Page 17 of Second Chance with the Single Dad Goalie
“Hazel is doing great. But the pregnancy has been rough on me.”
That earns a chuckle out of me. “Still mad at you?”
Liam groans, rubbing his face. “Yeah. Who knew forgetting to pick up a dress from the dry cleaners would get me a full week of silent treatment?”
I shake my head, laughing. “Dude, you never learn. How many times have you made her angry this month?”
“Too many,” Lucas chimes in, stretching his arms.
“Butt out,” Liam says to Lucas, who smacks his head before leaving.
Before I can respond, the locker room door swings open, and Coach strides in.
"All right, listen up!" His voice cuts through the noise, and we all straighten. "Two minutes till you hit the ice."
Then, he hits us with something unexpected.
"I want you guys to go out there and have fun."
Silence.
A beat of stunned silence as we all just stare at him.
Tomas blinks. "Did he just say…, fun?" He whispers to me, and I nod still in shock.
Liam blinks. “Uh…! Coach?”
Coach exhales like he regrets his life choices. "Yes, fun. It’s allowed, you know."
Lucas raises a brow. "Are you feeling okay, Coach?"
Coach groans, rubbing his forehead. “Seriously, I’m trying to change things up. Just…, forget the pressure for a second and enjoy the game."
Another pause.
Then he waves his hand. "Ah, screw it - go out there and smash, win, and conquer!"
A roar of approval erupts through the locker room. Now, that’s the speech we know and respond to. We rise, knocking fists, slapping pads. It’s time.
****
The arena’s atmosphere is electric.
The Avalanche logo gleams at center ice, the crowd buzzing with anticipation. The opposing team - Minnesota’s Northern Wolves - huddle on their bench, their dark jerseys a stark contrast against the crisp white ice. I skate to my crease, tapping my post with my stick. Right. Left. A ritual. A reset.
The puck drops.
Liam wins the face off, flicking it back to Tomas, who immediately sends it across to Lucas. The Wolves charge, closing in fast. Lucas dumps the puck into the zone, and Jackson speeds after it, gaining control of it. He muscles past a defenseman, flicking a quick pass to Jackson, who fires the puck toward the goal.
The Wolves’ goalie catches it.
He is sharp.
The game settles into a rhythm - fast, aggressive. The Wolves are relentless, pressing hard. I stay low, tracking the puck as it moves up and down the ice. My defensemen block passing lanes, forcing shots from the outside. I deflect one with my shoulder, another off my blocker.
Twelve minutes in, we get our break.
Lucas intercepts a sloppy pass at the line and springs Jackson on a two-on-one. Jackson fakes the shot, then dishes to Liam, who buries it on the top shelf.
