Page 63 of Home Ice

He stickhandles the puck closer and closer. Just as he passes the blue line, he fakes a pass, hoping I'll shift a fraction to my right, but I don't. I keep my eyes on Asher's. They're wide, and the cocky fuck is smiling. Skating down the ice over twenty miles-per-hour, and he's grinning like he's on a walk around the neighborhood. He moves the puck from the left side of his stick to the right and back again. The arena is so quiet, I can hear the slap on the ice and the slash of his skates. Any other goalie would hear their own pulse pounding, but I'm up for this. I didn't win the Vezina Trophy by being scared of pricks like Sorenson. I might be coming back from an injury, but I'm coming off one of the best games of my career yesterday too.

And there it is. He just showed me his weakness. His stickhandling is getting a little sloppy, a little too arrogant. I push myself out to the edge of the crease and tense my stick hand. All I have to do is poke it away. If I do it right, I'll be able to send it toward one of our defenders. With a perfect cross-ice pass, they can hit Kayden fresh on a shift change streaking toward the opposite net.

After last night, I need this win. I was this close to finally getting what I've been waiting for with Lily, but that changed with Chloe's phone call. My adrenaline spiked for a different reason when I found out what her parents had done. And after being so on edge for so long, I barely made it home this morning before falling asleep. I didn't tell either of the girls, but the well-done fried eggs I served them were supposed to be sunny side up. I closed my eyes for just as second as I cracked the eggs into the skillet, but it wasn't just a second. By the time I looked again, the yolks were set, and the bottoms were crispy brown. It didn't matter. We were all starving and about to pass out. As I put the eggs on the plates for them, I felt something I never had before. It was like Saturday mornings with Mom and Dad and Barrie. Only I was on the other side this time. It felt like I was supposed to be there. That feeling hasn't left me all day. Not even now.

I force myself to blink. Shit. Sorenson must have cut toward my right, and I missed it. I try diving back toward the net, but it's too late. I'm too far out of position. He shoots just above my outstretched arm, and I can't reach it.

The red light behind the glass glares, and I scream as I slap the puck out of the net, sending it to the other end of the ice. Like it matters now.

"Look at me sticking it in your net, just like I stick it in your ex every night. But don't feel bad, old man. Even in your prime, you couldn't stop me."

Kayden skates between us and shoves Sorenson so hard he stumbles backward. "Get the fuck out of here, Asher."

Sorenson smirks and gives us a wink before skating back to his bench.

Kayden turns to me and puts his hands on the sides of my mask. "Forget it, okay?"

"I fucking blanked. I—" But I didn't blank, did I? I let myself get distracted, something I never did before this season.

"Bran, forget it." He slaps the side of my helmet and points to the ice under our skates. "Forget it. Stay right here. We're not letting these palpation sleeves get in our heads. That's what they want."

But it wasn't Sorenson who was in my head. "Wait, what the hell did you just call them?"

"It's the gloves vets wear when they have to stick their arms up a horse's… you know."

I just stare at him because I very much do not know.

"I watch animal documentaries. You've got a problem with that? Want me to break that asswipe's wrist next time we're on the ice together? I'll make it his right one too, so he won't be able to masturbate while thinking about that goal he just got. Because you know he's gonna beat off to that one tonight."

I chuckle. "Guarantee it. But no. We've still got them. Let's just focus on getting that goal back. I've got this end covered. You take care of the other. Now go win this face-off."

He skates to the center circle and does just that, and we get a great possession out of it. But it ends with a shot off the crossbar that deflects into the netting. It seems like the rest of the second period goes that way. We're in the offensive zone way more than we're in the D-zone, always on the verge of something, but nothing breaks through. We're getting great shots, though, and it only takes one to start this comeback.

So even though we’re down one-nothing in the second intermission, our spirits are up. After a few quick strategy notes from the coaches, Sammy blasts some music. I don't know the song, and I don't like it, but I bounce my head to it. We've got this. Lily even flashes me a smile as we head back to the ice to close the game. Seeing that amps me up more than any pep talk or bass-driven song ever could.

The third period starts just like the second one ended. After the first three minutes, we already have four shots on goal, and they're good shots. But then that all changes when Poppy takes a high stick to the face. It's dirty as hell and splits his lip wide open. It should be a double-minor penalty, but the refs don't call this one either. The fans are irate. I've never heard the crowd this loud as they rain boos down on them. As team captain, Kayden pleads our case, but the refs just stand there with their arms crossed.

And like that, all the positive energy we had is gone. Our boys get chippy, trying to check the Denver players into the boards instead of playing the puck. They're too worried about getting even when the best way to do that is to tie this game. I try to tell them during our timeout, but they don't want to hear it.

So what should have been a promising game, ends one-zero. And it's not the kind of one-goal loss that we can take something positive from. We let Denver drag us down to their level, and there's no way we can ever beat them in a dirty game.

By the time I get to the dressing room, I'm pissed. If this is who we are, then we're not going anywhere this season. I slam my pads into the bin and wait until the boys are all close by. They're hanging their heads like they just lost the game. But we didn't lose. We gave it up. I make sure every one of them knows that. Just like I make sure they all know that we have to do better, including me. No more distractions on the ice. When I'm out there from now on, the game will be the only thing on my mind.

CHAPTER 43

PART OF THIS GROUP-TYPE THING

LILY

The Denver game was two days ago, and Brant has been distant ever since. He says he puts defeats behind him as soon as the final horn sounds, but I've never known any athlete really able to do that. You don't make it to an elite level if you don't care about winning and losing. So when "good night" was the only text he sent me that night, I understood. I missed our usual teasing, but I knew he was upset.

I watched the game in the dressing room. That Denver player was almost as fast as Kayden, but Brant was ready. I had no doubt he would stop the shot. It's what Brant does. But then he went still just long enough for the other player to change direction. He seemed distracted. Like his thoughts went somewhere else. And I knew right away it was because of me.

I'm the reason he was up all night before the game. I should have gone for Chloe by myself. I know how much his comeback means to him. I know how much the Denver game meant. But I still let him drive all night. I'm the reason he lost. I'm the reason he's not talking to me.

But when I woke up this morning, I decided I was also going to be the reason he comes out of whatever funk he's in. I set my alarm for a ridiculous seven o'clock and rush through a quick shower. Brant isn't the only one who can do apology donuts. But if I don't make my way to State Street soon, the good ones will be picked over by the Monday morning office workers. Just as I fasten my seatbelt and apologize to Sebastian for getting him up so early, my phone chimes.

Brant: It's supposed to be seventy today. Do you and Chloe want to do something after morning skate?

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