Page 2 of Lighting the Lamp
It has to be.
"Bit of a scramble there in front of the net, but Hendrix manages to grab the puck after it pings off the post.”
“Hendrix is off his game tonight, Steve. He isn’t playing with his usual control. Hopefully, the Yetis can use that to their advantage and tie up this game before the end of the period.”
I stay down longer than I should. My chest is heaving, not from adrenaline but from effort. Breathing should not be this hard, but tonight, everything seems much harder than usual. I clench my eyes shut, mentally negotiating with my body to get its shit together so I can climb back onto my skates.
“You all right back there, Beau?” Cooper yells as he glides into the zone after the shift change.
I nod, answering his silent question. I am fine, which isn’t a complete lie. Besides, how I feel doesn’t matter because I have no other choice but to be fine. None of my teammates need to know about the sharp pain shooting through my entire body. They need to believe that I have everything in the net covered. There is no way I’m letting the puck get past me again before the end of the game. Right now, that’s the only thing that matters.
My heartbeat picks up as I prepare for the next barrage of shots, but there’s no time. Shot after shot comes flying in my direction over the next few minutes. It feels like Calgary never leaves our zone, firing off no less than five shots in less than a minute. I turn them all away, but not cleanly. I don’t manage to get control of any rebound, just deflections off my glove or stick, leaving my defense to clean up the mess. I can barely track the puck in the slot, sending up a silent plea for a break from the Yetis’ assault, but I doubt I’ll get one soon.
“We’ve got another faceoff coming to Beau Hendrix’s left. Cooper Hendrix is lined up against Jarvinen. He’s been giving the Timberwolves a run for their money as they struggle to hold on to their narrow 2–1 lead here late in the second period.”
“That’s right, Steve. Beau Hendrix has been struggling to keep his team in this game. He’s made some big stops, but I’m seeing hesitation in his lateral movement. Something has been missing his usual surgical precision.”
Cooper shoots me a look across the slot, one part question and one part warning. I want to ignore him, but I know that’s not an option. Not only is Cooper my older brother, but he’s also the team captain. I’m a captain, too, but it’s not the same. He’s the heart of this team, and this will be his last season wearing a Timberwolves jersey. Next season, he’ll be turning in his jerseyand hockey stick for a three-piece suit and a clipboard when he takes over as our new head coach.
Right now isn’t the time to be reliving my family issues. I need to focus on what’s happening on the ice. Nothing else matters. Not my brothers, not the pain, not the fear. Nothing but keeping the Yetis from lighting the lamp and adding another win to the Timberwolves’ record.
I blink my eyes rapidly, trying desperately to clear the sweat dripping into my eyes so I can focus on what’s happening on the ice. I just need to make it until the end of the period and get a minute of peace, maybe even some painkillers, and I’ll be good as new.
“The Yetis win the draw clean and move the puck to the point—” one of the announcers shouts, the sound reverberating through my skull and causing me to wince.
“The Timberwolves’ defense needs to get better at watching for the backdoor cut as Mitchell slips behind the weak-side defense.”
I manage to spot him half a second too late, drifting behind our defense, blade cocked with his eyes locked on his D-man, Reinhart, like they’ve run this drill in their sleep. Mitchell fakes a slapshot and sends it low, hugging the boards.
I push across the crease, but I’m too slow again. The ice doesn’t glide; it grabs. Anchoring my skate into place for a heartbeat too long, my gloved hand twitches, but not fast enough, as the shot comes in low and mean, like a bullet screaming just inside the pad line.
“Mitchell makes a quick pass to Reinhart, aiming for Hendrix’s glove side?—”
“I think Reinhart has him beat—no! The puck ricochets off the pipe, helping the Timberwolves maintain their lead!”
The sound of the puck hitting the pipe rings through the cage of my helmet, sharp and metallic, like a warning bell. I don’thesitate as the puck slides into the blue paint, dropping hard. My hip bone slams into the ice moments before my stomach follows. Cold slithers through the padding, numbing the burn that’s already settled in my ribs.
“Hendrix scrambles, losing the puck in the crease, but somehow manages to recover.”
“That was another close call for Hendrix and the Timberwolves. Coach Mercer is going to need to make some changes before the start of the third period if the Timberwolves want to win this game.”
I feel the weight of every eye in the arena crushing me as I stay down a beat too long. My pulse echoes in my throat. Every inhale scours the inside of my lungs like dry ice, but I grin and bear it, pushing to my elbows and then my knees before finally rising to my full height. The crease spins once, a slow roll of nausea in my gut, before the world levels again as I hold out my gloved hand, presenting the puck to the referee.
“Not the cleanest stop from Hendrix, Taylor, but it keeps the Timberwolves on top. He’s been one of the most consistent goaltenders in the league, but tonight? Something’s just... off.”
“I’ve been saying the same thing all game, Steve. Whatever is going on, let’s hope Hendrix doesn’t figure it out before the Yetis can get another one. The score remains 2-1, with the Timberwolves holding on to the lead.”
I catch Cooper’s eye again as he resets for the next faceoff. His eyes narrow, and I know immediately there’s no escaping checking in with Parker before we head back to Portland. There’s only one other person on this entire planet who knows me better than Cooper, and I doubt she’d have let it slide this long if Cooper hadn’t told her not to worry. But now Cooper is worried because he knows there is something wrong, and I fucking hate it.
Everyone has been nagging me to get checked out by the team doctor, or Parker, at the very least, since I made a passing comment about being tired all the time. On the surface, it makes sense that I’m tired. With practices twice a week and trips back and forth to Redwood Falls to meet with my honorary little brother and hang out with family, anyone would be tired, but this is something different. It’s a bone-deep exhaustion that, no matter how much I sleep, just won’t go away. Until today, I thought nothing of it, but with this almost unbearable joint pain and swelling, maybe a check-in with Parker isn’t completely out of line.
My eyes flick to Coach Mercer, waiting to see if he’s going to pull me from the game. He should. I know it, Cooper knows it, but there is a part of me that doesn’t want to leave the ice. A sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach tells me that if I leave the ice right now, I might never return. But Coach doesn’t even glance in my direction as he shouts orders to my teammates.
I almost miss the puck drop as the Yetis manage to pull off a nearly perfect dump-and-chase maneuver, but Rizzo has their number.
“The Yetis change tactics with a routine dump-in as Portland’s Rizzo tracks it behind the net. Should be a clean retrieval for Rizzo, but wait… he fumbles the puck!”
The puck rattles around the boards behind me like it’s got teeth. I swivel to follow, legs already protesting the pivot moments before the puck skips right under Rizzo’s stick, opposing skates carving toward the crease.
