Page 10 of Keeper
Why?
Because it doesn’t matter what the score is, or how many stinkers you’ve let in, or how you wouldn’t have gotten beat if your young d-man hadn’t made such a rookie mistake.
No, what matters is that when the next shot comes, you’ll be ready. Your mindneedsto be a blank slate.
No thought.
Pure instinct.
Anything less and you’re flirting with disaster. Anything less and you’ll be surprised by how quickly another puck ends up behind you.
Easier said than done. Trust me. Tonight, for example—well, I was obviouslywaytoo much in my own head, or I wouldn’t be thinking all this shit in the first place. And there was areasonwhy I was in my head, not just tonight, but—
Can’t. Don’t go there, Tanner. Focus.
The ref dropped the puck and started play again. The Reign won the faceoff and skated the puck right back into our end. I can’t let the score affect how I play, no, but it was obvious that my teammates were deflated after an early 4–0 deficit. The fact that this was our third game in four nights didn’t help: the boys were tired. The Reign came out guns blazing, fully intending to take advantage of our tired squad by playing a heavy, physically grinding game along the boards.
While their cycle game went back to work, the Reign’s net-front guy parked his massive frame in my crease.
“Hey, Vaughnsy!” he said, leaning his weight into me, sapping my precious stamina. “You can’t stop a beach ball lately, can ya? What the hell happened to your game? Costing yourself a lot of money this year, aren’t ya? What’s goin’ on, big guy? You doin’ alright? Huh? You good?”
I ignored his needling and focused on my job. Jack Cameron—our newest d-man we acquired earlier this season in a trade with Colorado—hurried over to steer the fucker out of my crease. The two big boys locked horns, adding to the mayhem in front of me. Desperately trying to see through 450 pounds of human mass and muscle, I did whatever I could to track the play: looking over them, around them, under them, whatever I had to do to make sure I never took my eye off the puck.
Both teams collapsed into the slot, filling it with more traffic. I sensed a shot coming just as I finally lost sight of the puck. A split-second later, I heard the shooter’s stick clap the ice like the report of a gunshot.
I couldn’t see the shot, but I knew where it was coming from. Hips square to the shooter, I sealed as much of the net as I could, hoping the puck would hit me.
THUMP.
The slapshot pounded my leg pad like a battering ram, the solid thud of rubber on leather reverberating around the rink.
Finally,I thought with a flood of relief.A bit of luck.
But I knew we weren’t out of danger just yet; the puck was still loose out there. Eyes sweeping the ice, I frantically searched for the rebound—but so was everyone else. A Reign player charged the net and stopped on a dime, spraying a torrent of ice and snow into my face-mask.
Fuck. Can’t see.
My vision went blurry. The shapes in front of me—wearing either a dark or a light jersey—scrambled for the puck. Bodies pushed and shoved, sticks hacked and swung, until at last—
A shot.
I tracked the blurry black disc as best I could, throwing my arm up to deflect it away. I felt the puck impact my blocker and fall to the far side, where another Reign skater waited like a vulture. I dropped into the splits, a fire burning in my quads as I threw my body towards the open ice, blindly trying to fill as much of the yawning cage as I could …
Only to hear the sound of the twine get hit behind me.
The crowd groaned, and the Reign celebrated all over again.
“Hell yeah!”
“Great work, boys!”
“Five–zip, baby!”
At 5–0, I knew my night was over before it’d even began. I lifted my mask, wiped the melted snow from my eyes, and glanced towards the bench. Sure enough, our backup goalie, Ryan Cooper, was already gearing up. Coach Quinn waved me over, pulling me from the game.
I left my net and headed to the bench. On the way, I crossed paths with Cooper. We tapped each other’s pads.
“She’s all yours,” I said, defeated.
