Page 23 of My Brother's Enemy
“Yep. Let me grab a stick and some pucks. I’ll be a second.”
It didn’t take me long to find one of the equipment managers. “Hey, Benny.”
He was a middle-aged man, and he was always on the run. He was a little breathless as he whirled toward me. “Yeah? How can I help?” There were beads of sweat on his forehead.
“I’m going to shoot on goal for a bit. You have a taped leftie stick I could use? I promise not to break it.”
He chuckled. “Griffin has some pre-taped sticks. He’s a leftie, but I could try and find some other ones…”
“No. That’d be perfect.”
“Okay. I’ll be right back.”
I went over and found a bucket of pucks and laced up my skates. Brick was doing laps when I returned, but he moved over to the goal when he saw me step on the ice.
Benny hurried down the hallway, carrying two sticks. He was out of breath as he handed one to me. “That’s one Griffin prefers, but here’s another in case that one doesn’t work.” He placed it on the bench, and only then did he see Brick waiting for me in the crease. His face went slack. “Uh…”
I took the stick and bucket with me as I pushed off. “Thanks, Benny.”
“Yeah. Uh, yeah…” He remained watching until someone shouted his name, and I could hear him hurry away.
I shifted my focus to Brick, dumping the bucket of pucks on the ice.
He watched, probably wondering what the hell I was doing, but this wasn’t for him. This wasn’t even for me. I was doing this for anyone who had doubts.
I skated up to him and spoke plainly. “You don’t need help with this. That’s not why I’m here. Just…bear with me. Okay?”
He hesitated a second before giving me a nod.
“I’m going to shoot two times at you. The first will hit your chest. I want your eyes closed. Once it hits your chest, open your eyes for the second shot. Block the second. It won’t be going to your chest. And we’re going to go fast. Got it?”
He frowned a little but gave another nod.
I did a quick circle. “Ready?”
He closed his eyes, and I shot.
It hit his chest, as promised. He caught that first puck, tucked it down, and immediately looked for my second shot that came from the side. The drill was designed to help with rebounding goals, which was a skill any goalie could hone. Brick caught on to the speed after a round or two, and his eyes flared.
He liked the drill.
So did I, because my shots came from all angles. I went top shelf. Far side. Glove side. Corners. Sixth and seventh holes. Sometimes they got through, sometimes they didn’t. But over and over, as soon as I hammered out the second shot, I circled fast around his net and grabbed the first puck again. That was my signal for us to repeat.
We did this for ten minutes until he grabbed some water.
“You want to keep going?” I asked. “Or head home? Up to you.”
He licked his lips, eyes blazing. “Keep going.”
I grinned. I couldn’t help myself. God, I had missed this sport.
In this moment, we were two hockey players appreciating the sport and appreciating each other’s abilities. I turned my brain off and let myself get lost in the skating, in the feel of handling the puck, in sweeping around the net, all of it, though I was aware we’d attracted an audience. I saw them by the bench, watching. But then I let that go too, because it meant I’d already accomplished my goal for this session. The rest of our time was for me and Brick.
We went another ten minutes, fast and furious, and when I signaled we were done, Brick was panting. His eyes gleamed. He pulled off his helmet and skated my way. “You’re good.”
My heart raced, and I could only manage a smile.
“Why are you not playing in the PWHL? Your snap shot is insane.”
