Page 8 of Heart on Ice

This is it,Pierre.

Everything rides on this goal.

Make this, and the South Dakota Devils go to the final of The Cup.

I shoot.

Everything is in slow motion as the puck flies through the air. My teammates are frozen in anticipation. If this goal makes it, we draw, and that pushes us into overtime. I can feel the seconds ticking down, the buzzer is moments from going off, signaling the end of the game and our hopes. My heart thumps in my chest, sweat drips down my face as I watch in agonizing slow motion whether I’ve given my team a second chance.

Goal.

I can’t believe it.

My teammates all jump on me as I’ve just given them a second chance at the finals.

Yes!

I look up into the crowd and every one of our supporters is going wild.

We all regroup and get ready to play overtime. This is do or die, now whoever gets the first goal wins.

“This is it, boys, no fucking mistakes, we do this, and we do it right,” I scream at them before we get back on the ice. We are pumped. This is my chance to take the team to the finals.

I should have taken my own advice.

Because I make a rookie mistake.

I fuck up big time.

I trip the opposing player during a breakaway as he heads toward the goal, my stick catches him around the legs, and he goes flying.

Fuck.

I just lost us our chance.

My team is screaming at me, and the fans are booing.

I fucked up.

Hanging my head, I take myself off to the penalty box for tripping and pray that nothing happens while I’m sitting in it. They restart and my stomach sinks as the opposing team breaks away again, and then I watch in terrifying slow motion the puck sink into the back of the net.

The opposing crowd goes wild.

Our chance is gone in seconds.

Because of me.

Our fans lose their minds with anger. I can feel their pissed off eyes boring into the back of my head as they smash the glass around the penalty box. I smash my fist against the board as I watch my teammates deflate, and they slowly, one by one, skate off the ice and back to the locker rooms. As I stride off down the players’ tunnel, I hear the fans shouting at me, threats of violence against my name as I pass, all are warranted. My stupidity cost them their hopes and dreams of our team winning the cup.

“What the fuck, Cap,” Sinclair says as soon as I enter the room.

“I’m sorry, fellas, I …” There is nothing that I can say right now that will take away the anger my team is feeling toward me.

“We wouldn’t have been in this position if Captain hadn’t won us that goal,” Gustafsson states. That man always looks onthe positive side of everything. I give him a small appreciative smile.

“Thanks, Gus. I fucked up, guys. I lost us the chance. There’s nothing I can say that can take away how you all feel right now.”

“Who knew you could be a hero and a villain in one game?” Coach says, clapping me on the back.

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