Page 20 of On the Edge

I head straight for the locker room, where I can hear the sounds of my teammates readying for the game. I step inside and a cheer goes up, as though everyone was waiting for me. Shaking my head, I walk over to my stall and start to undress. I’m far behind everyone else, after spending nearly forty minutes with Aaron.

“You good?” Max asks, leaning over so that he doesn’t have to raise his voice to be heard. I smile at him before grasping the neckline of my shirt and pulling it over my head.

“Yes, I am good. I will be fine to play. Thank you for asking.”

“Thank God.” He breathes a sigh of relief. “I need you.”

When he holds a hand out, I bump my knuckles against his softly and grin. He really doesn’t need me. Max has more skill in his pinky finger than I do in my entire body. But I appreciate the words more than he could possibly know.

“You are a good friend, Max.”

He gives me a strange look and opens his mouth to reply, but Coach walks into the room before he can get the words out. We both fall silent, Max sitting down on the bench and me continuing to change with increasing urgency. I hate that I’m the only one not ready to go; the only one holding us up. When Coach Mackenzie is close enough to hear, I mutter an apology.

“I am sorry, sir. I will be ready very quick.”

He narrows his eyes and looks down at his watch. Again, I’m struck with the thought that he probably needs glasses. Does he not get his vision checked regularly?

“No need to rush, Vas. We have plenty of time. I know you were with the training staff.”

Gratefully, I nod. But I also continue to dress at twice my usual pace. Every other person in the room is ready to step onto the ice.

“You going to Carter and Zeke’s house tomorrow?” Max asks, scooting a little closer to me and raising his voice to be heard over the hubbub of the locker room. In the opposite corner, Nate has the goalies bent over their padded legs in fitsof laughter. I can only imagine what he said to get Micky to laugh like that.

“I am! You and Luke as well, I presume?”

“Yeah. I’m excited.”

“Yes,” I agree. “It is always good to see Carter. When you are playing for Detroit, you will still come visit? Or perhaps we shall come to you.”

“Both sound good to me,” he says, grinning.

“And although I will have to remain impartial on the broadcast when I am a sportscaster, I will secretly be cheering for my friends Max and Carter, always.”

He stands up and starts to shake out his legs. The smile on his face is one that I’m still not quite used to seeing. Max has changed a lot since I first met him. He is less shy and withdrawn, more likely to join in when the team has fun on the ice or in the locker room. And although he still turns down all invitations to team events, he always agrees to come out with Carter and me when it’s just the small group of us.

“What about when Carter and I play each other?” he asks mischievously.

“Aye.” I sigh, finishing with my gear and feeling my chest loosen as a result.Relax, they aren’t waiting for you to finish,I tell myself.“I will truly be impartial then.”

Max is still smiling when we line up in the chute and head out onto the ice for warm-ups. DU—although a formidable team—relies too heavily on their size. Coach Mackenzie had us reviewing hours of tape, each one showing a team of behemoths who were skilled at blocking shooting lanes and stopping pucks, but severely lacking in footwork and speed. We aren’t small, necessarily, but our tallest player is Micky and he will be in goal. However, we are fast and we are excellent at moving the puck.

We also have Max.

He scores seventeen seconds into the game by slipping past DU’s winger and sending the puck straight through the five-hole of their goalie. Max skates down the bench grinning, tapping the outstretched gloves of our teammates. Even Coach Mackenzie looks like he is fighting a smile.

Resetting, we line up to take another face-off at center ice. Bolstered by being the first on the board and so early in the game, we again gain possession of the puck and force DU to play in their defensive zone for the second time in less than a minute. As though trying to learn from their earlier mistakes, they put pressure on Max immediately.

But Max’s ability to score goals was only part of the reason he was drafted into the NHL so young. His biggest abilities lie in footwork and speed. Turning so rapidly it shouldn’t even be possible on a blade, he spins away from the defensemen trying to pick his pocket and passes the puck to me. As familiar as I am with Max’s strengths, so too do I know my own—instead of taking a shot, I send it over to Nate.

By the time we leave the ice for first intermission, we are up by three goals and two of those were scored by Max. I hope Luke is watching and that he is proud. When we sit next to each other, I lean my shoulder against him companionably and pass him a towel to wipe his face.

“Slick pass,” he says, grinning. “You should have kept it and gone for a goal.”

“And robbed you of the chance to bag such a beauty? I am not so selfish as that!”

The opposition manages to sneak two by Micky, but we win the game 4–2 and one of those goals was tallied by me. I don’t score often, so I always try to savor it when I do. I love feeling like I’m pulling my weight on the ice and there isproof of that work on the scoreboard. I especially love when Coach Mackenzie claps me on the shoulder and tells me I did a good job.

“Thank you, sir.” I nod, pulling off my gloves and resting them in my stall.

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