Page 87 of Mind Pucked

I see Hayden looking too—we’re both hooked as we wait for Oliver to make the play.

He hooks his stick back a little so it almost touches the back of the blade of his skate. He’s about to attempt a shot, when the right wing from the other team skates in front of the goal on their side and blocks him.

Oliver is forced to make another play. He reels back and sees two guys from the other team coming up behind him. One tries to sneak the puck from him, but he maneuvers it so the guys come up empty.

“Nice play!” I shout, and Hayden mimics me.

“My daddy is open, Uncle Oliver!” she shouts as if the man can actually hear her, and I think it’s adorable.

She’s right, though—Jackson is open, skating up to the left side of the hash marks. He’s not far enough from the center for my liking, since Oliver would have to stick the puck backward away from their goal rather than forward to get it to Jackson, and I don’t know if that’s safe right now.

“Daddy is off-center,” I tell her. “I don’t think Oliver can get it back to him. But I could be wrong.” I smile at her, then turn back to the TV.

Oliver turns, to my shock, facing their own goal. He skates past the center on their side, who almost gains control but misses by a hair.

Oliver skates back behind Jackson as Jackson goes forward, faking a grab at the puck as he passes him. The other team turns to Jackson, who they think has the puck.

Jackson skates forward toward the other team’s goal as if going in for a shot.

He sets his stick back in a J formation, pretending to snap the puck into the net. But there’s no puck, and the crowd cheers when they realize Oliver still has it. My eyes cut to Oliver as the camera pans in on him and the puck that he still has control of.

It was a smart move.

“Uncle Oliver still has the puck!” Hayden squeals, bouncing up and down in her seat.

“Yeah, they faked ’em, didn’t they?” I reach over and muss her hair as we both stay locked in the game. The Stanley Cup is such a big deal, and it would be amazing for the Jays to win, but this signifies the end of a season, which makes me worry even more.

Without hockey, will he still need a nanny?

I can’t think about that right now, so I don’t.

Jackson skates left to get out of the way for Oliver to make his way through for his third score in a row.

He fakes left, then goes right, snapping his stick and sending the puck in a saucer hit that sends it skidding at a parallel to the ice for the entire distance…hovering inches above it just before it slaps into the net.

“Woohoo!” I shout, and Hayden does the same thing.

“Was that a hat-tick?” Hayden asks, causing me to giggle.

“A what?” I ask, trying to figure out what she’s asking as the teams set up again with the ref in the middle of the ice.

“A hat-tick,” she says again, just as sure as the first time.

“You’re going to have to tell me what a hat-tick is,” I tell her with a smile as I fight the laughter. I don’t want her to think I’m making fun of her.

“When Daddy or one of my uncles make three in a row,” she says. “A hat-tick.” She giggles, causing her locks to shake.

“Oh, a hat trick!” I exclaim, finally getting the drift.

“That’s what I said…a hat-tick.”

“Yes, baby.” I lean in and hug her. “That was a hat trick.” I laugh with her now that I know what she’s saying. “Oh look! Daddy has the puck now.”

“Yeah, he just stole it from the other team.” She smiles. “Daddy says the only time it’s otay to steal is on the ice.”

“That’s right,” I say as Jackson heads toward the goal of the opposing team.

He’s intercepted and a penalty is called on one of their players when they hook their stick into Vaughn’s skate, sending him flying across the ice. Jackson helps his friend up but glares at the guy who’s being dragged off the ice and put into the penalty box.

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