Page 42 of His Jersey

But it’s tired and stale and unfocused.

Maybe I’ve grown up.

Perhaps Gunther was right, and I have gotten old.

There’s no sense of cohesion. It’s like we’re all out for ourselves and as the longest-standing member of the team, I bear a lot of responsibility for that.

“Hey, Bouchelle. Long weekend or what? I’ve never seen you look so—” Cole squints as if he’s not sure how to finish the sentence.

Duffton chuckles. “Deep in thought.”

I grunt. “Yeah. Something like that.”

“What’s got you in a knot? Come on. We’re going to go wipe the ice with the Knights,” Duffton says.

Cole arches his left eyebrow. “Unless … we have a traitor in our midst.”

They must’ve caught wind of Remy’s ultimatum.

Rising to my feet in full gear, I say, “Is that a challenge?”

Duffton deflects and says, “We just heard a rumor that you’re quitting unless you get a spot on the Knights.”

A growl rises inside of me. “If that’s what you think, find the coach after the game and apply a little pressure. See what hesays then.”

Remy is a pushover and no one respects him because he lacks leadership skills. The guy will crack with the truth. As far as I know, the conversation about my future was just between the two of us. If he’s trying to make me look bad, I’ll win this game for the Storm just to prove that I’ve never been and would never be unfaithful.

When the puck drops, I forget everything except my goal: to win. To use the skills I acquired to be the very best player on the ice at all times. Yes, sometimes I resort to petty fighting and intimidation, but mostly, I’m just fast and accurate.

My breakaway move splits the defense. Our winger starts with a deke and I smuggle the puck toward the Knight’s tendie, who watches my eyes rather than my stick.

I have it locked in, but at the last second am blocked by a hairline.

Then Cole and one of the Knight’s guys get in a scramble and visit the penalty box.

When we circle the wagons, I recall that this could be my last game with the Storm or my last game forever. Then I spot Ella in my jersey, eyes wide and watchful.

A spark lights, dangerous because the heat rushing through me could melt the ice. My resolve renews. This will not be the last time I wear a jersey, even if it means playing for the Knights. But I can’t think about life-changing decisions right now because I have a game to win.

We repeatedly bottleneck and need to regroup. The Storm parties hard and it’s showing with a lack of focus and slack movements.

Ninety seconds back in, Gunther loses control of the puck and Duffton is in position to take it, but they’re asleep at the wheel. I put on the pepper, but the Knight’s center shanks it into the goal.

Then, in the final minute of the first period, I canpractically hear the clock counting down, moving me closer to making a decision. With precision, I slot the puck into the net. The crowd roars and I tear off my helmet, showboating a little.

Now we’re tied with the Knights. The Storm fans are thrilled as their roar fills the stadium. I slide toward the VIP box seats and wink at Ella, who claps and smiles.

The Knights score on us twice during the next period, giving them a two-point lead. Their defense is like a pair of brick walls and their wingers must’ve had double shots of espresso before coming out. They’re fast, accurate, and if I didn’t know better, I’d argue that they read each other’s minds, anticipating where to be and when.

Meanwhile, our defense is being thugs, which is fine in hockey, but some skill would go a long way in keeping the opposing team from gaining opportunities to score. Not only that but our goalie ought to belly up to the espresso machine because he seems to be dozing off in his pads.

No sooner does the clock start ticking in the third period than I gain control of the puck. Cole checks one of the defensemen, creating an opening for me. I head straight for it. The Knights’ goon charges in my direction and I dish it off to Joelson, who chokes as another defenseman attacks, sending the puck spiraling into the crease.

Eyes on target, I break away, slicing across the ice and muscling my way through the fray. Their winger is on my tail, but I’m faster, and take a risky shot, but it goes in, giving us the second goal for the Storm, narrowing the gap to three-two, home. I skid on my knees, stick pumping in the air.Woo hoo!So far, I’m the only player on the team who’s scored. The guys better get their acts together.

The Storm chant my last name after that second shot. I can’t help myself and gesture that Ella spin around and show offmy jersey.

She points to herself and I nod. She smooths her hair over her shoulder andBouchelle10blazes across her back.

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