Page 27

JULIAN

I can feel the cooler air making its way down the chute from the rink.

The audience is already loud. Waiting excitedly.

Expectantly. It’s our last home game of the season.

I don’t have high hopes for a win. We’re coming off a three-game losing streak and it’s always hard to get out of your funk after three games of failure.

Coach reminds us constantly that it’s not failure.

It’s simply a loss. We shake it off and move on as if the slate is clean.

That mentality worked better in the beginning of the season but now, with three games left in the season and no hopes of clawing our way out of last place in the division? It’s not nearly as comforting.

I try not to make a practice out of having personal goals in a game. But since it’s difficult to rely on anyone else to truly come together, more times than not, I need to figure out how to work on my own.

For this game, my goals are simple—I need to at least assist in a single goal, if not make the goal myself. And once I have that, then I’m going to focus on defense.

“You good, Jules?”

I look up at Carter. He’s paused next to me to fix his glove, then meets my eyes. “Yep. Just enjoying the first feel of cooler air.”

He grins. “Honestly. I’m sweating just moving around.”

Pads are hot. No matter what you do to keep them from directly touching your skin, they’re hot and you sweat. Period.

“Jackie and her sister are here tonight,” Carter says, giving me a wink.

“Uh-huh.” I head down the chute with Carter behind me, laughing.

“You sure you don’t want to meet her?”

“One-hundred percent sure. No offense.”

He hits my back on his way by. “Cool. See you on the ice.”

As soon as I get close to the ice, I’m already looking in the crowd. Not for Jackie and her sister. Obviously. But for Arush. I stuffed him into my hoodie, one of my jerseys, and a beanie. Which means… he blends right in now.

I’d thought about putting him in a box, but when I described the boxes, he shook his head. He didn’t want to be so far away, nor with people who would expect him to participate in conversation. He wants to watch the game, not make small talk.

So I got him a seat at the edge of a row and six rows up just beyond the right of our goalie.

Arguably, they’re the best seats. It should be the opposite side being the best seats because we want the action to be down in the offensive zone for our opponents.

That’s certainly not the case this season, so I kept him close to home.

I seek him out as soon as I’m on the ice, skating in the direction of the boards.

He’s watching the rink, looking all around.

Maybe a little mesmerized by the fans and everyone surrounding him.

I know the moment he sees me, though. A smile lights up his face and he leans forward in his seat, giving me a small wave.

I raise my stick in return, grinning at him.

This is the first time I’ve ever brought someone to a game. The first time, aside from my parents, having someone I know in the audience who is there for me . It’s a thrill. It also makes butterflies dance in my stomach.

However, I can’t let his presence distract me. It’s time for hockey so I need to concentrate on hockey. Turning around, I swipe a loose puck and skate along the wall behind the goal until I join where my team is lazily funneling forward to take a shot on net.

It’s not an exact line. We want to keep moving so our muscles stay warm, so it’s more of a bottleneck movement than it is any kind of rhyme, reason, or formation.

After taking a few shots like this, I join Carter and Patrik on the ice to stretch while I watch the team move around.

Directly across the ice are Nathan Ritchie and Jimmy doing the same thing, but also having a conversation.

I let the cold of the icy air and the swishing sounds of blades on ice combined with the slap of sticks against pucks slowly drown out everything else until it all fades away. The thousands of voices. The music. The voices. The slapping on the boards behind us.

All gone.

By the time I’m hovering in my position for puck drop, the only thing on my mind are my two goals—sink the puck and defend.

I want to win. Definitely. But I can’t count on my teammates to be on the same page.

We’ve proven that this season. Most of the time, we’re in completely different books.

Fuck, I’d even say those books are written in different languages half the time.

Nope. Pushing that away.

Carolina gains possession and we, shockingly, have to head to our end to defend. I position myself where Jimmy should be since he’s caught up in the wrestling match at the boards for the puck and wait.

It doesn’t take long for the puck to get loose and it heads straight for me. Not with much force, but it’s definitely a direct shot. I slice my stick, sending it to Carter, who’s already heading toward the other end of the ice.

