Page 72 of Shootout
I snorted and skated a small circle around him. This wasn’t what I’d pictured. Not only did we have Brick, the Sockeyes goalie, at one end, but we had Vick Marshall, the backup, at the other. Both were equally skilled, though Brick was the number one for the Sockeyes. And one referee.
The crowd rose as one, cheering us on as the referee called us to center ice and explained how we’d do this. Three periods of one minute each, five minutes between periods. If it’s tied at the end of three, we go into a shootout.
One-on-one hockey takes a bit of ad-libbing and imagination. Puck drops are a battle of who can possess the puck. We have to play both defense and offense. It was going to be epic, and excitement overrode my nerves.
I forgot about the crowd and focused on the task at hand. I had confidence in my abilities. I was known for my quickness and slap shot. Banks had his wrist shot and accuracy. We were both incredible skaters with speed and agility.
The referee tossed a coin to choose which end we’d each defend, switching every period. I won the coin toss. Everyone expected me to choose to go against Vick instead of Brick, who already had one Stanley Cup under his belt. I shocked them all and did the opposite. I wanted to go against the best and not give anyone the opportunity to make excuses. This would be a competition of skill, not brawn, so there’d be no boarding or physical hits.
The first period flew by. Banks and I were getting a feel for each other, flying up and down the ice, stealing pucks, dodging, and using our skills to best the other. Banks was the toughest opponent I’d ever played against. By sheer luck and both goalies being impenetrable walls, we were 0–0 at the end of the second.
I gained confidence with every stroke of my blades. As good as Banks was, I had some of my own tricks. He didn’t back off but played hard. He was better than I was in most areas, but I might’ve been a smidgen quicker as my smaller size made me more maneuverable.
His teammates chirped him constantly. I forced myself to block them from my mind because some of the shit they were saying was funny as hell.
With ten seconds left in the third, I saw my opportunity. Banks made a mistake by getting fancy rather than keeping it simple, and I capitalized on it. I swiped my stick toward the puck and stole it. He was a half stride too slow, and I was off to the races.
Bearing down on Brick, I let my training and instincts take over. He was positioned slightly off to one side and staring straight at me. I powered toward him, changed direction at the last moment, and shot the puck over his right shoulder.
The lamp lit and the buzzer sounded.
The crowd in the stands went wild.
A few seconds later, the horn blasted to signal the end of the game.
Banks skated up to me and fist-bumped. “Good game.” I saw respect shining in his eyes. I’d surprised even him. Hell, I’d surprised myself. I hadn’t expected to beat him, only to make him work for the win.
But I had.
“Drinks and pizza are on the loser,” Jason yelled, and more cheers erupted.
A half hour later, our raucous group took over the pizza joint a block from the SHAC. Being that it was a Sunday night, we had the place to ourselves.
I was radiant and basking in the glow of my triumph. I had to give Banks credit—he was a good sport and took the ribbing of his teammates in stride. I did note that Jonas was conspicuously absent, but he’d been in the practice rink earlier. Knowing I’d gotten under his skin gave me more satisfaction than it should’ve.
“I guess I’m your butler for a weekend,” Banks said as he stood next to me and snagged a piece of pepperoni pizza from one of the pans on the table.
“You are.” I glanced around, feeling heady from the beer I’d drunk and my victory. “Why did you wager what you did?”
“I—uh—” He frowned, decidedly uncomfortable and struggling to come up with an explanation.
Before he had a chance, Vick grabbed him and pulled him away from me. “Come on, buddy, we’re doing shots.”
He glanced my way. “You wanna join us?”
“No thanks, I’ll stick with beer.”
He smiled slightly and followed his buddy.
Neither one of us brought up his wager again. For me, I succumbed to avoidance and fear. If I kept my growing feelings for him secret, then I wouldn’t open myself up to eventual heartbreak and rejection. I could only surmise his reason for keeping quiet had something to do with his regret that he’d even suggested such a thing as making our relationship real.
Later that evening, Banks walked me to the condo building. We stood outside in the cool night air, holding hands and staring at each other.
“I wish I could invite you up, but my brother’s there.”
“I know.”
“He’s going out tomorrow night. Want me to text you when he leaves?”
