Page 15 of Make Your Save

Emotion wells in my throat and I know it’s from thegoddamn exhaustion. I smile, swallowing back my feelings as I lower my chin at him. Rowan and I share another lasting stare before I force myself to move through the front door.

I have to keep moving. I have to make sure Lucy and Rowan are both good.

Because if I don’t, who else will?

CHAPTER SIX

ROWAN

Everything in my field of vision is completely out of focus as I stare straight ahead, my gaze trained on absolutely nothing. I can hear the sounds of the voices around me, but I’m not focused on a single word being spoken. I can’t let myself shift out of the safe space I’ve constructed inside my head.

If I drift back into reality, it will completely pull me out of the game and I can’t have that happen. Not now, not when my team needs me.

The moment I walked into the building, I knew I was going to have to push thoughts of Hadley and Lucy from my brain. There’s too much that’s unknown in my life right now and there’s no room for any of that on the ice. I have one job, one thing I need to focus on.

The least I can do is dedicate all my time and attention to my job and worry about the realities of life afterward.

We’re in the second intermission. One period left. We’re winning, but I won’t dare to speak that out loud.The second anyone talks about our lead is the second we end up giving up a goal. It has a way of adding an additional layer of pressure I don’t need.

“You ready, bud?” Carson asks as he walks over and taps me on the shoulder. I glance up at him, inhaling deeply as I roll my tongue over my teeth.

“Fuck yeah, let’s do it.”

I rise on my skates, glancing around the room as the rest of the guys are getting ready to get their gloves on before we head down the tunnel. I catch Lincoln’s gaze from across the room. He lifts an eyebrow at me, silently asking me if I’m good.

I don’t need the reminder that no, I am in fact not good right now.

Inhaling, my nose scrunches and I slide my hand into my glove and the other in my blocker as I give him a firm nod. The guys begin to line up and we all make our way down the tunnel, each of us grabbing our sticks before hitting the ice.

A few of the guys skate around our zone while the rest either head onto the bench or gather around the front of it. I immediately make my way over to the net, knowing exactly where I’m supposed to be.

Being a goalie is a weird position in a way. You’re playing a team sport and you are a part of the team, but it is a position that is its own singular entity. I’m not required to skate up and down the ice, playing offensively and defensively depending on the play. I have one position, one fucking job.

That doesn’t take away from the work of the defensemen. They are there as the first line. They helpto protect and guard the net. There’s value in having a solid defensive player, but a goalie is that final line of defense. I am the one who is solely responsible for any pucks slipping into the net.

At the end of the day, if I let too many goals get past me, I am the one who is to blame for that loss.

Playing goalie comes with an insane amount of pressure and there are some days where it can be crippling. I’ve questioned this position many times as a child and just as many times in my professional career. I mean, let’s be real, having frozen pucks coming at you at one hundred miles per hour is insane. The adrenaline rush of making a crazy save is unlike anything else I’ve ever experienced and I wouldn’t trade it for the world.

It’s a nice distraction when your life off the ice is up in fucking flames.

Setting my stick on top of the net, I dig my edges into the ice, scratching the surface around the crease. It helps to build a little bit of snow that can potentially slow pucks and it also helps to add a little more grip to the surface for me.

As I finish, the period is about to begin. I grab my stick and get into position, my gaze zeroed in on the center of the ice as everyone gets into their positions. All four wingers are lined up; the defensive pairs are where they’re supposed to be and both centers are ready.

My heart pounds in my chest, my nostrils flaring, and I take a deep, steadying breath as time is suspended in the air. The ref holds his hand out and less than a second later, he drops the puck onto the ice.

Caleb wins the face-off, sliding it across the ice to Nash. I watch as play commences and they take off down into our offensive zone. The moment that happens, the pressure lifts, but I make sure to hold on to it, just enough to keep me on my toes.

In a game like this, you should never get too comfortable. When you’re comfortable, you become complacent, and that’s exactly when and where mistakes happen.

I’ve made my fair share of mistakes, but I try to limit them. There’s no room for fuckups in a position or a career like this.

Or anywhere in my life, really.

“Taylor, you’re quiet,” Caleb says to me, addressing me directly as he walks over to me after the game. Most of the locker room has cleared out already except for the usual suspects. Carson and I are typically the last ones out, with Caleb always hanging around to make sure everyone’s good.

He takes his position as captain to heart.

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