Page 121 of Bombshells
“Does it count as a rule broken if it only lasts five minutes?” he asks, sinking onto the mattress beside me.
“Nope,” I say authoritatively. “It’s like the five-second rule when a cookie falls on the floor.”
Then we both laugh like crazy people for the next few minutes. Anton’s pregame stress has finally burst. When we eventually settle down together again, the next thing he says is a snore.
And I take it as a compliment.
Forty
Much Rejoicing
ANTON
“We can end this tonight,” Coach says, pacing the visitors’ locker room before the final period. The game is tied—two to two. “They expected to shut us down by now. They’re on edge. They thought they could break down your game and pick it apart. We’re not going to let that happen.”
I glance around the circle at my teammates, and I see determination on every single face.
If we lose this game, we still get one more chance. It’s not over. And that’s the scenario that Nashville is counting on.
But every man in this circle knows that the other outcome is possible, too. Where we finish this once and for all, and go home with the cup.
I can feel that possibility. Like a buzz in my veins. It’s out there. All we have to do is take it.
“This is the strongest you’ve ever been as a team,” Coach says. “This is your moment. End it during the next twenty minutes, guys. It’s yours for the taking. Go get it.”
A cheer rises up, and we all stand. I snap my helmet back onto sweaty hair. Every man has given a hundred percent effort, and now we’ll double down and try for two hundred. There are back-pats and fist-bumps as we funnel down the chute one more time.
I feel a firm squeeze on my forearm, and it’s Campeau. He gives me a quick nod. We got this.
Things are cool between us again, as they should be. When Coach said this is the strongest we’ve ever been as a team, he didn’t just mean physically. We’re a unit. And I’m one twenty-third of that unit.
I made it to the top of the top. It’s happening.
Skating out with O’Doul to start the third period, we take our positions for the faceoff. The crowd is deafening. These two teams both want it so badly.
But someone’s going to win, and it might as well be us. All we need is a sliver of advantage.
The ref skates in a tight circle, positioning himself between the two centers. The arena goes quiet. Or maybe that’s just in my head, as all my focus narrows to this one moment.
The puck drops, and Campeau wins the faceoff, sending the puck to me.
Later, when I look back on these most important twenty minutes of my career, that’s the tipping point I’ll come back to—Campeau winning that faceoff. The early possession sets the whole tone for the period. It puts Nashville on their back foot.
We don’t waste the chance. Our passes are sharp. We create scoring opportunities. Campeau’s first shot on goal is deflected, but Castro scoops it up and ships the puck to O’Doul.
The two of them play keep-away for a minute before Castro changes it up, firing off a shot to Trevi. Who pops it into the upper left-hand corner of the net.
The lamp lights, and now we’re leading early in the third period.
There is much rejoicing on our bench, while Tank and Crikey take a defensive shift. But then I’m back on the ice two minutes later, as Coach does his best to keep our legs fresh and the other team guessing.
Maybe it’s hubris, but I feel unbeatable now. That must be why, when Drake sends me a deep pass a minute later, I line up a long shot from the blue line.
Instead of passing it, or skating it in, I see the opening the goalie has created for me, and I fire on it.
The keeper moves, and we probably both think he’s going to get there in time.
But he doesn’t dive low enough for my puck, which drops to the ice before sliding right in, just beneath his glove.
