Page 54 of The Fall
We’re trying to be discreet, but this is pushing it.
The hotel’s hallway is quiet when I step out of Blair’s room until Hawks scares the shit out of me, striding around the corner in sweat-soaked gym clothes. He looks from me to Blair’s door and back to me. “Early film study, Kicks?”
Fuck, fuck. “Always room for improvement.”
“That’s my man. Always grinding. That’s why you’ve got the golden hands.” He holds out his fist for a bump as he passes. I swallow and bump him back. He winks. “Catch you at breakfast, bro.”
Sweat drips down my neck, soaking my jersey. My heart pounds, but my mind’s clear. Two minutes left on the clock and we’re tied. One goal blows this open.
“Switch,” Blair says. We’re huddled-up behind the dot. “Mikko, pinch in.”
Pittsburgh’s arena is deafening. Their fans are roaring, ready to erupt if their team pulls out this win.
The puck drops. I dig my skates in. Mikko storms forward, his stick a blur as he battles for control.
A Pittsburgh player breaks free and hauls into our zone. I feel the game’s momentum shift, both benches holding their breath, Pittsburgh’s crowd roaring.
I catch up as he releases his shot, and Axel dives across the crease and gets his blocker up, then punches the shot over his net.
Hayes retrieves it. I holler his name, slap my stick on the ice, and he passes to me before two Pittsburgh players cream him into the glass.
Every inch of the ice rink unfurls beneath my blades. We need one goal to seal this game and keep our playoff hopes alive. No one is in the mood for OT tonight. We need to win this here and now.
“Kicks!” Hollow’s voice. Stick taps on my right.
I feint left, then sling the puck to Hollow. Blair breaks away, streaking. I follow, cluttering up the slot. Hollow’s coming in hot, holding on to the puck even as Pittsburgh’s top defenseman chokes his angles.
Drop-pass, Hayes waiting at the blue line. Hayes passes to Blair. The goalie shifts, leaving his right side exposed. Blair winds up?—
Pittsburgh’s goalie bites hard.
Instead of shooting, Blair arrows the puck to me.
I feel the puck strike my stick, feel my blades cut into the ice. All it takes is a tip of the wrist, not too hard, not too soft, and I lift it right into the cookie jar.
The horn sounds as the puck punches out the top of the twine, the sweetest sound in hockey. A buzzer-beater, the end of regulation, and a win for us.
Blair crashes into me, arms around me as he roars. Hollow and Hayes are coming in hot for the celly, and we only have a moment between us. “Fuck, I love you,” he says. Our eyes lock?—
Hollow and Hayes jump us both, flattening us to the boards. They’re whooping, hollering at the top of their lungs.
“Only one more left, baby!” Hayes crows. “One fucking more!”
Blair’s gloved hand wraps around the back of my neck. We knock our helmets together, forehead-to-forehead.
“Only with you,” Blair says. “Only with you.”
Twelve
I cutthe engine in Blair’s truck. For a long moment, I sit, and the quiet of the driveway settles around me.
Two weeks ago, this house was a beautiful, sun-drenched question I couldn’t answer, a fantastical space that didn’t feel like mine. Now, a deep and certain tide pulls at me, one I would follow into the deep without a second thought. Blair’s tide.
I open the truck door, and the Tampa evening wraps around me.
I’m home.
After our road trip ended, the team was given two days off before we play the final game of our season. One game left. One win between us and the playoffs.
