Page 10 of Slew Foot
After Mickey had learned about the trade, he’d watched some game tape of Rafe, trying to get a feel for what he was like on the ice.
He was a penalty killer. A shutdown defenseman who ate pucks for a living.
Not literally, or at least not that Mickey had seen. As far as Mickey knew, he still had all of his original teeth, which was quite impressive for a D-man his age. Mickey’d had a chip in one of his front teeth since he was seventeen.
But either way, Rafe was known for blocking shots and putting his body on the line.
That big, big body …
Ugh.This is getting inconvenient, Mickey thought wryly as he followed Rafe out of the tunnel and onto the bench for the first period.
Distraction was rarely his problem, but he could definitely see it becominga concernif he wasn’t careful.
Unacceptable.
So, he resolutely put all thoughts of Rafe’s body—as it related to non-hockey things, anyway—out of his head and prepared himself for the game.
It turned out, Rafe was exactly what had been promised.
In the first period, he blocked shots, shut down odd man rushes, and flattened guys against the boards like it was his sole mission in life.
He wasgood.
The problem was, they needed him to be good with Mickey. And so far, they definitely weren’t gelling. After the umpteenth pass in the second period that didn’t connect, Mickey swore under his breath as he watched a replay of the latest disaster on the Jumbotron.
“Sorry,” Rafe said. “I’ll do better.”
Mickey glanced over to see sweat trickling down his face. Objectively, it was a good look. His hair was flattened under his helmet in damp little curls and his chest heaved from the exertion of their last shift.
But there were also dark smudges under his eyes and a defeated slump to his shoulders and Mickey didn’t want him beating himself up when he was exhausted and under-prepared for his first game in Boston.
“Hey, no, don’t blame yourself. We haven’t even had a practice together yet,” Mickey said with a small laugh. “Give it time.”
Rafe gave him a soft, fleeting smile, and Mickey resolutely turned to look at the Jumbotron.
No distractions.
The next shift out, the faceoff was in the offensive zone and Graham won the puck cleanly and fired it to Mickey.
He passed it back to Anker Henriksen, Graham’s winger, and for a few moments, they played keep-away. When Anker passed it to Graham, he fired the puck but it sailed over the top of the net, hitting the glass and bouncing to the ice below.
Rafe wheeled around the net, collecting the puck and shooting it to Graham. He fired it toward the goal, where it pinged off the post, but this time, was collected by their opponents.
The play swept around the net again and Rafe was left in an awkward position, scrambling to catch up. One of the New Jersey players fired the puck into the Harriers’ defensive zone, but it zipped past the goal line and the puck was off-sides.
They made a line change then and Mickey followed Rafe’s slumped shoulders to the bench.
“Well,thatwas terrible,” he muttered under his breath when they were seated side-by-side.
Mickey knocked their shoulders together. “It’ll get better.”
“What?” Rafe leaned in, ducking his head like he was having a tough time hearing him from so far away.
“I said it’ll get better. You’re coming off a rough flight and not enough sleep. No one expects you to be at your best tonight.”
“I do.”
Mickey gave him a rueful smile because he understood. He was harder on himself than anyone.
