Page 103 of The Last Guy On Earth
The second period gets off to a great start when Newgate puts up a goal. But things go sideways when Edmonton scores twice more in quick succession. Volkov is clearly struggling,his movements more labored with each passing play. After the fourth goal, Clay catches my eye and gives me a slight nod.
“Hale,” he calls out. “Start stretching. You’re going in at the next break in play.
Every head on the bench turns in my direction. And it’s almost like the loud soundtrack of the arena dims for me. I’m going in, and I’m going to stop the bleeding on this shit show.
The TV timeout arrives, and as I strap on my mask and grab my stick, Clay gives me a pat on the shoulder. “Lock it down,” he says, his voice low and intense.
But I don’t need any encouragement. After fifteen years of professional hockey, I know just what to do.
I skate out onto the ice, tapping the posts as I settle into the crease. The opposing team is all smiles.
Yeah, yeah. Doubters.
The puck drops, and it’s on. Edmonton steals the puck on the first face-off and proceeds to test me early, peppering me with shots. But I’m ready. I make a flashy glove save on a breakaway attempt, and I can feel the game’s energy shift.
“You want more of this?” I taunt Edmonton’s captain as he skates by. I remember when he was a rookie during my fifth season.
Midway through the third period, we’re still down 4-2, but my defensemen seem to feed off my attitude. Their play becomes sharper, more focused. Edmonton’s captain trips Stoney and gets called for it, so we get a power play.
Andboom. Kapski scores. The Edmonton fans groan. It’s 4-3, and every player hunkers down for a battle. No one is going to back down. The players get chippy and the elbows fly.
With two minutes left in the game, the speed of play accelerates to a screaming blur. Edmonton is on their heels, desperately trying to get the puck back. They ice it on a pokecheck, giving us an offensive zone face-off. Clay calls a timeout, gathering the team around him.
“Alright, boys,” he says, his eyes blazing with intensity. “This is our moment. We won back our chance. Let’s not waste it.”
As the puck drops, time seems to slow down. Kapski wins the draw cleanly, getting the puck back to DiCosta at the point. He fires a rocket through traffic. I hold my breath as I watch it sail towards the net, deflecting off Stoney’s stick and past Edmonton’s goalie.
Our bench explodes. We’ve tied it up with less than a minute to go.
Sweat’s dripping into my eyes, but I’m jazzed for the overtime period. After the break, both teams stay scrappy, but neither can find the back of the net. Then, five minutes in, Newgate intercepts a pass at our blue line and takes off. He’s got a step on the defenseman. I lean forward, my heart in my throat.
Newgate dekes, the Edmonton goalie bites, and suddenly the puck is sliding into an open net. My team goes absolutely berserk.
We’ve done it. We’re moving on to the final.
There you go, Clay.I look for his cleanly shaven face among the playoff beards, as my teammates pour onto the ice in celebration. As I join the pile at center ice, I catch Clay’s eye.
He’s grinning from ear to ear.
FORTY-SIX
Clay
“Thefinals,”my sister gasps into my ear. “Are you freaking out?”
“I don’t freak out,” I tell her as the elevator climbs to the ninth floor of my hotel. It’s one thirty in the morning.
“Pfft. Nobody is too macho to freak out,” she insists. “I bet you screamed like a first-timer at a Taylor Swift concert.”
I laugh. “If we actually win the whole damn thing, I might just do that.”
“Thefinals,” she repeats. “Maybe even Dad will notice.”
We both laugh.As if.
“Clay, I’m taking off from work and flying to Colorado. Can you get me a ticket for game one?”
“Yeah. You and the boyfriend.”
