Page 6 of Second Chance with the Single Dad Goalie (Second Chance Hockey Players #2)

Chapter four

Blake

P ressure.

It wraps around my chest like a vice, tight and unrelenting.

I exhale slowly, pushing it down as I lace up my skates.

The locker room hums with the usual pre-game energy - laughter, chatter, the sharp rip of tape against sticks, gear being strapped on, and skates clacking against the floor.

The scent of sweat and menthol rub lingers in the air.

A firm pat on my shoulder pulls me from my thoughts.

“Buddy, what’s up?” Tomas grins down at me, already half-dressed in his gear.

I tug my glove onto my right hand. “I’m good.”

Tomas snorts. “Yeah? You don’t look good.”

James plops down on the bench across from me, smirking. “He never looks good before a game.”

“True,” Tomas says, rubbing his chin like he’s deep in thought. “Every time, he gets this intense, broody look - like he’s solving some complex math equation instead of getting ready to stop pucks.”

“Maybe he’s just wondering how he got stuck with us,” James adds.

I roll my eyes and snort. “I wonder that every day. Especially about you.”

That earns a round of laughter from the guys.

Tomas chuckles. "Man, I swear you stress more than Coach does."

"Maybe if you actually stressed a little, you wouldn’t get so many penalties," I shoot back with a grin.

Laughter ripples through the group. Tomas presses a hand to his chest, mock offended. "That hurts, man. Truly."

"Just stating facts. You’re welcome," I say, shaking my head.

"Okay, okay, let’s not break his concentration before we even get out there," Liam says, stepping in. He claps Tomas on the back before turning to me. "Leave him be, guys."

The others drift back to their routines, and Liam nudges me with his elbow. "You okay, dude?"

I let out a breath. "Yeah…, just pre-game jitters, same as always."

Liam grins. "You’d think after all these years, you'd be immune to them."

"You’d think," I mutter, rolling my wrist. “You get them too?”

"Yeah, even right now. Anyway, how are the little silent monsters?"

I huff out a laugh. "Mia and Nico are great. Still asking a thousand questions a day, and full of energy.

He chuckles. "Sounds about right."

I tilt my head. "How is Hazel, by the way?"

“Hazel is doing great. But the pregnancy has been rough on me.”

That earns a chuckle out of me. “Still mad at you?”

Liam groans, rubbing his face. “Yeah. Who knew forgetting to pick up a dress from the dry cleaners would get me a full week of silent treatment?”

I shake my head, laughing. “Dude, you never learn. How many times have you made her angry this month?”

“Too many,” Lucas chimes in, stretching his arms.

“Butt out,” Liam says to Lucas, who smacks his head before leaving.

Before I can respond, the locker room door swings open, and Coach strides in.

"All right, listen up!" His voice cuts through the noise, and we all straighten. "Two minutes till you hit the ice."

Then, he hits us with something unexpected.

"I want you guys to go out there and have fun."

Silence.

A beat of stunned silence as we all just stare at him.

Tomas blinks. "Did he just say…, fun?" He whispers to me, and I nod still in shock.

Liam blinks. “Uh…! Coach?”

Coach exhales like he regrets his life choices. "Yes, fun. It’s allowed, you know."

Lucas raises a brow. "Are you feeling okay, Coach?"

Coach groans, rubbing his forehead. “Seriously, I’m trying to change things up. Just…, forget the pressure for a second and enjoy the game."

Another pause.

Then he waves his hand. "Ah, screw it - go out there and smash, win, and conquer!"

A roar of approval erupts through the locker room. Now, that’s the speech we know and respond to. We rise, knocking fists, slapping pads. It’s time.

****

The arena’s atmosphere is electric.

The Avalanche logo gleams at center ice, the crowd buzzing with anticipation.

The opposing team - Minnesota’s Northern Wolves - huddle on their bench, their dark jerseys a stark contrast against the crisp white ice.

I skate to my crease, tapping my post with my stick. Right. Left. A ritual. A reset.

The puck drops.

Liam wins the face off, flicking it back to Tomas, who immediately sends it across to Lucas.

