Page 93 of Penalty Box
“Keep doing it,” Grayson said, breathing hard. “Next one goes in.”
I wanted to believe him, but didn’t. We’d already tried and failed a few times now, and something was off with every shot. It made more sense to play our usual game instead of gambling our chances.
So I played it safe and by the end of the first, it was 1–1. Denver had capitalized on a scramble in front of our net, but we answered with a laser from Grayson, top shelf from the point.
In the second period, things escalated. A brawl broke out at center ice when their captain laid out Hunter with a late hit. I was the first one there, fists flying. Penalties were handed out like Halloween candy, with the ref threatening to bench both teams if we didn’t get it together.
We went back to the locker room with the score still tied, heads down and tempers high. I sat waiting for Coach to come down on us, knee bouncing on account of my nerves having nowhere to go.
“Twenty minutes, boys,” Coach said. “Twenty minutes between you and the next series. One more series between you and the Cup.”
He wasn’t yelling, and he didn’t beat us over the head with every mistake we made. We looked at each other, not quite sure what to do with a supportive coach.
“Get out there, and leave nothing behind.”
And we didn’t.
The third period was all-out war. The Avalanche nearly took the lead twice, but Hunter was a brick wall in our goal, his glove snatching pucks out of midair like magic. And when he was caught on the back foot, Grayson was there to block a shot with his ribs. We kept rotating the play with misdirection, keeping it as unpredictable as we could manage under pressure. Finally, it started wearing them down.
With four minutes left, we drew a penalty. Power play. Our line hit the ice.
“Same switch?” I asked Grayson as we circled the dot.
He gave a stiff nod. “Go for it.”
Puck drop. I won the draw, and sent it back to Shawn, who slid it across to Grayson. I peeled wide, heart thudding in my ears and drowning out the manic crowd. Looping fast to the slot, I pulled a defender with me. Grayson hesitated, looking like he was going to shoot. Then he did a no-look pass and sent it right back to me.
No time to think.
I snapped it, feeling the blow start all the way down in my hips, move up to my shoulder and down my arm. I heard nothing, just saw the puck sail hard and low, just under the goalie’s pad. The light went red, and the crowd lost it. I didn’thear that either, or the blaring goal horn. My line swarmed me until it was nothing but the crush of bodies, gloves pounding my helmet, sticks raised high. I glanced up, past the glass and chaos.
Cass was on her feet, yelling and clapping. To my surprise, so was Coach. I don’t think I’d ever seen him jump up and down before.
I skated back to the bench like I was floating on a cloud.
The rest of the game passed in a blur. We managed to hold them off even after they pulled their goalie and launched every attack in the book at us. When the final buzzer went, the noise was deafening. Sticks and gloves went flying, and bodies collided in a dog pile of sweat and disbelief.
The Surge had taken the series 4–3.
We were going to the Western Conference Final.
29
Cass
I didn’t need the scoreboard to tell me Mason was on fire.
He tore up the ice like it owed him something, cutting, driving, pushing every shift to the brink. No hesitation. No brakes. I hadn’t seen this version of him before and it was a rush.
Sharing the box with my dad became the norm when the Western Conference Final rolled around, and from here I could track Mason closely. I barely blinked between plays, scared I’d miss one of Grayson’s clever tricks. My eyes and ears filtered the noise of the arena until it was only the pounding of my heart and the glide of his skates.
He looked up once and his eyes caught mine for no more than a second, but he’d found me. And smiled. My dad shifted beside me, quiet but no longer cold. That frost had melted somewhere between Mason’s confrontation and me acing all my class finals.
“Did you see that?”
I kept my eyes on the ice and nodded. “Looks like another Grayson special.”
He slapped his knee, enjoying the show. I bit back a smile. A few weeks ago, I would’ve laughed in anyone’s face if they told me this was where I’d be.
