Page 1 of A Scoring Chance

Prologue

Cooper

“This game between the Portland Timberwolves and the Boise Wolverines is much closer than any of us expected.” The announcer's voice fills the arena as the coach calls a line change.

I spring from my seat on the bench and head toward center ice. Our teams are tied 2-2 with two minutes left in the third period. Having close games isn’t new to us. We train for these types of situations, but what makes this one especially frustrating is this game shouldn’t be this close.

“The Timberwolves have spent most of the game in the lead, but Cole Hendrix has shown up big for his team today.”

Bless it. These assholes need to give it a damn rest. All game, they've been doing nothing but yapping about the axe Cole has to grind against Beau and me. Yes, Cole is my younger brother and the star right winger on our rival team and current opponent, but he’s his own person. A talented hockey player in his own right, regardless of his being mine and Beau’s younger brother.

“That’s right, Gordon. The youngest Hendrix brother in the league has something to prove today. He’s definitely giving both his older brothers a run for their money tonight.”

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, blocking out everything that’s going on around me. At this moment, nothing exists besides what is happening right in front of me. When I open my eyes, I get low to the ice, my knees bent, my stick at the ready to give me the best possible chance of winning this face-off.

As I choke up on my stick, I quickly glance back to my left to let Chief know the puck is coming his way. We need to win this face-off and get the puck in the back of the net. All we need is one, and then the rest is up to Beau to keep our little brother from getting a hat trick.

My eyes lock with my opponent as I plant the toe of my stick at the edge of the face-off dot. Winning a face-off has a lot to do with positioning but also timing. I need to be faster than my opponent, which shouldn’t be an issue since I’ve won every face-off I’ve had all game. Every muscle in my body tightens as I’m ready to spring into action the moment the puck hits the ice.

“You’ve got no chance, Hendrix. The only place this puck is going to end up is in the back of your team’s net.” Leon chuckles darkly as he mirrors my position.

Ah, it seems we both planned on moving the puck back on our forehands, setting up on the opposite side of the ice. If they win the puck and continue to run plays in the same rotation as they have all game, Cole will immediately jump onto the ice for a breakaway down our right side before passing to a teammate, hoping to catch Beau on his weak side. It would be a good play if I didn’t know my little brother so well. He’s going to go for the hat trick.

“Keep dreaming.” Dismissing him with a shake of my head, I watch the puck hit the ice.

My stick shoots forward, hooking the puck and passing it back to Chief. Chief passes to Ace at left wing, but the puck comes loose. The Wolverines attempt to make their way downthe right side, but before the defender can get the pass off, I skate in, stealing the puck before it even reaches their winger.

“Cooper Hendrix now has the puck in his own zone. He’s taking it up the left side toward the goal.”

Just as the announcer finishes, I see Leon charging my way. I quickly flick the puck against the board and escape the check as he slams heavily into the boards. The defender is coming in hot, and I doubt I’ll miss another check. I pass the puck up the side, knowing that Bear will get there in time. He’s never led me wrong before.

The minute I release the puck, the defender smashes into me, pinning my right leg to the boards with his leg. Our legs keep getting increasingly tangled as I fight to get free, and neither of us willing to give in to the other, when I notice Leon charging towards me from the center ice.

Fuck, this won’t end well for me. I continue struggling to get free, but Leon slams into me hard. My head bangs off the plexiglass surrounding the rink as my body twists to the right. Blinding pain shoots through my leg as I hear a loud pop a second before I slam down against the ice.

“Oh, what a hit. Cooper Hendrix goes down hard.” The announcer's voice sounds distorted as I try to get up off the ice. I attempt to roll onto my stomach, but the movement causes the entire world to spin. All I can do is lie there and watch, hoping my team can connect with each other and score one last time.

“Benson now has the puck and passes it across the net to Bower, who shoots and scores. The Timberwolves are now up 3-2 with almost no time left on the clock.”

I watch as my entire team celebrates, but I can’t move a muscle. Just the thought of getting up off the ice and skating back toward the bench makes me want to hurl. The ref closest to me blows his whistle, motioning for Coach and the trainer to come onto the ice.

Our trainer, Parker Murphy, kneels down beside me. “How bad is it, Coop?”

That is the one thing I love about Murph. He’s only been the head trainer for the last three years, but he’s been with the team as long as I have. He knows that if my ass is still down on the ice, there’s a very good reason.

“It’s bad, Murph. I heard a pop.”

“Fuck. Are you sure? You hit your head pretty hard,” he questions, helping to roll me to the sitting position as he gently presses his hands down my left leg toward my knee.

“Yes. I’m sure.” I clamp my teeth shut, not daring to open my mouth again as he switches legs. The moment I heard that sound, I knew what had happened. It’s my ACL, the mother of all knee injuries for an athlete. Searing pain shoots through my leg the moment his thumb touches my kneecap. If it were any other time, I probably would have punched Murph square in the jaw for not listening, but with injuries like this, he has to be sure.

“I’ll call the ambulance,” he says, reaching for the walkie-talkie at his hip.

“No, the fuck you won’t,” I growl, not wanting to make a big deal out of this. “We are up by one goal with less than a minute left in the Western Conference Championship. We will be on our way to the Stanley Cup finals for the fourth time since I joined the team.”

“What the fuck does that have to do with you getting your ass to the hospital and getting your knee checked out?”

“I don’t need to get to the fucking hospital to know it’s my ACL. But what I need to do is make sure that my brother and the entire team keep their heads in the game until the final buzzer blows.”

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