Page 280 of Cross Check

I haven’t let myself consider if Grant is in the stands tonight, but I saw glimpses of the rest of the men’s team up on the premium level. I have to assume he’s here too, and it makes my heart ricochet against my ribs.

I don’t linger on what he might be wearing or who he’s sitting with. Does he miss me like I miss him? Does he hate me for walking away from that bathroom?

Because I hate myself for leaving him. For leaving us.

The referee blows their whistle, and I’m pulled back to the here and now. My mask is in place, and our first line takes the ice again. They huddle up and exchange a few quick words, and it’s been special to see the bond they’ve formed in only a few weeks together.

Men’s hockey has camaraderie too, but often times you’re balancing competing egos and the guy with the bigger paycheck wanting to be the one to take the shot that wins the game. These women have a kinship I haven’t found in the NHL yet, a sisterhood of sharing the responsibility and taking the blame when things don’t go right.

I’d like to coach in the PWHL one day. This time in Italy has confirmed that for me, and I take a deep breath as time resumes.

Canada wins the face-off—they’ve been aggressive from the jump all night—and immediately move for Parker Harrington in goal. She’s spent years in the AHL, but her performance in the Olympic games has me sure a PWHL or NHL contract will be in front of her soon. She’s only given up three goals the entire tournament for the U.S., and she’s been instrumental in our success.

Canada’s shot comes up short, and Emmy gets the rebound. A silent conversation passes between her, Berkshire, and Gander, and the three settle into the triangle we talked about. Canada tries to read the play, but their defender goes left instead of right when Berkshire dishes the puck back to Emmy after a pass.

It happens in slow motion; Emmy’s lifted chin and her stick pulling back. The way she assesses the ice and sees the open path. She keeps her eyes straight ahead, locked on her target, and goes for a slap shot that hits the top bar of the goal before sneaking into the net.

It’s the best bar down goal I’ve ever seen, the ping of the puck against the metal loud enough to hear from our bench. Emmy lets out a roar and lifts her leg, skating on one blade while the women on the ice celebrate her. The U.S. fans jump to their feet in the stands. I know Maverick is up there somewhere, holding their daughter who just witnessed her mom make history.

Canada doesn’t let us celebrate for too long, going on an immediate tear to the opposite end after another face-off win. Harrington is ready, her blocker out so she can catch the puck before our opponents are able to score. We keep control the next six minutes with another goal that flushes out any hope Canada might have, and when the buzzer sounds, all the women tumble onto the ice. Helmets and sticks and gloves go flying, and I’m wrapped in a hug by one of my assistant coaches.

“Holy shit!” someone screams, and I’m pulled toward the group of players.

Someone else hugs me, and a dozen people shake my hand. I can’t stop smiling, and my eyes well with tears. It’s the first time I’ve ever cried on the ice, but it seems like as good a moment as any.

An Olympic gold medal hockey team.

That little girl who signed up for her first hockey camp all those years ago wouldn’t believe it.

It feels better than winning the Stanley Cup in a way I can’t explain. There’s more magnitude behind it, and maybe it’s because there are reporters asking me questions in a dozen different languages. Maybe it’s because someone from the Olympic committee arranges us in a line after we shake Canada’s hands. Maybe it’s because the players get a medal put around their neck, and the crowd cheers louder and louder for each woman.

It might be because I don’t have anyone to celebrate this with. I have to keep my smile in place, clapping and refusing to look up to the stands to see if I can find the one person I wish was by my side. I don’t want to know if he’s looking at me. I don’t want to know if he’s telling the person next to him how proud he is. I don’t want to know if he’s jumping up and down and saying, see that one in the blazer? That’s my girl right there.

After the ceremony ends and everyone files off the ice with their new hardware, I’m left alone. The ache in my chest is back, and it turns out gold medals can’t heal everything.

EIGHTY-EIGHT

GRANT

Puck Kings

Connor

It’s a big day for G, Huddy Boy, and Ethan!

Mitchy

We’re in the stands ready to cheer for you!

Connor

Can’t wait to see you give it your all, dudes!

Mavvy

*Attachment: 1 image*

We made Murphy a shirt with your faces on it!