Digging my blades into the ice, I race after him. He takes a shot before anyone has caught up, but their goalie freezes the puck and the whistle is blown. Carter meets my eyes and shrugs as we get into position for a face-off.

I’m not sure exactly what happened since I’m watching the puck, but somehow, three players—two Chicago and one Carolina—end up flat on the ice as the puck heads toward our end.

I’d really like to see the replay, since it doesn’t appear that a penalty is going to be called.

I spare a second to glance at them, making sure none of them are obviously hurt, as I chase the puck.

I’m not quick enough. There are already two Carolina players all up in Patrik’s business. I get there just as one manages to sink a goal.

I spin around when the whistle blows. Where the fuck is my team? What is this bullshit?

Frustrated, I head for the bench. Coach Taylor grips my shoulders as I take a seat and spray some water into my mouth. Does he feel the same frustration? Did he ask the same question?

It’s difficult to tell what happened from the replay of everyone on the ice.

The video literally looks like an invisible force slammed into all three players’ ankles and sent them sprawling.

No matter how many times and from the two angles they have video feed for, there doesn’t appear to be any reason for it.

“Huh,” Colin Backlore says from beside me. “Is the ice haunted?”

“Don’t say that,” says someone on his other side. Colin is shoved into me. Not hard, but enough that Colin laughs.

They slow down the clip and sure enough, it seriously looks like they were hit at the exact same time.

Weird. I send up a little prayer that our ice isn’t haunted and cross myself for good measure.

The last thing Chicago needs is a haunted rink.

We have enough challenges without adding ghosts to them.

However, ghost or not, hockey moves on. The play picks up with a new puck drop. I glance at the crowd, but I can’t see Arush from here. Disappointing, but probably a good thing because I’m forced to watch the game and the game alone.

I’m back on the ice after a few minutes and this time, when I gain possession of the puck and carry it with me, I have my sights on the goal. But the goalie has his eyes locked on me as well. Hmm… wonder if I can keep his focus on me but pass the puck.

That means I need someone to pass it to. It’s difficult to keep my focus directly on their goaltender and still see what’s going on around me. When a flash of blue catches the corner of my eye, I make as if I’m going to take a shot but sling the puck toward the blue jersey.

It happens quickly. The goalie flexes to catch my shot just as Carter receives the puck and takes a shot instead. It slips by their defenseman and sinks into the upper right corner. Carter grins as he skates towards me, wrapping me in a hug.

“Nice pass,” he says.

“Nice shot,” I counter.

The buzzer screams our goal, as do the announcer and the audience. I take a short celebration with my teammates on the ice and then head for the bench. Personal goal achieved. I helped make a goal tonight. Time to focus on defense.

As it turns out, I don’t hate defense. It’s a lot of fun seeing others’ frustration when I get in their way or actually stop a shot from even getting to Patrik.

I’m on the ice at the end of the game when Patrik wraps his big mitt around my face and hauls me in for a hug.

I laugh as I stumble, but the beast in the net catches me.

“Very good,” Patrik says in a thick Swedish accent.

I tap his arm, and he lets me go, grinning all the same.

We lose. Just as I thought we would. But we lose 4-2, which isn’t a bad loss in my books.

We made some goals. Carolina didn’t get a chance to go crazy scoring goals.

Our attempts on goal exceeded Carolina’s, which speaks to the fact we were actually on our game and trying tonight. It was a good game.

I feel good as I head to the locker room. The first thing I do after sticking my stick in its home and tossing my gloves into the cubby is pick up my phone. I grin when I see three messages from Arush and from my Mama.

Arush

What was that?! How did they all fall down?

That was an awesome goal! Almost magic.

Wow. Just… wow!

Mama

What was that shit? Did you see them go down like someone took a brook to their ankles!

I click the phone screen and stuff it back on the shelf just as Coach calls for me. I’m still fully geared up, but I hobble my way to the hall and follow him into the office.

“You had a very good game tonight,” Coach says as I take a seat. I feel like my knees are in my chest because of my blades.

“Thanks.”

Coach shuts the door and then leans against the edge of his desk to look at me. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with Patrik. Do you have aspirations for defense?”