Page 141 of No Contest
I pulled my helmet on and glanced toward the stands one more time. Third row behind our bench, Rhett wore my Storm beanie—the one I'd left at his place three weeks ago and never asked for back. Next to him sat a cluster of his youth hockey kids, all holding a homemade banner: #14 STAY STRONG HOG in blue and white paint.
The letters were crooked, excessive glitter covered them, and it was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.
Rhett caught my eye and raised his coffee cup in salute. I tapped my stick against the ice twice—our signal.
We'd already won by choosing each other. No contest.
Margaret sat two rows behind him, knitting needles already moving. Juno Park had claimed the aisle seat with her recording equipment. Even Mrs. Johnson from my building had shown up, wearing a Storm scarf I'd knitted.
Thunder Bay was in the house.
Signs were everywhere. STORM WARNING and PICKLE POWER. One kid had drawn what I assumed was supposed to be me, but it looked more like a bear eating a hockey stick.
I loved it.
Coach Rusk's pregame words echoed in my head as I skated to the face-off circle: "Play smart. Play clean. You've already proved who you are."
The puck dropped.
Their center won the draw clean, snapping it back to their defenseman before Jake could tie up his stick. I read the play half a heartbeat before it developed—their winger cutting hard to the weak side, looking for a cross-ice pass.
I stepped up.
Not reckless or throwing my weight around to prove I could. I angled him off, using my body to cut the passing lane while keeping my stick active. The puck died on his tape, and Evan swooped in to collect it, already thinking two plays ahead.
"NICE READ, HOG!" Coach's voice carried from the bench.
We broke out clean. Jake carried through neutral, drew their defense, then dropped it at the blue line for Evan. He shot. The goalie made the save but couldn't control the rebound. Pickle was there—the kid had a supernatural sense for garbage goals—and he buried it.
The building exploded.
Pickle's arms shot up, stick held high, and he skated straight into our celebration pile. Jake grabbed him first, then Evan, thenme, and suddenly we were all tangled together at the corner boards while Thunder Bay lost its collective mind.
"I TOLD YOU!" Pickle screamed through his cage. "HAT TRICK INCOMING!"
"That's one goal, kid."
"MOMENTUM!"
We skated back to the bench, gloves raised to the crowd. Rhett was on his feet with his kids, all jumping and screaming.
Two shifts later, their enforcer tried to start something.
He was ten pounds bigger than me. He caught me along the wall after the whistle, gloves already coming off.
"You and me, Hawkins. Right now."
I stared at him and saw the script he was trying to run. He wanted to get me off the ice for five minutes, swing momentum, and maybe rattle a few of our rookies.
Old Hog would've dropped the gloves without thinking.
New Hog—the one who'd spent the last month learning he could choose—smiled instead.
"Not today, buddy." I skated away, leaving him standing there with his gloves on the ice and confusion written across his face.
Coach caught my eye when I got to the bench. He nodded.
That nod meant more than any fight I'd ever won.