The Wolves charge, closing in fast. Lucas dumps the puck into the zone, and Jackson speeds after it, gaining control of it.

He muscles past a defenseman, flicking a quick pass to Jackson, who fires the puck toward the goal.

The Wolves’ goalie catches it.

He is sharp.

The game settles into a rhythm - fast, aggressive. The Wolves are relentless, pressing hard. I stay low, tracking the puck as it moves up and down the ice. My defensemen block passing lanes, forcing shots from the outside. I deflect one with my shoulder, another off my blocker.

Twelve minutes in, we get our break.

Lucas intercepts a sloppy pass at the line and springs Jackson on a two-on-one. Jackson fakes the shot, then dishes to Liam, who buries it on the top shelf.

The horn blares. The crowd erupts.

1-0, Avalanche.

But the Wolves push back hard. The next few plays are a blur of bodies crashing, sticks clashing, skates carving deep into the ice. They play the puck well, forcing us into long defensive plays. My legs burn, but I stay locked in, tracking every movement.

Then, a breakdown.

Tomas loses an edge behind the net, and their center pounces, threading a pass to a winger parked at the crease. I drop to my knees, pads sealed to the ice.

Too late.

The puck slips through.

1-1.

I slam my stick against the post, shaking it off. Short memory. Reset.

The third period is a war. Hits get heavier, passes sharper. Midway through, Jackson draws a penalty, and our power play goes to work. Liam wins the draw, feeding Lucas at the point. He hesitates, then rips a shot through traffic….

Deflected.

Jackson redirects it past the goalie’s glove.

2-1, Avalanche.

The final minutes are brutal. The Wolves pull their goalie, throwing everything at us. The puck zips from stick to stick, testing our defense.

Thirty seconds left.

Faceoff in our zone. The ref drops the puck, and chaos erupts. A scramble. Sticks clash, skates dig in. The puck squirts loose - right to their winger. He winds up…

A brutal shot. High, fast.

I move, but not fast enough.

The puck slams into my shoulder, pain exploding through me as it deflects into the net.

The red light flashes.

2-2.

I barely register the Wolves celebrating. My shoulder throbs. The final seconds tick down. The buzzer sounds.

Overtime.

And I’m hurt.

My shoulder burns like hell, but I shake it off. I’ve played through worse. The guys are counting on me, and I won’t let them down.

The buzzer sounds, signaling overtime. The energy in the arena is electric - fans are on their feet, pounding the glass, chanting. The Avalanche bench is locked in, but exhaustion is creeping in. Overtime hockey is a different beast. One mistake, and it is over.

I crouch in front of the net, gripping my stick tighter than I should. The puck drops at center ice. Liam wins the faceoff, sending it back to Tomas, who skates up fast, weaving through defenders. He passes to Jackson, who fires a shot -blocked. Their goalie barely flinched.

The puck ricochets to the other side, and suddenly, they’re rushing down the ice. A two-on-one break. Lucas is the only one back. He lunges, trying to intercept the pass, but they get through. My gut tightens.

Here it comes.

The forward winds up, eyes locked on me. I track the puck, shifting slightly, anticipating the shot. He takes it - hard and fast, glove side.

I react.

My body moves on instinct as I drop, extending my glove. The puck slams into the leather, and the impact sends a sharp jolt through my shoulder. A grunt escapes me as I hit the ice, pain flaring white-hot, but I hold on.

The crowd erupts. My teammates pound their sticks on the boards. I breathe through the pain and push myself up. Not done yet.

We regain control. This time, Jackson takes the shot. It’s a clean, powerful slap shot from just outside the crease. For a second, I think it’s in - but their goalie snags it at the last second. The collective groan from the fans fills the rink.

And then, the worst happens.

Their center wins the next faceoff, sending the puck straight to their winger. He skates up, winds back, and fires.

The shot deflects - off someone’s skate.

The puck changes direction mid-air, heading straight for the top corner. I lunge - too late. It sails past my glove, clipping the bar before hitting the net.

Whistle. Game over.

