Page 51 of Puck Shy

Johnny especially looks like I’ve stolen his stick and taped it all wrong before forcing him to play with it. When I came to practice yesterday, he’d been on cloud nine. Now, he’s sullen and annoyed. I’m surprised he didn’t take a run at me or try to harm me during practice.

But despite my team being babies the last two days, I don’t regret what I did. One person in the stands, no matter how much I want or need that person in my life, is not going to win us this game. I need to prove that not only to Stevie but also to myself. To this team. Following superstitions is not going to get us in the playoffs.

And fuck. Maybe I was dumb for what I did. But after talking to Leo, knowing she’s doing fine, I think I made the right choice. For the last two months, we’ve been in each other’s space. And I’d never be able to live with myself if Stevie fucks up her life for me. I’ve watched her work too hard for that.

I stand from the bench. The locker room is quiet, and I’ve had about enough.

“Alright, listen the fuck up, everyone,” I yell in my captain voice. Their heads lift, and I push my shoulders back.

“I know you’re pissed. But don’t let that shit get in the way of what we do tonight. We’ve gotten here, to this moment, because of us. Every practice, every game, the hard work, the wins, the losses: That was us. Not because of the way we tape our sticks or the stretches that we do in a certain order. We’re here because we earned it.”

Some of the men start to move in closer, and a few of them make grunts that say they agree with me.

My eyes turn to Johnny as I say, “I’ll admit, I’ve let my personal life get in the way of my game before. But we can’t do that tonight. It’s our asses on the ice—we must work as a team, right here, right now.”

I look at the rest of the guys again. “We owe our fans, families, friends, coaches, and the legacy we’ve built to make tonight our best game. Don’t let your mind get in the way of that. Believe in our team. Believe in the guy next to you on the ice. And trust in your fucking training. Can we do that?”

A chorus of yeses surrounds me, and Johnny slaps me on the back, a tiny smile gracing the corner of his lips at my speech.

After a moment, I give my men a salute and say, “Let’s fucking do this!”

Once the rowdy cheers subside, the team starts filtering out of the locker room, leaving Johnny and I standing together.

“Good speech, Cap,” he says. “Does this mean I can have Stevie all to myself?”

I whack the back of his helmet as hard as I can. “Touch her without me in a room, Rookie, and I’ll cut off your dick.”

He chuckles. “Noted.”

My shot hits the back of the net, and I collapse to my knees on the ice. I made the fucking shot, and we just won against Vegas in overtime. We’re going to the playoffs.

The crowd is going insane as the song “Jump Around” by House of Pain pumps through the speakers. I place my head on the ice and feel the emotion of the season overtake me. I’m exhausted, my body hurts everywhere, but I did it. Our team fucking did it.

With only minutes left on the clock, I got a key turnover in the neutral zone. I shot off a pass to my winger, Jason, who skated the puck into the offensive zone. This occupied the defense, leaving me open in front of the goal. Jason then faked a wrist shot and hit me with a no-look pass right as my stick hit the ice. Then I tipped the puck into the back door of the net to win the game.

Just as I catch my breath, my team piles on me, and I laugh. Eventually, they let me up, and I stand, pumping my stick in the air as we take a victory lap. I can’t deny that this moment feels great. That it proved something to myself and my team about what it takes to win a game. But I also can’t deny that there’s a very key person missing, too. I know it. The team knows it.

I found myself looking at the stands more than once, hoping that Stevie ignored my request and came to the game anyway. And while I’m glad she didn’t, I also feel that empty Cherry-shaped pit in my stomach.

Johnny skates up next to me and slaps me on the shoulder after we shake the hands of the other team. “Good game out there, old man,” he says, slapping my ass.

I bump his shoulder hard, and he laughs. “You had a great game yourself, Rookie.”

He holds up his stick. “Because of the tape.” He winks.

I chuckle. “You’re an idiot.”

“Maybe. But I’m a winning idiot.”

As we’re headed off the ice, Johnny stops in his tracks and holds his arm out so I’m forced to stop. “Holy shit,” he breathes, his voice awestruck.

“What is it?”

He uses his stick to point to our bench. When my eyes find the forest-green ones I’ve been missing for the last two days, my breath catches in my throat. Stevie is here standing next to a smiling Jason. And she’s wearing my jersey number.

I don’t question why she’s here or how long she’s been here, but her eyes are shining, and the smile on her cherry-painted lips has my heart almost stopping in my chest. I forget about our conversation the other day, and the next thing I know, I’m standing in front of her, sweaty and smelly but with the biggest idiot grin on my face.

“You’re here,” I say.

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