Page 66 of Puck Struck
"I don't need Logan to fight my battles."
"Could've fooled me." Keating's eyes narrow to slits. "Word of advice? Whatever's going on between you two, keep it off the ice. I've worked too hard to let some rookie's personal shit tank the season. And if I need to wait two more weeks before I can take you out, I will. Believe that."
Before I can respond, he walks away, leaving me with the sour taste of his threat in my mouth.
As I'm heading out, Logan returns to the locker room, his expression tight.
"Everything okay?" I ask.
"Fine. Just the usual pre-playoff media bullshit." He glances around to make sure no one is within earshot. "I saw Keating leave the locker room all pissed off. What’s his problem? "
"Nothing important."
Logan's eyes narrow like he doesn't believe me for a second. "You sure?"
"Yeah." I force a smile. "Just game day shit-talking."
He doesn't look convinced, but he doesn't push. "See you tonight."
"Yep. See ya.” I try to keep my voice light and easy, but I know Logan will see past it all. I’ve shown him enough already to keep him suspicious.
As I walk to my car, my phone buzzes with a notification. For a second, panic chokes me, but it's just a reminder about the game. Seven o'clock. Home ice. The Pittsburgh Pelicans.
Hockey. Focus on hockey.
Everything else will have to wait.
The arena vibrates with energy. It’s a sold-out crowd because the game has playoff implications. There’s a buzz of anticipation in the air that only comes with high-stakes games like these. I've been looking forward to this showdown for weeks, but now it feels unimportant, a distant second to the category five storm brewing in my life.
I go through my pre-game rituals on autopilot. Tape, stretch, visualization, warm-up. The familiar routine keeps me grounded.
Logan catches my eye across the locker room. He gives me a quick nod, a silent reminder of our conversation.One shift at a time. One game at a time. One step at a time.
Coach Enver paces in front of us, his pre-game speech the usual mix of strategy and motivation. I try to focus, but his words blur together, drowned out by the noise clanging around in my head.
"Foster," he says, and I snap back to attention. "You and Shaw lead the first line. Keep up what you've been doing in practice. That chemistry is exactly what we need tonight."
Chemistry. Right. If only he knew the reason behind it all.
The roar of the crowd drowns out the noise between my ears as we step onto the ice for warm-ups. High-pitched voices and cheers make me smile despite everything that’s on the verge of crumbling. But I just can’t get pumped up like I normally do before games. Raptors jerseys fill the stands, flashes from cameras sparkling like stars. It’s amazing and I want to take it in, to really relish it all, but that fucker drained the excitement out of me.
I scan the crowd, half-expecting to see James in the stands, watching. The irrational fear crawls up my spine, making me stumble slightly on a crossover.
"Easy," Logan's voice cuts through my panic. He's right next to me, steady as always. "Eyes on the ice. Mind off the bullshit."
I nod, grateful for the reminder. "Right. Ice."
We skate the warm-up laps, fall into the familiar rhythm of passing drills. By the time the buzzer sounds, calling us back to the locker room for final preparations, I've managed to push James to the corners of my mind.
Hockey now. Everything else later.
The first period starts fast. Pittsburgh comes out hungry and aggressive. Their defense is huge, most of the players areover six-two, and they use every inch of their mass to make space in the defensive zone, which is a luxury we can't afford.
Logan takes the opening face-off and wins the puck, sending it cleanly to Carter, who sends it back to Masterson at the point. The puck cycles around the zone, players moving over the ice in sync, looking for an opening. Logan positions himself at the half-boards, waiting for the pass.
I cut across the slot, drawing the defenseman with me, creating an open space. Logan sees it, sends a quick pass to me. I catch it and fire the puck…a half-second too slow. The Pittsburgh goalie snags it from the air, killing the shot.
"Nice try, rookie," the goalie calls through his mask. "Gonna have to be quicker than that."
