Page 73 of Campus Crush
I won the draw cleanly back to Drew, who quickly moved it up to Liam streaking along the boards. The first few minutes were fast-paced, both teams testing each other’s defenses without any clear chances.
Midway through the first period, Bozeman caught us on a bad line change. Their winger broke free and fired a shot that Gordy managed to deflect with his pad, but therebound went straight to their trailing center who buried it before any of us could get back.
“Fuck,” I muttered as the red light flashed behind our net. 1-0 Bozeman.
“Shake it off,” Coach called from the bench. “Plenty of game left.”
We reset for the center ice face-off, and I could feel my competitive instinct kicking into overdrive. I hated being behind, especially at home.
The rest of the period was a battle, with neither team giving an inch. When the buzzer sounded, we headed to the locker room still down by one.
“We’re playing well,” Coach said, adjusting the whiteboard to show a new forecheck pattern. “But we need to create more traffic in front of their goalie. Kane, I want you to park yourself in the crease more. Make it impossible for him to see the puck.”
The second period started with renewed energy. True to Coach’s instructions, I positioned myself directly in front of Bozeman’s goalie every chance I got, using my size to screen him while our defensemen fired shots from the point. Five minutes in, our strategy paid off. Drew fired a shot from the blue line that the goalie never saw thanks to my screen. The puck sailed past his blocker and into the net, tying the game at 1-1.
The crowd erupted, and I pumped my fist, feeling that rush of adrenaline I’d only ever felt on the ice. As we skated back to the bench for a line change, I looked for Abby and found her jumping up and down, high-fiving Sam. Seeing her excitement had me grinning like an idiot.
“Nice screen,” Coach said as I took my seat on the bench. “Keep it up.”
The momentum had shifted in our favor, and wepressed our advantage. Liam nearly scored on a breakaway but was denied by a spectacular glove save. The pace was frantic, both teams trading chances. Gordy stood tall in our net, making several key saves to keep the game tied.
With two minutes left in the period, I got on the ice for my shift and immediately found myself in the middle of a scramble along the boards. I dug the puck out and fed it to Drew at the point. He fired a shot that was blocked, but I managed to corral the rebound. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Liam—normally holding the blue line—slip behind their coverage at the far post.
Without hesitation, I threaded a pass through two defensemen, and Liam one-timed it into the open net. 2-1 our lead.
The crowd went wild.
“Fucking beautiful pass, Kane!” Liam shouted over the noise.
The period ended with us clinging to that one-goal lead, though Bozeman had pushed hard in the final minute. As we headed to the locker room, I felt confident but knew we couldn’t let up.
“Twenty more minutes, boys,” Coach said. “They’re going to throw everything at us. Stay disciplined, block shots, and take care of the puck.”
The third period was a battle from the opening face-off. Bozeman came out desperate, forechecking aggressively and hemming us in our own zone for long stretches. Gordy made save after save, some of them bordering on miraculous. We blocked shots with every part of our bodies, throwing ourselves in front of pucks without hesitation.
Midway through the period, I took a slap shot to the inside of my knee where there was a gap in my pads. Thepain was immediate and blinding, but I gritted my teeth and finished my shift before limping to the bench.
“You good?” Coach asked, his eyes assessing me critically.
“I’m fine,” I said. There was no way I was missing the end of this game.
With five minutes left, disaster struck. Drew got called for a borderline tripping penalty, sending us into a penalty kill at the worst possible time. As one of our primary penalty killers, I took the opening face-off in our defensive zone, winning it cleanly and clearing the puck down the ice.
For the next two minutes, we defended like our lives depended on it. Gordy made three spectacular saves in succession, and I blocked a shot with my shoulder that would definitely leave a mark. When Drew finally stepped out of the box, the crowd gave us a standing ovation for surviving the penalty kill with our lead intact.
“Three minutes left,” Coach called as I gulped water on the bench. “Smart hockey now. No turnovers at the blue lines.”
The tension in the arena was palpable as they pressed for the tying goal. I won a crucial face-off in our zone, and we managed to clear the puck, but they quickly regrouped and came back on the attack.
With thirty seconds left, their defenseman fired a shot from the point that Gordy stopped, but the rebound bounced right to their winger. He had a wide-open net, but somehow—I still don’t know how—Drew dove across the crease and blocked the shot with his stick. The puck skittered to the corner where I battled for it, eventually chipping it out of the zone and down the ice.
The final buzzer sounded. We’d held on for a 2-1 victory.
“Fuck, yeah!” I shouted, skating over to Gordy and tackling him in celebration. The rest of the team piled on, a mass of sweaty, exhausted, and elated hockey players.
After shaking hands with the Bozeman players—a few of whom I knew from playing against them over the years—we started heading for the locker room. I sought out Abby in the crowd and found her beaming with pride, my jersey loose on her smaller frame. Her smile made our victory all the sweeter.
In the locker room, all the guys were amped up from our win. Someone had connected a speaker, and music blasted as we changed out of our gear.
