Page 104 of The Call-Up
“Suit yourself,” Ander says as he starts to skate away. He looks over his shoulder one last time. “See you both on the other side. Good luck. You’re going to need it.”
I look at Ryan and shake my head at him. “Are you crazy?”
“Nope,” he says with complete confidence. He brings his hand to my helmet and gives me a little shake as if he’s running his hands through my hair.
And now I remember. Ryan always bets on himself, and he hardly ever loses.
Ryan
The ref is holding the puck right at my eyeline. I can just make out Connor’s face on the other side of it. He looks focused. Ready. And most of all, confident he’s going to win this face off.
He’s wrong. As soon as the ref drops the puck, I kick it out of the dot with my stick. Immediately, I turn my attention to where I sent it. Brandon. Always Brandon when I can.
He has it and he’s skating it into the Blizzards’ zone. But quickly, he’s being confronted by their defense. They have him cornered, and I know there’s no way he’ll be able to deke around the both of them. His only hope is to pass. So I had better put myself in a position to receive it.
As I skate down the center of the ice and make my way towards the slot, I see him do a quick turnaround right before he flicks the puck between one of the Blizzards defenders’ legs right towards me. I almost have my stick on it when I see another stick appear, reaching between me and the puck.
It’s Connor, because of course it’s fucking Connor. He gets to the puck before I can which leaves me with no other choice. I bend my knees and center myself, then burst towards him with speed and level him with my shoulder before he can get the puck out ofhis own zone. The hit makes my ribs scream, but I don’t care. I have all summer to heal my battle wounds.
The puck leaves Connor’s stick and O’Shea grabs it. But he’s immediately taken down by Gavin; he grabs the puck as it leaves O’Shea and flicks it to Tavish, who skates off with it at full speed.
Danton and Clemmers try to catch him. They can’t. I use all of my strength to sprint towards him. But he’s in our zone before I can catch him and he’s squaring off against Ivanov, who is crouched and ready in his crease in front of our net.
Tavish tries to throw him off by faking left. But Ivanov doesn’t take the bait. He stays focused and when Tavish takes his shot, attempting to send it through Ivanov’s five hole, Ivanov drops to his knees and traps the puck between his leg pads.
As the ref blows his whistle to signal the stop of play, I skate by Ivanov.
“Good fucking save,” I say and tap my fist against his glove.
“Was close one, right,” he says.
“It’ll be running on everyone’s great saves list, that’s for sure,” I tell him, then skate away, feeling my heart beating in my throat. That was too close for comfort. We can’t let another one of those happen. There’s only so many breakaways the hockey gods will let a goalie save before one slips past him.
Brandon
Ivanov is locked in tonight, that’s for sure. He is stopping everything that the Blizzards are shooting at him. As it stands, with this first period ending in less than a minute, he’s stopped fifteen shots on goal. While that is impressive, that means that the rest of us haven’t been doing a good enough job of what Coach Chris told us we needed to do.
Play fucking defense.
I swear, I am trying. But the Blizzards, like their name, are relentless. Just wave after wave of bombardment.
And here comes another as Ryan wins the face off and sends the puck to me.
“Baby!” I hear Danton yell. “Heads up!”
I lift my head just in time to see Gavin Marshal coming towards me. I flick the puck away and brace myself for the hit.
With his force, he sends me over the boards, and into the Blizzards’ bench. And then, as I’m upside down, staring at his teammates’ skates below me, the asshole pats me on the butt before he skates away, leaving me hanging ass over tea kettle in his bench.
“Welcome to the big leagues, kid,” Tavish says as he climbs over the boards beside where I’m hanging, trying to get myself out.
Finally, I get my hand onto one of their players’ knees and use it as leverage under my hand to push myself up and out. When my skates hit the ice again, I take off. Looking around, I try to track the puck.
The Blizzards have it. Connor is skating towards our net. Gavin is standing in front of Ivanov, screening his view.
I see the play before it even happens. Connor winds up and flicks it top shelf, right past Ivanov’s ear. It’s in the back of the net before Ivanov’s even registered it was shot.
“Fuck!” I yell out, but nobody hears it as my voice is drowned out by the sound of the Blizzards’ goal horn.
