Page 29 of Rookie Moves

“Listen up, boys,” Coach Vaughn says with a clap of his hands, distracting me from my runaway thoughts. “We faced this team two years ago, and while they got the better of us back then, we’re not going to let them get away with it this time.”

There’s a chorus of grunts in agreement around the locker room.

“We’re going to stick to the powerhouse line tonight. Starting six, we’ve got Nelson, McKay, and Shelley up front, and bringing up the defense, we have Lennstrom and Fleming, with Winslow manning the crease,” he confirms, then lifts his head from his clipboard to look around the room at each one of us. “We are a stronger team than them. Our stats have proved it this season, so I wouldn’t put it past them to try and get into your heads to trip you up. Stay vigilant. Stay focused, and whatever you do, don’t fuck this up.”

“Yes, Coach!” we shout in response, and then the room falls into a focused silence as we pull our jerseys over our heads and finish getting ready.

The arena hosting the regionals this weekend seats almost ten thousand people, and when we step out onto the ice, it’s like the air crackles with anticipation. Both schools have brought their bands, each of them taking their respective ends of the ice. The sound of chanting, drums, and brass instruments bounces off the walls of the building, causing goose bumps to ripple across my arms.

As I skate a loop around the back of the net, I glance up into the stands, taking in the signs and faces painted in red and white, Whilton U colors. People have filled every seat, and this is only the regionals. I can’t help but wonder what it would be like if we make it to the Frozen Four.

When, not if, McKay, Coach Vaughn’s stern voice echoes in my mind.

Truth.

I take my place on the blue line and remove my helmet for the national anthem. Nerves and adrenaline pump through my veins as I shift from skate to skate, eager to get this game underway and be one step closer to taking the win back to Whilton U.

And for Tyler.

I cast my gaze over to where he’s standing a little further down the line, my stomach flip-flopping at the sight of him. His dark hair is pushed back off his face, the bright lights from the screen above highlighting every smooth line of his face and those lips that have the ability to alight a type of pleasure inside of me I never knew was possible. He’s wearing an unreadable expression as he stares up at the flag displayed on the jumbotron, his chin resting on the back of his gloves where they hold the knob of his stick.

Is he as nervous as I am? Is his stomach caught up in knots, anxious about what comes next? It’s gotta be playing on his mind. It’s only natural. He’s dedicated so much of his life to this sport, and knowing the end is near must be wreaking havoc on his emotions.

I’m not given a chance to dive too deep into those thoughts, because as soon as the anthem finishes and the sound of roars from the stands hits my ears, I mentally shake away all other thoughts from my mind and engage my one-track focus.

Win this game. Bring home the win tomorrow. Make it to the Frozen Four.

That’s all I need to think about right now. Everything else can come later.

I put my helmet back on and reattach the straps to my cage, then do another lap of the zone as the rest of my teammates head back to the bench.

Lining up for the face-off, I avoid making eye contact with their star center and laser in on the puck, ready for the drop. Adrenaline pulses through me the second it leaves the referee’s hand. I win the face-off, passing back toward Nelson, and it’s game on.

As Coach Vaughn predicted, Western Michigan are playing a tactful game, trying to get into our heads and cause us to make easy mistakes.

Liam gets crushed into the corner of the defensive zone. It’s three on two battling it for the puck. I use the toe of my stick to try and poke it loose from around their skates. He quickly glances over his shoulder, and I read his unspoken words. I back up slightly, positioning myself without taking my eyes off the puck. Nelson nudges the puck free with the end of his blade, kicking it back until it lands on my tape.

I’m heading up the ice, dodging their waiting defenseman, poking the puck between my skates with ease as I make the breakaway. The sound of the crowd cheering me on is like an invisible push, and I sink the puck into the back of the net with a one-timer.

I drag my knee across the ice, aiming my imaginary arrow at the jumbotron before Liam jumps into my arms.

“You are a hockey god, I swear,” he laughs, and relief hits me, knowing we’ve got the first goal on the board, but the game isn’t over yet.

The rest of the game goes pretty much the same. Western Michigan capitalize on a lame power play after Nelson gets called for tripping, equalizing the score, but then we retake the lead with a shorthanded goal during the second period.

As we head into the third, you could cut the tension simmering on the bench with a knife. We’re all sitting on the edge of the bench, eyes locked on the play. Every time I hit the ice for my shift, I’m giving one hundred and ten percent, but I haven’t been able to get a clear shot on goal.

Slumping on the bench, I squirt water into my mouth and resist clenching my jaw in frustration.

“Get the puck out of the zone!” Coach Vaughn growls from where he’s pacing behind us. “Now is not the time to get sloppy!”

With just over two minutes left, Western Michigan call a time-out, and we use the time to huddle around Coach as he walks through our next plan of action.

The referee blows his whistle, and my heart is beating in time with the drums being played by our school’s band.

Then, it’s like the noise intensifies when they pull their goalie.

I grip the boards, unable to tear my eyes away as they battle it out in our zone. Anton passes to Tyler behind the back of the net, and then Tyler sends the puck flying from the corner. The puck sails over the heads of Western Michigan’s players. Their defensemen put their all into chasing it down when it lands in the offensive zone, but it’s too late.