Page 115 of Hockey Bois
“Sure. So I assume Little Dube was complimenting your skating?”
“Something like that, yeah.” Nick gave the crooked smile that had gotten him out of trouble once or twice with his mom, his grandma, and literally no one else ever.
Brady rolled his eyes but didn’t comment.
Huh. Maybe it worked on his mom, his grandma,andBrady Derek Jensen. Good to know.
The fondness receded as a whistle blew, and his attention was drawn back to the ice. It was telling that he didn’t notice Brady disappear for a shift until well after he’d returned. Even then, he only noticed because Brady was farther down from him and yelling at Guy to hold the puck.
Nick was about ten times more engaged in the game than he usually was. Normally, he would watch other people’s shifts, he’d yell out tips or encouragement, but he’dalsotalk on the bench or fix his tape or adjust his skates. The game wasn’t always his priority, not unless he thought he needed to be ready to jump onto the ice.
Today he was a hundred percent tuned in. He watched every play. He kept tabs on the refs, the goalies, and even the other bench. Any conversation he had was about the game, the next shift, the last shift, win win win.
It was a feeling he remembered from high school. In the middle of a race, it was just him and the asphalt under his feet. One breath in, carefully measured on the exhale back out. The burn of his muscles, every bump and groove on the path, his heart pounding in his ears and drowning out any sound beyond his even stride carrying him forward.
That was a little purer and simpler than hockey, where there were other players and dynamic situations that required and rewarded quick thinking. Still, it was the same level of attunement, grown to encompass the whole rink. He breathed in the game, held it in, and breathed it out.
His play was better than usual. He could feel good things coming, goals and assists and penalties going their way. In a zero-zero game, anything,anyone, could tilt the ice, and Nick was determined to be that person.
“GG,” he said, pulling him aside before a faceoff. The ref looked annoyed at the interruption, but it was a running clock and not her team. She’d let them squander a few more seconds without complaint.
“Yeah?”
“Let them win it.”
GG narrowed his eyes. “Why would I let them win a draw in their own zone? They’ll just clear it—”
“I’m going to go for it. I’ll pick it up before it gets back to their D, then I’ll shoot.”
“Or you could line up behind me and shoot when I win it to you.”
“Hurry up, boys,” the ref called. She tossed the puck up and down. “Don’t got all night, and I’d personally like this one done before OT.”
“Just one sec,” Nick promised, then whispered to GG, “trust me. This is a speed play, and I can do it.”
GG grumbled all the way to the faceoff dot, but he put his game face on as he squared up with the other team. It was beautifully, hilariouslywrongto watch GG stand there, staring, as the puck dropped and he didn’t move a muscle to stop the Mother Pucker’s overeager center scooping it straight behind him…
…right to where Nick sprinted. He could sense the other team’s surprise, their belated reaction. The world slowed down to him getting the puck squarely on the blade of his stick, aiming his shot at the scrambling goalie, and praying he at least got them a whistle to try again.
The puck was going wide, about to ring around the boards and out of the zone, but then the goalie’s blocker came up. The deflection was both amazing and terrible, changing the trajectory from benignly away from the net to right into the back of it. The goalie’s head whipped around and then fell when he saw where it’d landed.
There was a final, perfect moment of adrenaline-fueled speed before the world returned to normal, and Nick had to fend off tackles from his linemates.
“Crazy son of a bitch!”
“Look at that ugly goal!”
“You lucky bastard!”
“Highlight reel right there, boys!”
“HE SHOOTS, HE SCORES!” came a familiar voice from the stands, somehow drowning out the voices surrounding him.
“SIGN MY CHEST, NICK PORTER!” followed a slightly deeper but eerily similar voice. “YOU TOO, GAIL!”
“Oh, fuck me,” Nick mumbled and pulled away from the celebratory group hug. It was a testament to where his head was that he hadn’t noticed Jenna or Terry (or, now that he actuallylooked, any of the other people, some of them complete strangers, others probably family members of his teammates, people he’d seen in passing at the Caps game or Winter Classic party). They were right across from them, too, which made him profoundly embarrassed. He’d never had tunnel vision this bad.
But hey, goal. So… maybe a good thing?
