Page 61 of Goalie Interference

Okay. It was only a matter of time before I was bound to lose another game. As Connor always says, we can’t win them all.

But it would help if we didn’t lose this game in such spectacular fashion. The score is currently five to four in the New York Journeymen’s favor.

Fine. It’s not like we’re getting blown out. But if we’ve scored four goals, there should be zero reason for us to lose this game.

Why does it have to be my fault?

“It’s not entirely your fault,” Gavin says. He’s hunched over at his waist, elbows resting on his knees in the crease with me, catching his breath while the Journeymen celebrate their latest goal.

“Thank you. That is so helpful.” I pull my water bottle out of the holder on the net and squirt some into my mouth through the bars of my mask. I offer some to Gavin and he lets me squirt some into his mouth.

“That last goal is only because they split our defense,” Gavin says. “They had you on an odd man rush.”

I place the water bottle back in its holder. “I still should have stopped that one… or all of the other four.”

Gavin stands to his full height then bumps me on the shoulder with his fist. “Don’t worry so much.” He nods his chin at Connor who’s climbing over the boards. “He’ll tie this up for us.”

With my stick, I push him away from me. “I love your confidence,” I shout to him. “Glad one of us feels positive about this.”

He skates to center ice and meets Connor there. I keep my eyes focused on them. Because the last thing I want to do is glance over at our bench and accidentally lock eyes with Coach Matthews. I’m sure he’s pissed. With only five minutes left in this period, now we’re all hoping that Connor or one of our other forwards can tie this game up to send us to overtime, whereas before we had a shot of winning without needing the extra period.

I could really use an emergency calm down call from Nikolai right now. But it’s starting to feel like a call isn’t enough anymore. I want more. I need more and it’s not fair of me to ask him for it.

“Come on, Connor,” I say quietly, alone in my crease as I watch everyone prepare for the next faceoff. “Get us one more.”

When the ref drops the puck, everyone moves into action and it takes a split second before it becomes clear who won possession of the puck. I hold my breath, hoping I don’t see everyone skating in my direction.

The hockey gods are finally on my side, and I watch as Connor skates toward the other end of the ice with the puck on the end of his stick. He passes it to Gavin to redirect the other team’s defense then skates closer to the net. Gavin passes it back to him. It slides perfectly in front of where Connor is headed. He gathers it with the toe of his blade, lures their goalie forward, then flicks it in between his legs before he has a chance to drop to his knees and block it with his pads.

“Thank Christ.” I breathe out as everyone else on my team celebrates his goal.

From across the ice, Gavin locks eyes with me and gives me a subtle nod. We’re good. Now we just need to survive the rest of this period and then score another one quickly in overtime.

Nikolai

I’m sweating as I watch Ander’s game. I should have stayed at my place for this instead of accepting Ryan and Brandon’s invitation to watch it with them in their apartment. But Vicky had dropped them off a lasagna, and while I can cook, there’s nothing like a home-cooked meal made by the captain’s wife.

Although I haven’t touched mine yet. It’s waiting for me on the kitchen counter, getting cold, while I stand and watch the game. Overtime is starting any second now.

“Yo, Ivanov,” Brandon says from where he’s sitting on their couch with a plate full of steaming hot lasagna held with one hand in front of him. His other hand is holding his fork, shoveling his second helping of dinner into his mouth. “What are you so nervous for? It’s not like we’re playing.”

“I am not nervous,” I say, a total lie.

What if the Blizzards lose this game? Am I no longer Ander’s lucky charm? Will he change up his routine and stop our phone calls the night before his games? I’ve grown to depend on those phone calls as much as he has. Maybe even more.

“I’m surprised you’re not nervous,” Ryan says to Brandon as he enters the living room from the kitchen. He hands Brandon a bottle of Gatorade then sits back down beside him and grabs his plate of food off the coffee table.

“Why would I be nervous?” Brandon asks, his mouth full of food. “It’s not like I’ve never seen Ander lose a game before.”

“They might still win,” I say. “Hope is not lost.”

“Yeah, Brandon,” Ryan says, but I feel his eyes on me. I look at him. He’s smirking at me. “There’s still hope for Ander to pull this one out.”

I shake my head at him, and he starts to laugh.

Brandon rolls his eyes, but despite his words, he moves so that he’s sitting on the edge of his seat. His eyes are glued on the TV. Like mine should be.

When I focus on the screen again, it’s right as the Journeymen’s star center intercepts a pass that the Blizzards defense meant to send to Connor. Quickly he’s on a breakaway heading right towards Ander.