Page 69 of Pucking Amazing

His words strike a chord in me. My truth...maybe it’s not the conventional white picket fence fantasy. Maybe it’s messy and complicated and beautiful in its own way.

“I really care about DJ,” I confess. “And Sydney, actually. Both of them. And I don’t want to screw it up, hurt either of them.”

“Then don’t,” Ryan says simply. “Talk to them. Be honest. It won’t be easy, but the best things in life rarely are. You just have to decide if it’s worth it to you.”

Deep down, I already know my answer. DJ and Sydney bring me alive in ways I never imagined. If there’s even a chance...

“Thanks man,” I bump Ryan’s fist. “I think I know what I need to do.”

The next night, the cheers booming through the home arena thrum in my bones as we skate out onto the ice. This a crucial game, a game we have to win to keep our playoff hopes alive. The pressure would be crushing if I weren’t getting used to it by this point.

DJ skates over and taps his stick against my pads with a friendly, uncomplicated smile. “You got this, Ty. Let’s shut these fuckers down tonight.”

I nod, his simple words filling me with confidence. “Damn right. They won’t know what hit ‘em.”

The puck drops and the game is on, a frenzied back-and-forth right from the start. I’m lasered in, tracking every play, challenging shooters, kicking out pads to deny their scoring chances. We trade goals, neither team able to pull away.

By the second period, my legs are jelly but I dig deep, determined not to let the team down. Gabe slides to block a shot and when the rebound squirts free, I dive for the save.

But the puck sails just past my glove, hitting the back of the net with a devastating swish.

Dammit! I should have had that one.

Pissed at myself, my eyes dart across the ice to DJ, unconsciously seeking his reaction. But my mistake flies to the back of my mind when I see that DJ’s unfocused, skating gingerly, his movements slightly awkward.

You wouldn’t know it unless you knew the way he moved like I do—he’s hiding it well—but I instantly realize something’s wrong.

What’s going on with him?

I try to ignore it, to get my head back into the game.

But as the clock ticks down in the second period, I can’t stop glancing over at DJ, wondering if he’s okay, if he’ll be able to finish out this critical match. My mind isn’t fully on the ice and it shows.

Another shot squeaks by me.

The opposing team whoops and high-fives and the crowd groans.

I slam my stick against the goalpost in frustration.

“Fuck!”

The self-doubt creeps in, an all-too-familiar voice. You’re just Adam’s backup, in over your head. You’ll never be as good as a real starting goalie. Never be the star your brother Steven is.

The buzzer pierces through my spiraling thoughts, ending the disastrous second period. I skate to the bench, shoulders slumped, avoiding eye contact with my teammates.

In the locker room, I rip off my mask and collapse onto the bench, head in my hands.

“Simmonds!” Coach Daniels’ gruff voice booms out. I look up to see him standing over me, arms crossed.

Here it comes, the tongue-lashing I deserve.

But his expression softens. He claps a meaty hand on my shoulder pad.

“Tyler, you’re doing great out there. A few unlucky bounces, that’s all. I’ve got full faith in you, kid. This team needs you. Now get your head on straight and finish strong, you hear?”

I nod, a lump in my throat. “Yes, Coach. I won’t let you down.”

“I know you won’t.” He gives my shoulder a final squeeze and strides off.

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