Page 62 of The Call-Up
Poor things. They should have given those to that McDaniel punk. Sure, he’s nothing to look at, but at least with him they stand a chance of having the gesture utilized to its full potential.
I look for Brandon again. He’s made his way to the glass behind Ivanov where his parents are watching warmups. He flicks a puck up off the ice with his stick, then sends it over the glass for them to catch.
It’s nice having his family here. I wish I could say the same about mine.
Brandon
“Fuck!” Ivanov yells out as Minnesota’s goal horn blares. He grabs his water bottle off his net and takes a sip.
Richie is celebrating behind the net right in front of him, and it is taking all of my strength not to throw my stick at him. I get it. We all celebrate after a goal, but he’s taking it too far.
“Enjoy being a backup in the KHL next season,” he says to Ivanov before he skates away.
To my delight, I see my father on the other side of the glass give him the finger. I don’t think Richie saw it, but I did. And I approve.
“He’s a prick,” I tell Ivanov. “He’s always been a prick.”
“You know him? Yes?”
I nod. “We played together at UDub. He’s a jerk.”
“A big jerk.” Ivanov pats me on the shoulder with his giant goalie glove. “Go shut him up.”
“I’ll try my best,” I say as I skate away towards the center of the ice for the next face off.
“I can’t believe you played on a team with that asshole,” Ryan says to me when I get to the dot.
“It’s not like I had a choice.”
“Please tell me you two were never linemates,” O’Shea says.
“Thankfully, no. He was too busy being the star while I was relegated to the second line.”
“Second line is still pretty good,” Danton says.
“I’m aware,” I say. And I am. It’s just, I’m also aware that Richie is good. Very good. He’s fast, aggressive, and has an unreal release for his shot that’s near impossible to stop. I may hate theasshole, but as we take our positions for the face off, I have to admit he’s a talented player.
“Back for more,” Richie taunts from where he’s standing.
“One goal,” Ryan says, shaking his head, “and this kid thinks he’s the next Wayne fucking Gretzky.”
“You doubt me?” Richie says. “It was your defense I slipped past to score on that breakaway.”
“Once,” Ryan says, staring right at him with defiance in his eyes. “And it won’t happen again.”
“We’ll see about that.” Richie smirks with his mouth guard sticking out between his teeth like a fishhook. Typical Richie.
I subtly tap Ryan on his back with my stick before I settle back into my position to wait for him to win the face off and shoot the puck out of the scrum.
Except the puck doesn’t come my way. Richie won the face off and sent it towards his left winger, who executed a perfect pass back to him.
“Fuck!” I yell out and go chasing after him. But Danton beats me to him, and shoulder-checks him at the blue line, prompting the refs to blow their whistles.
Ryan
I’m glad to see I’m not the only person this Richie kid is pissing off. I skate to the box and hand Danton back his stick, which he dropped after he leveled Richie. “Nice hit.”
“Sorry about that,” Danton says. “I just couldn’t take hearing his mouth anymore.”
