Page 27 of Must Love Hockey
O’Doul steps off the ice with a snort. “Hear that, boys? I don’t care what motivates you tonight. Maybe it’s Jimbo’s dry spell. Maybe it’s my grumpy face. But I want two goals in the first period. Let’s shake ’em up out there.”
Unfortunately, though, we donotget two goals in the first period. Carolina gets them, instead.
Coach Worthington looks apoplectic during the intermission. “Come on, guys. We can’t have these missed opportunities! They’re making you look bad in front of a hometown crowd. There’s no reason for this.”
As I rush around, replacing skate laces and handing out tape, I see a lot of determined faces. We’ve come back from worse. And every man in this room knows it.
“Um, Jimbo?” Heidi says, as I stash more tape in my tool kit. “I have some news.” She holds up her phone and smiles.
“News?”
“Just got a text from Delilah. Emily told her that she broke up with the banker boyfriend.”
“WHOA!” Drake says, clapping slowly. “Jimbo! Shit just got real.”
Suddenly, all the players are hooting and hollering at me.
My face is red, and I’m not really sure why. And what does it all mean? “Come on,” I growl. “Don’t you guys have a game to win?”
“Let’s do this, men!” Trevi calls, pointing toward the chute. “We can still do this. Let’s end Jimbo’s dry spell, guys. Win it for Jimbo!”
“Oh, please,” I snort. “I’m more worried about the mood at your place tonight if we can’t answer those lost goals. You think Georgia will be happy throwing another sad press conference after the game?”
Leo opens his mouth and then closes it again. There’s a smattering of laughter.
“Let’s impress some women,” I grumble. “Or men. Whatever. Let’s win this thing. Just do it before Coach bursts a vessel.”
“You heard the kid,” Coach barks. “Win it, already.”
“Win it!” someone else yells. And they all go charging toward the ice.
I follow them a couple of minutes later, taking my place behind the bench without a glance at Row D. I can’t think about Emily or Heidi Jo’s little announcement. Emily will either tell me her news, or she won’t. Nothing has changed for me.
And yet something has changed out on the ice. Three minutes into the period, Drake gets the first goal of the night, with an assist from O’Doul. After that, my guys start putting more pressure on our opponents.
We’re down by one after the second period, but faces aren’t so long anymore. This thing is winnable. And Carolina looks sluggish at the start of the third period. O’Doul and Bayer play an elaborate game of keep-away against our opponent’s forwards, wearing them down.
Then Trevi decides to make something happen. He fires a saucer at the goal, but the keeper manages to bat it away.
“C’mon!” I shout as the puck flies off at a crazy angle.
“Rebound, baby,” Wilson says in front of me. “Yeah!”
Castro flies toward the puck, slipping it onto his stick. He dumps it to O’Doul and then sets up again, looking for a better angle.
Then everything goes sideways as an opposing D-man tries a clumsy check on Castro. It’s only half successful. Castro avoids getting flung into the boards, but his stick gets tangled between his opponent’s legs and snaps.
The next ten seconds happen at warp speed. But I’m still going to remember it for the rest of my life.
My hand grabs for a replacement stick even as I climb up onto the bench, my feet on either side of Wilson’s generously sized ass.
“What the hell, Jimbo?” Wilson says as my knees hug his back.
But I’m not paying him any attention at all. Castro is flying toward me as I lean over Wilson like a circus performer on top of a pyramid, dangling the stick over the ice.
Castro’s gloved hand wraps around the shaft just as the puck comes flying in his direction. The whole stadium holds its breath as Castro lowers his new stick to the ice to receive it. One-handed.
I lift my head at the same split second that Castro lifts his. We both see the net—and the clean, clear opening between Castro and a goal. It’s like a goddamn tunnel of light. Couldn’t be more obvious unless there was an angel hovering above it, beckoning to us.
