Page 23 of Rookie Attraction

“You alright, rookie?” Berg asks as he steps up to us. “Are you gonna puke?”

“I’m freaking the fuck out, Captain,” I admit as I stand up.

“First time nerves,” Berg replies with a nod. “Just picture everyone naked and you’ll be fine.”

I chuckle. “That’s what Sel said.”

“He knows what he’s talking about.”

I turn to Sel and offer a cheeky grin.

“I’ll take your advice, Sel. After all, I was raised to listen to my elders.”

“Hey! I’m only six years older than you.”

“You need a hand to get out on the ice?” I tease.

Sel offers me what I assume is his middle finger. It’s hard to tell with the glove on…

“Come on, rookie, time to hit it,” Berg insists.

I reach up and tap Biscuit’s nose for luck before I grab my stick and follow my teammates.

There are a shit ton of reporters waiting in the hallway, but I keep looking forward as we make our way down the chute. The closer we get to the ice, the harder my pulse pounds out of control. It’s almost as loud as the roar of the music, the boom of the MC’s voice, and the cheers from the crowd as our entrance is announced. The atmosphere is overwhelming and exhilarating, like being at a concert, only I’m not the fan, I’m the one in the spotlight. Despite my nerves, I take a minute to soak it all in. Stepping out on the ice as a college hockey player was always exciting, but being here in the Rush rink is next level. And so is having home ice advantage.

Hopefully.

Head in the game, Finn. Come on, head in the game.

I might have made it to the next level of play, but my confidence is still a work in progress. The second my skates hit the ice, though, part of me settles. The icy air snakes into my lungs, and I relish the cool and familiar feeling, along with the weight of my stick.

This is it.

Sel slides up next to me at the end of our warmup, his voice low and steady.

“You got this, Finn. Trust your instincts, trust your team.”

I can only nod in response and wish my body would stop shaking. The lights dim and I find myself standing between Sel and Berg during the anthem. I take it all in and desperately try not to cry. Camera flashes go off like fireworks and fans hold up their phones. My family are with me in spirit, supporting and watching from Nebraska, not to mention my friends and former teammates in Vermont. No matter what happens, I relish the fact that I made it this far. No one and nothing can take that away from me.

“Berg, you’re up!” Coach Range calls out.

That means I’m up too, along with Ranken, Makela, and Sel. Sorensen is in goal, and one by one, we skate past him and tap his glove six times before taking our positions. The music cuts off just before the puck drop, and I stare across the ice at our opponents. Miami has huge, aggressive forwards and I’ve been duly warned by my teammates. Also, I watched a ton of tape from their recent season. I repeat Sel’s advice in my head and pray that it— and my training—is enough.

The ref steps up, and when he blows his whistle and drops the puck, Berg manages to snatch it and everything moves at lightning speed. The first shift plays out fast, a total rush. I’ve never felt more alive or focused. I chase a Miami forward into a corner, take a hit that rattles my teeth, and manage to chip the puck up the boards. Sel’s never far from me, and we work together like we did in practice. When I make a mistake, he’s there with a quick word or a nod, keeping me grounded.

The rest of the period is a back-and-forth battle, 0–0.

But Miami’s relentless in the second.

Every time we get the puck in their defensive zone, they get it right back out. By accident, I block a shot with my shin, and I feel the sting all the way up my leg, but I grit my teeth and keep going. Miami scores with only two minutes remaining. I watch Berg talking to Sorensen, and even though I know our goalie’s frustrated, he doesn’t show any outward signs of stress.

I repeat what Sel told me: Trust your instincts. Trust your team.

We come back with a vengeance in the third, with Makela sneaking in a goal on the first shift to tie it 1–1. Our hot streak doesn’t last long, though, and late in the third, we’re still deadlocked. Coach sends me and Sel out for a defensive zone faceoff. My legs are like lead, but I force myself to focus. The puck drops, but not in our favor, and before I know it, Miami scores.

Now it’s 2–1.

They have the lead, and unfortunately, they keep it. When the final buzzer sounds, just like that, it’s over.