Page 52 of Branded
Hockey that?—
The air wheezed out of me as a fucker from the other team slammed me into the boards, trying to jostle me off the puck, but I held tight to my stick, positioned my feet so the puck stayed between us, so I could slightly tilt one when Marcel came up and let my teammate scoop the rubber disc free, sweep it across the ice to Raph who began hauling ass up the right side.
Gaining the offensive zone, carrying it deep.
I was pushing off the boards, hustling after him, Marcel already thirty feet ahead, being an outlet for Raph as our opponent’s defense and center closed in.
My heart was pounding. Sweat was already dripping down my temples.
Thirty seconds at a full speed NHL game and I was already tired.
But that was the game.
And that was why I worked out so hard.
Because I’d barely gotten close to the opposite blue line when Raph, Theo, and Marcel turned the puck over and I needed to get my ass back into my own zone, to protect Martin, our goalie.
Three on two, with me and Cas the only two Breakers back, Washington’s top line closing in on us.
A pass.
I cut the angle preventing the second from coming across the middle.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw our top forward trying to streak toward the net. Luckily, Marcel was skating back as fast as he’d flown up, Theo and Raph right on his heels.
We’d have numbers soon.
And the bigger threat was that backdoor pass behind Martin.
So, I shifted position, split the difference, held my breath, and when that pass to the back door sailed, I dove forward, knocking it into the corner and out of danger.
Lungs burning, I hopped to my feet, skated after it.
Returned the favor of that breath-stealing hit into the glass.
The crowd roared.
Marcel cleaned up the puck, got it to Theo, and he cleared it down.
Then it was time to change.
Full speed to the bench, pushing through the door as the next line hopped over the boards.
My eyes hit the Jumbotron. Forty-seven seconds since the puck had dropped.
And I was dripping with sweat, lungs sawing. Though already I was drinking water infused with a bit of Gatorade, swapping my wet gloves out for dry ones from the equipment guys, sucking in air and ready to go by the time the other three D pairs cycled through.
Hopping on the ice.
More skating. More hits. More passes and chasing down pucks and protecting Martin.
A red light flashing and a cheer rising in my chest—and in the stands—when Theo tapped a puck home off a pass from Marcel.
One buzzer to call the first period to an end. Another to signal the completion of the second.
A final one bringing the game to a close, our one-nothing victory not one hundred percent the one we wanted (we always wanted to destroy our enemies), but it was one we’d take. Two points was two points and in a season with eighty-two games, we’d file away any victory we could.
Next time we’d bring the needed destruction.