For a second, the rink is dead silent. Then, their fans explode in cheers. Our side groans. The ref hesitates, talking with the officials. Our guys are shouting, pointing at the replay on the big screen.

The puck hit someone’s skate. Was it a kicking motion?

The ref signals a good goal.

I slam my stick against the ice, frustration boiling in my veins. The guys argue, but the call stands. Just like that, we lose.

I exhale slowly, forcing myself to stay calm. My shoulder throbs. Tomas skates up, claps a hand on my helmet.

“Hell of a game, man.”

I nod, jaw tight. But it does not feel like it.

We lost.

The guys shuffle into the locker room, still high on adrenaline but carrying the weight of the loss. Jackson drops onto the bench with a groan, running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair.

“That was brutal,” he mutters.

“Yeah, but we played hard,” Liam says, unstrapping his pads. “It wasn’t a bad game.”

Lucas exhales, tossing his gloves into his locker. “Still sucks, though.”

There’s a general murmur of agreement. No one likes losing, but we’re not dragging our heads, either. It was a tight game.

Coach strides in a moment later, clapping his hands together.

“All right, listen up.” His gaze sweeps over us.

“That was a solid effort. You held your ground, played tough. That’s the kind of game I want to see - tight, competitive, relentless.

I know that loss stings, but you played your asses off tonight.

I saw heart. I saw teamwork. That’s what matters.

The scoreboard doesn’t always reflect the fight you put in. ”

A few nods. A few sighs.

Coach looks directly at me. “Blake, get that shoulder checked. Don’t need you making it worse.”

I nod, already feeling the stiffness setting in. The adrenaline is wearing off, and pain is creeping in.

“Rest up, all of you,” Coach says. “We’ll go over tapes tomorrow. Good effort, boys.”

One by one, the guys slap each other’s backs, exchanging a mix of encouragement and self-deprecating jokes as we head out. I shower quickly, throw on a hoodie, and make my way to the nurse’s office.

The fluorescent lights hum above me as the team medic examines my shoulder. I grit my teeth when he presses against it.

“Yeah, that’s dislocated,” he says. “We’ll need to get your arm in a sling.”

Fantastic.

Minutes later, my arm is strapped up, and I’m already dreading the next few days. As soon as I step outside, I spot Keith leaning against the wall, hands shoved into his pockets. As soon as he sees me, he straightens and walks over.

“Hey, man.”

Despite the dull throb in my shoulder, I pull him into a quick hug. “Hey.”

Keith pulls back and lets out a low whistle, nodding toward my sling. “That was intense.”

I exhale, shaking my head. “Yeah.”

“But you did great. Honestly.”

I huff out a laugh, but it’s humorless. “I guess, man. I’m just bummed we didn’t win.”

Keith shrugs. “What’s winning without a few losses, right?”

I smirk. “Easy for you to say from the stands.”

He chuckles. “True.”

After a beat, I glance around. “Did you come alone?”

Keith scratches the back of his head. “Uh, nope. Whitney came with me.”

My stomach tightens slightly. “Where is she?”

He shrugs. “Oh, she left. Said she had some errands to run.”

I nod, trying to ignore the small flicker of disappointment. I don’t know why I expected anything different.

We chat for a few more minutes before Keith shifts, rubbing the back of his neck. “Are you still coming on Saturday? For the prep meeting?”

“Definitely,” I say.

After talking for another few minutes, we part ways, and I head out to pick up my kids.

The second I walk into the daycare, I know something’s up. Mrs. Adams, the manager, gives me a sympathetic smile.

“Blake, I wanted to speak with you,” she says. “Your nanny gave her notice today. Effective immediately.”

I blink. “Wait - what? Why??”

“She gave no reason.”

“Why didn’t she just inform me? She told me she was down with the flu, which is why I am picking them up.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know anything. She didn’t even tell us anything.”

The timing couldn’t be worse. With my shoulder messed up and the season in full swing, I don’t have time to scramble for a new nanny.

I glance at my two little tornadoes - Mia and Nico - completely oblivious to the sudden shift in our lives.

I need a new plan. Fast.