Page 67 of The Call-Up
Ryan grins devilishly at him. “Jealous?”
“Of Brandon?” Richie laughs, but it sounds bitter. “Fuck, no. He’d still be rotting away at UDub if it wasn’t for your shitty team.”
Ryan casually points up at the scoreboard. “According to that, we’re actually not shitty.” He turns to look at me. “How did you survive all those years playing with this guy?”
I shrug and smile at both of them. Sure, Richie just cross-checked me, and if the game wasn’t in time out due to me scoring, that would have been a major penalty, but still. I get it. Hockey is an emotional game. “He wasn’t always an asshole when we played together.”
“Fuck you, Brandon,” Richie says as he cross-checks me again. This time sending me off balance.
Danton catches me from behind, then pushes me away from McDaniel towards the bench. “Go get your fist bumps, Baby.”
Ryan
This is going well. Very well. I’m on the bench catching my breath watching Roysy’s line knock Minnesota’s top line around like they’re bowling pins. It’s quite impressive.
“Christianson, Bouchard, O’Shea!” Coach directs. “Get ready. Line change coming up. Slow it down out there. Try to run out some time on the clock.” He whistles between his teeth signaling Roysy’s line to dump the puck into our zone and come back to the bench.
I’m over the boards first, and quickly I skate after the puck Roysy chipped across the blue line. I catch up with it and take it behind Ivanov and his net as I wait for Brandon and O’Shea to get through the change and into our zone.
“How you holding up?” I ask Ivanov.
“Is good,” he says. “Very good.”
I look up at the clock. There’s five minutes left in this game and the score is still one to zero. Which is fine.
Brandon is over the boards next, so I skate out from behind the net and pass the puck to him. O’Shea swings over the boards and slots himself into perfect position. We’re ready to make our next attack.
But the key now, like Coach commanded, is to be slow and steady. There’s no need to rush. So Brandon passes the puck to me in the neutral zone, then I pass it to O’Shea.
Minnesota does their best to find position as we continue to cycle the puck between us. Danton and Clemmers get into position behind us, protecting our blue line in case one of the Minnesota players manages to intercept the puck between our passes.
“Are we going to play or what?” McDaniel snaps. His face is beet red and covered in sweat.
“We are playing,” I say as I pass the puck around him to Brandon, who slides it to O’Shea. “Aren’t you having fun?”
“No.” He skates towards me and bumps me with his shoulder. Not hard enough to be a hit and not really hard enough to affect me at all, but I can feel the frustration radiating off of him.
I nudge him with my shoulder as I place the blade of my stick down on the ice. “That’s a shame,” I say, right as Brandon lines up to make a pass to me. “Because I’m having a ball.”
Brandon’s pass lands right on my blade. This time, I shoulder-check McDaniel with force to get around him.
“Fuck you, cocksucker!” he yells as I skate past him.
“No thanks!” I yell over my shoulder.
The timing of Brandon’s pass couldn’t have been more perfect. We really are in sync out here. He’s right in line with me on my right side as we cross into Minnesota’s offensive zone together. O’Shea catches up to us and the three of us slip past Minnesota’s defense. I pass the puck to O’Shea. He’s gotten ahead of us both and he’s in perfect position for the breakaway.
He winds up, shoots, and… he beats the goalie. The puck sails right past his extended gloved hand. Brandon and I crash into him as the goal horn blares.
When we break apart, I look over to where the five Minnesota players who are on the ice with us are standing watching us celly. Three of them are hunched over. One of them is making his way back to their bench. And McDaniel is breaking his stick over his knee.
He points one half of it at me. “Fuck you!”
I look around, then point at myself. “Who? Me?”
“Yes, you! Fucking asshole.” He looks at Brandon as we skate back to our bench. “Yourboyfriendis a real shitbag, Brandon.”
I look at Brandon, expecting to see his skin turning bright pink. Instead, I see him laughing. “Ryan was right,” he says. “You do sound jealous.”
