Page 1 of Playing to Win

Chapter1

Not your fault

Braydon

Sweat trickled down my back,and my hands were shaking. I was close to hyperventilating as I sat in one of the goalie stalls, fully dressed for the upcoming game and nervous as hell. Around me was the pervasive smell of body odor, foot sweat, and stress, if that was really a smell. It seemed to be. I looked from the quiet players to the Toronto Blaze logo on the floor in front of me and hoped no one could hear how my heart was pounding. My right knee was bouncing and I fought to keep it still. If I was starting, I couldn’t let my nerves show to the rest of the team.

“Not your fault, Royster.” Cooper, captain of the team, was standing not far from me, recognizable by the C on his jersey. There were some grunts of agreement, and then the room returned to tense silence.

The Inferno, the Blaze’s farm team, were always noisy. I usually wore headphones to keep to my strict routine before games. Every piece of gear had to be put on in the proper order. Only blue sports drink. Eyes closed to get into the right headspace.

And I needed that now. I’d been packing for the Inferno game in Belleville this afternoon when I’d got the call from the Blaze. Their backup goalie, De Vries, had been rushed to surgery, so they needed me. I wasn’t supposed to play, just be on the bench in case of emergency. Then in warm-ups, someone, probably Royster, had slid into starting goalie Petrov and he’d had a hard time getting back up. They’d taken him to the trainer’s room. This was the emergency no one expected.

I took a long breath. Coach would tell us what was going on before the game that started in…ten minutes? But every minute that passed without Petrov returning upped my anxiety.Getting the call-up had been nerve-racking enough when I’d expected to warm the bench. I was never supposed to get this far. I hadn’t gone to expensive hockey camps or played in the NCAA or been on a junior team like most of these men around me. I hadn’t even been part of the draft. A little voice inside asked if I could really do this.

Coach Osgood, a former player, now with a bit of a belly and receding hairline, pushed through the doorway in his rumpled suit and every head turned his way. He glanced around the room, players in gear either sitting or standing in front of their stalls. His gaze lingered on me, and I knew.

“Petrov is out for tonight. Nothing serious, but they’ve got ice on his ankle. Mitchell, you’re starting.”

This was it. I swallowed around a dry mouth. “Okay, Coach.”

“What about a backup?” The voice came from the other end of the locker room. Sometimes players from other positions had to dress up as the emergency backup goalie.

“You volunteering?” one of the forwards asked. Laughter broke up the tension.

“Better than Ducky!”

“Fuck off!”

Coach held up a hand. “No worries. We found an EBUG.”

“Poached the Zamboni driver? Do we have to get him some gear?”

Coach shook his head. “Bonfire goalie will sit in as backup. She’s dressing now.”

Dead quiet again. The Bonfire was the Toronto women’s team. They were bringing in one of the Bonfire? That was…that was unprecedented.

“Devereaux?” Cooper asked. Coach nodded.

Cooper grinned and some of the players cheered. The team knew this woman, Devereaux. And liked her. Nerves hit me again. The team was nice when I arrived. They’d said hello, glad I was there, and asked what I needed. But no one had been this happy to see me. Was this woman that good? Would they rather she started? I pulled in another long breath.

“Okay, boys, let’s hit the ice. We’ve got a game to win.”

The team headed out the door. Cooper stopped in front of me, tapped my pads with his stick. “Ready, Mitchell?”

I jammed on my helmet and nodded. I had to be. I stood, took a step and stopped. Tapped the mat three times. My breath whooshed out. I’d almost forgotten.

The next few minutes were a blur. We spilled out onto the ice, the arena dark and the spotlight on us. Devereaux, the Bonfire goalie, joined us, but I didn’t have time to do more than nod at her. I skated to the net, and ran my blocker up the side pole, along the crossbar, and down the other side. Then ran my stick across the goal line. “I need all the help you can give me,” I whispered.

I turned around, everyone singing along with theO Canadasoloist. Good, no one noticed me talking to my net. When the anthem was over, the singer carefully made her way off the ice. We were playing Edmonton, so we didn’t get the American anthem, and I missed it.

Introductions, and polite applause when they mentioned me filling in. Next thing, the teams were lined up for the face-off. I shoved away the sounds of the crowd and the worries in my brain and focused on the puck. Tonight was my chance to prove I belonged.

I needed a win.

* * *

Jayna

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