Page 98 of The Legend Next Door
Then I put my right skate to the ice and push off…and glide.
An icy blast hits my face as red and blue lines swim before me. To my left and right, nets hang quiet and motionless from the goalposts.
Not for long, I hope.
It’s a brutal clash. A shock to the system. An assault to my senses. It’s faster and harder and better than all the games I’ve played in my dreams put together.
Luddy wasn’t kidding. McGuire and Decker are fire together. I’m having the time of my life, laughing and panting when I’m not grunting, but I’m almost certainly going to cough up a lung after the last buzzer sounds.
It’s a close game. Too close for comfort. McGuire scored a cracker in the first period, and Bryce knocked a nice forearm in the first few minutes of the second.
We’re tied with one goal each as we go into the third period. The last period. The last period of the game. And the last twenty minutes of professional hockey I’ll ever play.
There’s a hush in the crowd when I skate onto the ice, and I know there are cameras panning close-ups on my face. For reasons unknown to me, my ritual has always been a crowd-pleaser. To me, it’s significant. A superstition. A way to set my intentions in stone.
Beside me, Bryce chuckles quietly, but his eyes are damp. He became part of my process in his rookie year, and it worked so well that season we both figured, why change it?
“One for the road, Captain,” he says as he hands me my water bottle.
The crowd is so quiet you could hear a pin drop.
I raise the bottle and tilt my head back, squeezing a stream of water into my mouth. I let it pool for a second before swallowing. It’s cool but not icy and slides down my throat easily. I right my head when I’m done and let my gaze travel around the arena to find them—Jeremiah and Luca, Amy, Ellen, Jeff, and the boys—I give them a quick smile before tilting my face slightly forward and closing my eyes.
As always, it’s a shock, even though I’m expecting it. A quick spritz that rattles my brain and brings things into focus.
A woman in the crowd screams.
Several men whoop and fall silent again.
I bring my hand up to my face and swipe it down, slowly and deliberately, from my forehead to my chin.
Usually, when I do this there’s nothing going through my mind but hockey. Usually, when I’m here, I hardly remember that anything other than pucks and skates and sticks exists. Everything else feels far away.
Today, it’s the opposite.
I look down at my hand, glistening with water, and consider the goal. I don’t need to. I know where it is. History has taught me. The shape, size, and location of the posts have been permanently burned into my brain. Into my bones.
This time, the last time, I break tradition. I turn my back on the goal and face the crowd. In a blur of faces, two stand out like a beacon: Jeremiah and Luca.
My family.
My future.
I raise my hand in their direction, clenching my fist decisively before smiling and flicking my fingers hard, sending a thousand tiny droplets in their direction.
It’s a tough period. A hard clash. Much as it pains me to admit, technically, they’re better. Luddy, McGuire, and Decker are a force that’s almost impossible to stop. A freight train with a fuck ton of weight behind it. They’re playing offense—they’ve had nine shots at goal to our three—and we’ve been forced to defend for most of the period.
Fortunately, T-Dog is playing out of his socks. Sev too, but he’s tired. He must be because he just yelled, “Defend the goalie,” instead of "Defend the goal."
It’s a struggle, a constant fight. My arms and legs are heavy, but my heart is light.
The puck lands on the hook of my stick and I hear Amy’s words to me before the game.
“Have fun, Ben. Go out there and have the best time, win or lose, enjoy every second.”
When she said it, Luca’s little head turned sharply, eyes narrowing at Amy as though she had something unpleasant stuck in her teeth.
“Daddy, no,” he whispered urgently as he hugged my neck. “We play to win.”
