Page 142 of Game Misconduct

Leif was playing like a man possessed tonight.

A few minutes into the game and both teams were playing hard. The Rockets for a shot at the playoffs, Boston for their pride.

Tanner watched from the bench as Leif streaked up the ice toward Jesse’s net, the puck pinging off the crossbar.

It was immediately retrieved by Graham and taken down to the other end. Tanner went out, with nothing to show for it except a blocked shot that would leave a gnarly bruise on his quad.

Back on the bench, he watched again as a turnover from Drew Palmer allowed Mickey to capture the puck behind New York’s goal and fire it to Erik Wyatt.

The rookie immediately shot it toward the goal where it tumbled into the back of the net before Roman Poole could stop it.

The Harriers’ bench shot to their feet and cheered.

“Fuck yeah, baby!” Tanner shouted as Wyatt skated by the bench for his fist bumps. “That’s how we do it!”

Of course, New York immediately applied pressure and drove the play toward Boston’s defensive end. Nicky was along thefar boards, and he fired from a distance, Jesse batting the puck away.

Poole blocked a shot from Graham, the play sweeping around behind New York’s goal before it got turned over to Boston.

Tanner was out then, skating in sync with Crawford. He pinned one of New York’s defenseman against the boards while Tanner battled furiously for the puck, trying to get it free.

He got it and smoothly fired to toward the net, but it was snagged by Poole and the play was whistled dead.

Just a few minutes later, Tom got an opportunity from one of the circles, bending a knee to fire the puck in. It zipped past Poole’s shoulder and into the back of the goal, giving Boston a 2–0 lead.

Tanner shouted, “Keep it up, Tommo!”

Tom grinned and winked as he flew by, his fist colliding with Tanner’s glove with a solid thwack.

The next ten minutes were filled with a bunch of good chances and even better goaltending. It was like being at the North Atlantic Tournament all over again.

Tanner watched intently from the bench as Nicky passed the puck from the far goal line toward the near circle where Leif waited. He immediately fired the puck, but Jesse denied that too.

At the end of the first period, Tanner was tired and sweaty, and the game was still 2–0.

He cranked up the tunes in the locker room and hollered, hyping the guys up, celebrating Crawford’s milestone, and loving life.

He was going to see Leif tonight and it was going to be so damn good.

Even if the Rockets lost and Leif was having a bad night, he was here and Tanner could make it better for him. Even if they did nothing but watch movies and pig out, it would be perfect. Because they’d betogether.

Although the Harriers dominated puck possession in the second period, it wasn’t until eleven minutes in when Tanner was hanging out in the circle, Connor fired the puck toward the Rocket’s goal. Poole blocked the shot, but when it ricocheted toward Luke, he fired it back toward the net.

It pinged off the post, rebounding wildly, and Tanner shoved his way into the chaos, jamming the puck in past Poole.

The sound of the goal horn was sweet, and Tanner threw himself toward Luke, hugging him tightly. For once, it almost looked like Crawford was smiling back.

“You beauty!” Tanner shouted. “Fuck yeah! And it’s on your night too!”

The other guys piled on them and when he could no longer breathe, Tanner burst out of the celly toward the bench for his bumps.

But the Rockets were frustrated and the pace of the game got faster. The play rougher. There was more shoving and grappling along the boards, more sly elbows and butt ends of sticks in armpits and ribs.

Tanner got hooked and fell heavily, the air forced from his lungs as he slid across the ice for a few feet. He sold it a second,hanging his head before he climbed slowly to his skates and a moment later, Palmer went to the box.

Boston nearly scored on the power play, but Poole managed a diving kick save.

Ugh, fuck that guy. Why was Poole so damn good anyway? He was fucking old—thirty-two or something. Shouldn’t his reflexes be slowing? The fact that he was still so good was probably Hawke’s fault. He was the best goalie coach around.