Page 72 of In the Net
But that’s exactly what I’m thinking of just minutes later.
One of Dartmouth’s rookies is handling the puck, and he looks sloppy. I spot it and pump my legs, slicing across the ice and closing the distance between us. I manage to snag the puck from him and stab in a wraparound goal past their goalie.
The Dartmouth crowd groans. My second goal of the day.
I can’t let myself savor the feeling, though. With only four minutes left in the game, I need one more score.
After my goal, we’re up 4-1. There’s a euphoric feeling spreading among my teammates. Dartmouth is a good team, andwe’ve dominated them tonight. It feels like a true return to form after a rocky start.
I can sense the rest of the guys shifting down a gear. Settling into playing defense and bleeding the rest of the clock instead of going all out to score more goals. We don’t need to. Barring an outright miracle for Dartmouth, we’ve got this one wrapped up.
In a last-ditch effort to create that miracle, Dartmouth go slack on defense, putting everything into assaulting our side of the ice in hopes of scoring an improbable number of last-minute goals.
It’s the perfect opportunity for me to signal for a pass from Jamie, blitz down the ice, and fire off a breakaway shot.
It flies past their goalie, and lands right in the net.
The guys areecstatic in the locker room. It’s a party atmosphere after what everyone feels is a statement victory.
While everyone else is celebrating, chest-bumping, back-slapping, laughing, talking about the best plays of the game, I just go straight to my locker and check my phone.
There’s already a message waiting for me from Harper. A warm feeling expands in my chest. If anyone glimpses the stupidly big smile on my face, at least I can lie and say it’s because I’m happy about my hat trick.
Harper (ugh)
CONGRATULATIONS!!! What an amazing game!!
She follows that with another message stuffed full of emojis. Cakes, graffiti, the little guy with the hat blowing a party horn. The works.
I know exactly what she’s doing, though. Hoping that her over-the-top praise is going to make me forget about what she owes me.
Not likely.
Save the flattery. You know what I want to see.
I’m waiting impatiently for Harper to make good on sending me a video of what she promised, when my feet suddenly lift off the floor.
“Sebastian, you hat-tricking son of a bitch!” Felix shouts, his arms wrapped around my waist to lift me and spin me around. “Why the hell are you hiding in your locker?”
“Just texting someone,” I say, trying to sound casual, when he sets me down.
“Harper.” Veikko states it like he’s certain.
I cast him a wary glance. “What makes you say that?”
He shrugs, and then the no-nonsense Finn says in a flat inflection like he’s giving his lunch order, “Because you like her now. It is obvious.”
My chest twists. The rest of the guys are eyeing me, tittering at Veikko’s words.
“That’s ridiculous,” I protest, the words feeling weaker than tea steeped for ten seconds in lukewarm water.
Veikko’s brow furrows. He looks like he’s about to say something else, when Carter clasps him on the shoulder. “He’s just not ready to face it yet, man.”
I point a cutting scowl at Carter as Veikko shakes his head. “Americans,” he mumbles to himself, like that explains everything.
The guys leave me alone, so I check my phone again.
Harper’s sent a video.
