Page 98 of Pipe Dreams
He got back to the dressing room at seven forty-five, sweating like a racehorse.
“What theactual fuck?” Coach Worthington spat.
“I’m sorry,” he said, trotting toward his gear in the corner. He bent down and grabbed his ankles, stretching. His entire pregame warmup was shot to hell. His body was warm from the run, though.
“Where were you?”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m here now.”
Coach actually growled. “Itdoesmatter. I had to turn in the starting lineup ten minutes ago. I put Silas on it because nobody could find your ass.”
Oh, shit. He straightened up slowly. “Okay. So Silas starts for a shift or two. Where is he?”
“Stretching.”
Think, Beacon. “The last time Silas started a game he didn’t get any notice, either.”
“I recall,” Coach snarled. It had been an awful game.
“The thing is?” Beacon said, thinking out loud. “This is a disruption for the other team, too. They won’t be expecting Silas.”
O’Doul joined the conversation. “I thought about that. They might take it as an opportunity—drop everything and rush the net. If they think Beak is injured, it will change their whole game. Beak’s fine, but they won’t believe it.”
“Because only idiots would put in their backup guy to start game seven,” Coach pointed out. He still looked surly, but he also looked intrigued.
“Yeah,” Doulie agreed. “Putting Silas in isn’t something you’d do unless you were desperate.”
“Unless your goaliewent fucking MIA at the worst possible moment.”
Beacon tried to ignore the tidal waves of anger that Coach threw out. He lifted a foot up onto the bench and stretched his hamstring.
“Let’s just ride this for a little while and see how Silas holds up,” Doulie said. “Beak will take his time getting ready. Silas starts. If he gets into trouble, Beak steps in immediately. But in the meantime, the front line is gonna play hard and try to capitalize on the confusion.”
Beacon kept his mouth shut and stretched the other hamstring. He was too far in the doghouse to say so, but he thought Doulie had a point. The worst thing that could happen would be an early goal against Brooklyn. That would suck, but the other team would assume they’d just gained a night’s worth of momentum.
That’s when he’d skate out to replace Silas, fit as a fiddle, breathing new life into their defensive game. Their momentum wouldn’t be worth a nickel if it was based on a misunderstanding.
Really, it was an intriguing idea.
“Let’s talk strategy,” Coach grumbled. “Where’s Beringer? Castro! Trevi! Get over here.”
Beacon left his pads at his locker and went to find Silas, who was facedown on a mat in full gear, stretching his hips.
“Finally,” Silas said as soon as he walked in.
“Don’t get up.” Beacon walked right around in front of him and got down into the same position. They were face to face.
“Are we gonna make out here or what?” Silas grumbled.
“I get that you’re pissed at me for doing a runner. But you’re still between the pipes when the game starts. Sorry you didn’t get any notice.”
Silas chewed his lip. “My name is on the card, huh? So Coach has to put me in for a couple of minutes.”
“Yeah, but I want you in there longer.”
“What the hell for?”
Beacon reached up and punched him in the shoulder. “To guard the net, moron. Since you’re on the card, Detroit thinks there’s something wrong with me, right?”
