Page 104 of Pucking Around

It hits Ilmari’s knee pad and ricochets off, but the Penguins rebound.

“Come oooon!”

Heart in my throat, I watch as Ilmari and the defense fight it out. The Penguins are feral. They want this goal and they’re ready to bleed for it.

“Get it out of the slot!”

The bench is going nuts and so is the crowd. The whole arena is on its feet, screaming for the Penguins to make this goal. Jake and J-Lo both already have one leg over the boards, ready to leap back into play, but they have to wait for this dogfight to end. Morrow and Hanner are on their own. It’s pandemonium.

All the while, I only see Ilmari. He’s in full butterfly, guarding his net with everything he’s got. Playing the game means everything to him. But what will be the ultimate cost?

I swallow, heart racing as he gets a reprieve. The Rays worked the puck away from the net. No goal. The Penguins fans are screaming their outrage, booing as the puck moves down ice.

Morrow and Hanner race to the bench as Jake and J-Lo go flying off to join the fray. Morrow promptly puts his head between his knees and throws up. It’s nothing but electrolyte water. He’ll recover and be demanding to get back on the ice when Jake’s shift is over.

I take a breath, turning my focus back to Ilmari. He clambers up to his skates and a zing of knowing rattles me to my core. He’s not okay.

“Get him off the ice,” I whisper, knowing no one can hear me.

The crowd is going crazy. They wanted a goal before intermission.

My gaze darts up to the jumbotron. Less than a minute left. But the Penguins have the puck, and they’re racing down the ice. Ilmari gets into his stance.

The Rays catch up, and it’s a tussle in the slot to clear the puck. Ilmari darts left, following the forward, but then the winger shoots the puck through Jake’s legs to the guy waiting on the other side.

Shot on goal.

Buzzer.

Ilmari is too far left. The puck sails into the unguarded corner of the net and the cherry lights up, siren wailing, as the whole arena erupts with boisterous cheers.

The period is over, and the Rays are officially down 0-1. The players all clear the bench for intermission, their spirits shaken. I wait, watching as No. 31 collects his water bottle and ambles across the ice, pushing with only his left skate.

He lifts his mask up as he skates closer, and I see the simmering anger on his face. At himself. At his defense. Goalies can get deep in their own heads, taking each goal so personally.

Tomlin flips the door open for him to step through. “Alright, it’s alright,” he says, patting him on the padded shoulder. “You were working the rebounds. We just gotta get the defense to clear the puck better and there’s still a whole third period—”

Tomlin keeps rambling, but Ilmari isn’t listening. He’s too deep in his head. The jumbotron could drop from the rafters and he wouldn’t flinch. Tomlin slips in front of him, leading the way back towards the locker room.

“Hey!” I call out, rushing to Ilmari’s side. I put my hand on his arm.

He spins around, nearly whacking me in the face with the end of his stick. He’s pouring sweat, his pupils blown black.

“Oh…” I whisper. It’s worse than I thought. “Ilmari—”

“I’m fine,” he mutters, jerking away and stomping off.

“Don’t walk away from me!” I shout, chasing after him. “Mars!”

He ducks around the corner into the tunnel, under the halo of jeering Penguins fans and the few diehard Rays fans. They call out his name. He ignores them all.

I race after him, grabbing for his arm again as soon as we’re under the cover of darkness. The sounds of the arena echo behind us, but we’re alone in this narrow hallway, suspended in the dark between the rink and the locker room. Gear litters either side of us—row after row of colorful sticks, water bottles.

“Hey—hold on. Talk to me!”

He’s massive in his full kit. The skates add inches he doesn’t need, so he absolutely towers over me. The broad shoulders, the padded hockey shorts, the huge leg blockers. The only piece of him I can see inside his thick armor is his face and even that is now cast in deep shadow.

I step in closer, one hand on his blocker. “What’s your pain level?”