Page 19 of The Poster Boy
“Thanks.” It felt good. I’d done my job and kept the puck out of the net. Now hopefully we could get something on the scoreboard.
“What the hell did you say to Brookbank?”
“Called him an asshole.” I turned my head to look at Andrew. “On account of him acting like one.”
I was done trying to win him over. Andrew, on the other hand, had sort of adopted me, which I was okay with. It made the locker room feel less lonely. I didn’t need Brookbank’s approval.
Coach O’Neil came and called my name. “Myers, good first period. You had some solid saves. Watchfor Nielson; he’s got a hell of a wrist shot, and he’ll fake you out if he can.”
“Noted.”
“Brookbank,” Coach continued, and I couldn’t help but look over at Jay when Coach talked to him. “Try not to smash the other players into the net.”
Jay’s expression was murderous, and I hated that I felt a little vindicated by Coach’s correction. Unfortunately, Jay caught me staring at him, and the look he sent me would have struck me dead if looks could kill.
The rest of Coach’s words fell on my deaf ears. I had one job. One task. Keep the puck out of the net. I knew how to do that, and no amount of pissy glares from Jay was going to stop me.
Chapter 10
Jay
Scoreless after the first.
Scoreless after the second.
Halfway through the third and there were still a couple of goose eggs on the scoreboard. The crowd was desperate for someone to score, and their disappointment every time Myers made the save was palpable.
I hated to admit that the kid was good. And it wasn’t that Church wasn’t, but he’d been off from the start of the season and hadn’t been able to get his shit together. If he’d been in net, it would have been a different game entirely.
With seven minutes left on the clock, we poured every ounce of energy we had left into trying to get a goal in the books, but they might as well have nailed a piece of plywood over the front of the net. Every chance we created, their goalie shut down. The only good thing about that was our goalie was doing the same to them.
Four minutes on the clock and I smashed Brayden Nielson into the boards. The whistle blew to stop play, but that didn’t stop Brayden from running his mouth.
“Now, now. You heard Myers. Don’t be an asshole,Brookbank.” He grinned at me when he said it. I liked him as a general rule. We’d played against each other before plenty of times, and he was fun to chat with. His eyes sparkled, purely fucking with me, but the interaction with Myers ate at me. I thought about dropping the gloves and taking my frustration out on Brayden, but he skated away before I got a chance.
Two minutes left on the clock.
Boone got a breakaway. Faked left. Shot right. Was shut down by their goalie, who dumped the puck down to our end of the ice while they changed lines.
One minute left. Their fresh line took the fight down to our end of the ice. I watched from the bench as our guys fought along the boards.
Ten seconds.
They took control of the puck. Passed it up to the blue line.
Eight seconds. The forward passed it to the left wing.
A pass intended for the right wing that Griffin intercepted but lost the puck a second later to Brayden.
Three seconds left.
The puck sailed through the air, but Myers plucked it out of the sky and dumped it back into play, letting the clock wind down to zeroes.
Scoreless at the end of three.
Everyone on the ice skated for their benches. We had a two-minute break to strategize before our five-minute overtime. Two minutes seemed entirely too long in some ways and not long enough in others.
Coach O’Neil shot me a look. I’d spent one too many shifts in the penalty box this game, and I couldn’t even blame the reffing. “If I put your ass on the ice, are you going to keep your fists in the gloves where they belong?”
