Page 25 of The Trade Deadline
5 seconds.
He faked a shot then passed to Jordy Foster at the point.
6 seconds.
Jordy passed it back to him.
7 seconds.
He took the shot.
8 seconds.
The goalie stopped it but couldn’t control the rebound.
9 seconds.
Jake was up front scrambling for the loose puck in the crease. Lars rushed in to help?—
It hit the back of the net at exactly ten seconds after the drop, though it was Jake who officially got the goal. Still, Ryan buzzed with excitement as Lars waved a scolding finger at the goalie and skated over to join the others for a line of high fives.
“Got you a goal,” he said a few minutes later when he sat down next to Ryan.
“You didn’t even score that. That was Soups. You can’t count that.” He blushed despite himself. He might be over Lars forgetting him and getting his name wrong, but he sure as hell didn’t want to be drawn in by his charm again. Fool him once and all that.
“Yes, I can.” And darn it, Lars’s smile really was charming. “It went exactly as planned, and as the mastermind behind that plan, I deserve some credit. Don’t you think they learned a lesson about slashing you?”
“Probably,” Ryan admitted. He bit his lip to try and stop himself from saying anything else. It’d been so easy before when he actually had been annoyed with Lars; now he couldn’t seem to shut himself up. As if on cue: “Thanks for defending my honor, then. But if you’re looking to make up for messing up my name for several weeks” —Lars visibly deflated— “then that’s not gonna cut it.”
“We got five minutes left, people!” Coach Thompkins shouted so loudly Ryan jumped. He turned his attention to their coach to see him glaring at the other team’s bench. “Let’s close out this win and go home. Don’t get sloppy. The only thing I hate more than overtime is fucking preseason overtime.”
When Ryan turned back, he expected their conversation to be over. After all, it was joking around with a teammate on the bench to pass the time between shifts. Instead, he found Lars with a look of grim determination.
“I’m working on it,” Lars said. “I’ll figure something out.”
Suddenly uncomfortable with the weight of Lars’s gaze, Ryan squirmed. “Well, if you can get the Crabs to the playoffs, that’d be a good start.”
It was a joke. Obviously he was joking. Bruised ego aside, Lars didn’t owe him anything. Ryan was 100% over the name thing (and would never bring up the Juniors thing because yikes). It was just words he said to be funny and make Lars relax again.
“Deal.” Lars took off his glove and held out his hand expectantly.
Ryan stared at his hand like it was dripping toxic waste. “Huh?”
“The Crabs make the playoffs this year and you forgive me.” He wiggled his fingers. “Deal?”
“You can’t be serious?—”
“I have to go on the ice in about three seconds, so please shake my hand.”
Ryan hesitated but then figured what the hell. He shook off his glove and shook Lars’s hand, warm and clammy and strong. “Deal. If the Crabs make the playoffs, I’ll forgive you for everything,”
If Lars picked up on the weight behind that “for everything,” he didn’t comment. He didn’t have time to: they barely had time to shake hands before Cameron “Funksy” Funk jumped onto the bench and it was Lars’s turn to head to the ice one last time. Ryan watched him skate off, stuffing his hand back into his glove so he could forget what Lars’s hand in his had felt like. He’d forgotten it once before, after all. He could do it again.
* * *
“You scored a goal, bro!” Tanner wrapped Ryan in a big hug, making Ryan wince; he’d managed to hit every single bruise Ryan had gained in Philly. Maybe even created a few more. He pulled away and gave a feather light punch to Ryan’s shoulder. “Nice job.”
Ryan allowed himself a little swell of pride. It was nice to get the tally, even if it had earned him a slash and wouldn’t even count in his overall point total. Scoring just…felt good, plain and simple. Always had. It was enough to push him through all the other crap that came with playing at this level (or any level, really).
