Page 110 of Drop the Gloves
“No kisses,” Vassiliev said with a laugh.He knocked Evan and then Riley on the heads.“But good work.”
“I know, I know,” Evan said.“Saving it for the Cup.”
They skated down the bench for fistbumps and finally,finallygot to sit down.
“We were dead if you didn’t score that,” Riley said.“I was about to lie down there on the ice and take a nap.”
“You were the idiot who chased the puck when we should have changed,” Vassiliev said.“If you were tired, you should have gone to the bench.”
“You don’t sound very grateful for that goal I got you.”
“I said good work!You want a thank-you card?”
“Yeah, actually.I’ll give you my address.”
Evan hid his amusement behind his water bottle.
Their goal woke up both teams a bit, and it started to resemble an NHL game again.Both goalies were putting on a masterclass of glove saves and toe kicks that would look great on their highlight reels.Evan prayed the other team’s goalie would slip up, because a one-goal lead was an uncomfortable way to play.It made him tense, like any mistake could be disastrous and cost them the game.In a lot of ways it was harder than when they were down, because the coaches shortened the bench when they needed to score and put the third and fourth lines out less, meaning it was less likely Evan would be the reason they lost.
With a lead, everyone got shifts.Equal opportunity to fuck things up.
They lined up for a neutral zone face-off.Evan was running through options—win it back and hope the defense got it but risk giving the other team the zone, or win it forward out of danger but limit the chances that they’d get possession, or tie it up and let someone else make the decision—when he felt a weight on his shoulder.
“Evan.”
His name went through him like a lightning bolt.
“Relax,” Riley said.“You’re gonna break your stick if you grip it any harder.It’s fine.We’re winning.”He patted Evan’s chest, right on the Riveters’ logo.“Chill.You’ve got this.”
As far as pep talks went, it wasn’t much, but it did the trick.Evan shook his head to clear the last of his doubts and squared up.He won the face-off to Pope, and the game was on.
It was two shifts later that they were able to break through again.It was a partial line change, with Evan and Riley out with Woodward.Vassiliev was a great winger, and Evan enjoyed playing with him, but Woodward’s ability to stay calm under pressure was next level.He dangled repeatedly through the Racers’ defense, buying time for Riley and Evan to get open.Riley, being Riley, started a shoving match with a defenseman just outside of the crease.Aloudshoving match, with Riley yelling all sorts of obscenities that would be a lot more enjoyable to listen to if Evan weren’t trying so damn hard to make space.
Eventually, Woodward’s slow crawl through the zone seemed to piss off the defender covering Evan, and he went to double-team Woodward to get the puck back.Woodward must have eyes in the back of his head, because as soon as Evan had breathing room, he sent Evan a beautiful pass through everyone.Wide open, Evan took a one-timer and hoped it was on net.
It was on net.The puck slid beneath the goalie’s arm on the blocker side and hit the inner post before lodging itself in the back of the net.
“Wow,” Evan mumbled.
“Abs!”Woodward grabbed him in a hug, tried to pick him up, and gave up when he remembered Evan was bigger than him.“Beautiful shot.Way to go, kid.”
Riley was next, colliding into his back.“I told you!”he said over and over again.“I told you!I fucking told you!”
Evan turned, mouth going dry when he saw how excited Riley looked.He wanted to lean down and kiss his cheek, but he’d already been warned about kisses after Vassiliev’s goal.Besides, Riley hadn’t been the one to pass to him; he’d have to kiss Woodward’s cheek too, and he didn’t think he could pull that off the same way Riley could.
Instead, he settled for fistbumping Riley and saying, “Your turn.Third line’s all scoring tonight.”
Vassiliev echoed the sentiment several times on the bench and then during the second intermission, outlining all the ways they were going to get Riley a goal.Some of them were as simple as ‘pass Riley the puck’ and others were more outlandish, like getting him the puck behind the net so he could get a Michigan goal, or Riley scoring while lying on the ice.But the details didn’t matter much: their only game plan for the third period was to get Riley Barczyk on the board and solidify their line’s success to end the calendar year.
They had some chances in their first few shifts, though the goalie stopped most, and the Detroit defense iced the puck on their other good opportunity.There was something electric in the air.Evan could feel something big coming.All they had to do was capitalize on it.
One of their shifts seemed like it would be a dud.There was a lot of back and forth between zones, with no team establishing any real control.In a few more seconds, Evan would head back to the bench to regroup for another push later.He just needed to wait for a whistle or for the puck to go deep in the Racers’ zone so he could safely go for a line change.Riley, to a fault the one to drive play, was fighting along the boards for the puck while the rest of them watched, no one ready to commit until they knew who would win the battle.
Riley started to pivot away with the puck.The Racers’ player, a winger Evan kind of recognized, turned and tried to stick lift Riley.He missed, his own stick going straight up into Riley’s face.It happened all the time, and the way Riley jerked his head didn’t mean much.It was instinct to dodge errant sticks and pucks.
It meant something when Riley immediately collapsed onto the ice, dropping his stick and cradling his face in both hands.
It wasn’t until Evan saw the splash of red on the ice that he understood Riley had been hit.
