Page 161 of Slew Foot
The guy made a cooing noise like a pigeon and then the door shut behind them.
“I fucking hate New York,” Tanner grumbled as Rafe slid onto the bench a few moments later.
“Seriously,” Rafe said with a sigh and Crawford just grunted.
As the minutes ticked down in the third period, New York scored again, tying the score.
Mickey wondered if they were heading to overtime. The Harriers had lost their lead and, apparently, their cool.
Hoyt was furious at the New York player who’d injured Connor—he still wasn’t back yet—at Jesse for going after the guy, at the rest of them for not stopping New York’s goal … at pretty much everything, actually.
“What part of smothering the offense aren’t you guys getting?” he shouted as New York got another great opportunity. The puck didn’t make it in, but only because of Jesse’s diving save.
Tanner returned to the bench after his shift and Mickey nudged Rafe to move over so Tanner could slide in beside him.
He grabbed one of the tablets from Coach Rasmussen and brought up the previous play. “Look,” he shouted over the noise of the crowd. “You’re pinching too late.”
Tanner frowned down at the tablet. “What? Are you sure?”
“Yes! See?”
He used his finger to demonstrate, showing Tanner what he meant, and Tanner nodded.
“Okay, I’ll try next shift out.”
Mickey handed the tablet back and got an approving pat on the shoulder from Coach Rasmussen.
Tannerdiddo better on his next shift out and Mickey bumped gloves with him after. “Yeah, like that,” he said. “Keep doing that.”
But it was on Mickey’s next shift when a New York player forced a turnover and tore up the ice. Mickey raced up after him, calling out to Rafe to move, to come in on their flank …
But it was too late. With horrifying quickness, the guy put on an extra burst of speed and a moment later, the puck was in the back of the net and the crowd was on their feet, screaming their approval.
With the game 4-3 in New York’s favor and with just over a minute to go, the Harriers set up for the next faceoff.
Anker’s face was grim as he swiped the puck away and shot it back to Mickey.
Legs burning, heart racing, Mickey tore toward New York’s net, firing the puck to Graham across the ice at the first opportunity he saw. Graham hammered it in but it bounced off the goalie’s chest. In the crease, guys battled for control of the rebound and Graham jabbed his stick in the midst of the frenzy, his jaw clenched …
Mickey shouldered closer, trying to push guys out of the way, trying to give Graham a chance. All they needed was one tiny goal. One tiny goal and they could go to overtime. They’d still have a shot at it …
The buzzer sounded, ending the game.
The sound of New York’s fans cheering rose around them, thunderous and triumphant, shaking the whole building. Horrified and disbelieving, Mickey turned to look at Rafe who hovered nearby, looking equally despondent.
“Fuck. I’m sorry,” Mickey whispered.
Because he felt like he could have done more.Shouldhave done more. He thought he’d given it his all, but maybe if he’d pushed a little harder, maybe if he’d made it back sooner, skated a little faster …
Rafe tipped his head forward and rested his helmet against Mickey’s. “It wasn’t our year,” he said sadly.
And Mickey closed his eyes and dragged in an exhausted, despondent breath.
It certainly wasn’t.
The shocked, horrified expressions on Rafe’s teammates’ faces and the way those looks melted into stunned sadness was the worst part of this all. Rafe’s heart ached because he felt it too as he trudged to the visitor’s locker room.
They’d been so damn close. So close they could almost taste it. But New York had snatched the victory from Boston’s grasp. They were the ones heading to the playoffs.
