Page 128 of Best Man
The boys perked up, eager to hear the details.
Reavo delivered. “Oh, yeah. This kid didn’t even want to be anuncle—”
“Not true! I said I was fine with being an uncle.”
“Only ’cause you didn’t want to disappoint your sister,” Reavo said. “Be honest.”
Niko grinned—his brother-in-law knew him so well. “But listen, that wasthen,” Niko said, “and this is now.”
The boys laughed,ah-ha, at Reavo calling his bluff.
“Didn’t even want to be anuncle,” Reavo said again, smirking. “And then what happened? You beat me and Kat to the punch. And you missed most of Game 7 to see your daughter be born.”
Niko smiled, a plain but genuine smile. “What can I say? I met the right girl. Everything changed.”
Reavo nodded. “I know it, bud. I’m just messin’ with you. You know I love you.”
“I love you too, brother,” Niko said.
The clock on the wall counted down the minutes until they returned to the ice. The room began to quiet when the timer neared zero, like the calm before a storm. Internally, the boys honed that positive energy into a razor-sharp focus.
Coach Q stormed into the room to fetch his team. “We got them on their fuckin’ heels. One goal to win the Cup. Don’t let up!” he bellowed, grinding his fist into his palm.
***
The Devils had momentum on their side, but the Falcons were a cornered animal and they wouldn’t go down without a fight. Philadelphia came out swinging to start the overtime period, skating harder than they had all night, throwing everything they had at Vaughnsy. The Falcons were trying to end this thing early, before the Devils knew what hit them.
“Stay focused!” Coach Q roared as he paced up and down the bench. “Weather the storm! Theywillmake a mistake!”
The Devils bent, but they didn’t break during Philly’s onslaught. As promised, Vaughnsy was solid as a rock in net and made one huge save after another. Every stellar save was like another shovel of dirt tossed on the Falcons—they began to hang and shake their heads with frustration. Their belief that they could eke out a victory was slipping.
“We got them right where we want them!” Coach Q yelled. “First line, you’re up!”
Niko took the ice with Dane and Hath on offense. Desperate to end the game, the Falcons continued to take one risky gamble after another—but the Devils patience paid off when Big Rig made a good defensive read and broke up a two-on-one rush before it could fully develop.
Niko and Hathaway broke the other way, threatening a two-on-one counterattack of their own.
“BIG RIG!” Niko yelled, calling for the pass.
Jax, master of the breakout pass, snapped a quick tape-to-tape pass to Niko.
“Here we go!” Niko yelled as he collected the pass in full stride. Niko dished the puck off to Hath, wanting him to skate with it instead—Hath was the playmaking wizard, and Niko was the finisher.
The two streaked into the zone, defended by Philadelphia’s lone d-man, Volkov, who collapsed towards the net. Volkov threw his body to the ice to cut off the pass to Niko. But Hathaway was a brilliant passer, and he sent a perfect saucer pass over Volkov’s sprawling body.
Time slowed to a crawl as the puck wobbled and sailed towards Niko. He’d practiced his whole life for this very moment—Game 7, sudden death overtime, the puck on his stick, a chance to win the Cup. In fact, for a split second, he wasn’t even in Dallas anymore—he was back home in Moscow, at the community rink, a small boy with a dream of coming to America to play the sport he loved professionally. A boy who shot five thousand pucks every single day, mentally preparing himself for this exact moment.
Niko let instinct take over. He didn’t waste any time settling the bouncing pass—the second the puck entered his wheelhouse, it rocketed off his stick and was gone.
He didn’t see if the puck went into the net. All he heard was the hollowthunkof the puck hitting the padded back iron deep in the net.
A split second later, a guttural noise erupted from the belly of the crowd as every fan roared,“YYYYYYYYYYYYEAH!”
Niko and Hathaway met in the corner, jumped into each other’s arms, and embraced in a bear hug. Their linemates weren’t far behind, and they jumped onto the pair, knocking them over and falling to the ice with them. Their teammates spilled over the bench, launching their sticks and gloves and helmets high into the air, which rained back onto the ice behind them with a noisy clatter. The Devils dogpiled on top of Niko and Hath, forming a human mass of pure, unadulterated elation. The pile of teammates screamed and howled and laughed and cried.
“We did it, boys!”
“We fuckin’ did it!”
