo gets checked by a Nashville defenseman and loses the puck. Del makes a grab for it, but the winger covering him gets to it before he does. The guy takes off, and I go after him.
My legs burn as I close the space between us. A second later, I check him and take the puck. As I head for the Wolves net, I see a Nashville player coming for me. I speed up. Thanks to all the lessons I’ve taken with Maddy, I’m able to outrun him. When I look up, I notice that their goalie is out of position.
My muscles twitch with the urge to do something I haven’t done in a while—something I was known for when I was younger. A slap shot.
I’m far enough ahead of the Nashville player closest to me, and there’s no one in front of the net.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I wind up and slap the puck. It sinks into the back of the net.
I pump my fist as the home crowd cheers. My teammates crowd around me, hollering and cheering.
“Holy fuck, man!”
“Hell of a goal!”
I fight a smile, but it breaks free anyway. I can’t help it. It feels really damn good to score a goal during my first game back from injury.
