Page 33 of The Cutting Edge
When the penalty clock hits :00, he practically explodes out of the sin bin and retakes the ice. He's clearly on a mission, and he and the Hitman work in tandem with another player from their line, controlling the puck all the way down the rink and right through the Capitals’ defensive line. The Hitman executes a powerful slapshot, but the goalie bats it away before It reaches its intended destination. Logan grabs the rebound, even with defenders all around him. He moves the puck in and around the goal in an effort to find an opening, passing back-and-forth with The Hitman and another Slashers player. This time, the other Slasher takes the shot, sending the puck sailing over the top of the goal and back into play. One of the Capitals players scoops it up with his stick and starts making his way toward the Slasher goal. But Logan is right there, on his heels, and then stealing the puck back, driving hard to the Capitals' net.
The crowd is on its feet, screaming and cheering as Logan takes the shot.
This one, like his first, sails right over the left shoulder of the goalie. The buzzer blares and a gigantic guy from the Slashers appears instantly at Logan’s side, clearly ready to throw down with any Washington player that might dare to mess with him.
GOAL!
Pink’s banger cover of “Here Comes The Boom” plays and the entire arena breaks out into song.
Suddenly Marissa is off her feet, yelling at the TV. “YESSSSS! SUCK IT WASHINGTON” and then “Oh crap!” when it hits her that she’s in a hospital ward, not a sports bar. “Oops.”
“If they kick you out of here, do you promise to smuggle me out too?” I ask.
She smiles, “Not until you’re cleared to go home. You’re my best friend, and my best skating instructor, for that matter. I’m not taking any chances with your brain. Suck it up and enjoy another day of flowers from your super hot NHL boyfriend.”
“Not my boyfriend,” I smile back at her, my mind overflowing with possibilities.
“Yet,” she says, matter-of-factly.
A new song starts playing, and suddenly the crowd goes nuts – “You Can Leave Your Hat On”. As Logan skates towards the bench, dozens, maybe hundreds of hats of every shape and size suddenly come raining down on him on the ice. Like the roses after you skate a perfect program at Nationals, except, you know, hats.
The camera gets a close-up of his face, and he looks so incredibly proud and happy. The announcers call a TV timeout and they cut to commercial after showing just one more replay of Logan’s third goal, and his ear-to-ear grin as he slo-mo skates to the bench with his teammates slapping him on the back, hats raining down all around him in a monsoon of utter adulation.
Marissa and I sit in silence when the ads come on, processing what we just watched. When the network returns to the game, and another replay, Marissa looks at me incredulously.
“Holy hell. Those flowers over there,” she points to the bedside table, “are from that freaking gladiator right there. Are you connecting those dots?”
I’m not sure I am. That guy seems so different, so much bigger than life, than the cute, funny single dad who keeps showing up to my hospital room. I mean, I know he plays for the St. Pete Slashers, but I don’t think the fact that he’s a freaking NHL star has really sunk in until right this very moment.
Logan’s back on the bench, laughing with his head coach, Sully Michaels. The second period ends with a buzzer a few seconds later and the network cuts to another commercial.
When the ads for beer, beer, and life insurance are finished, the sportscasters go on for a good five minutes about how Logan is on fire and completely dominating the game. They play replay after replay from multiple angles, over and over again of Logan scoring his three goals
“Did you know he was this big of a deal?” I ask Marissa.
“I had no freaking idea,” she answers. “No wonder every nurse on the floor went apeshit over the guy. He’s like, a legitimate sports star.”
“As opposed to an illegitimate sports star.”
“You know how I feel about wife carrying.”
“That’s not a sport.”
“Exactly, so why was it on ESPN that time?”
“One of the great mysteries of the Universe.’
We could go on all day, but suddenly the TV screen is filled up with Logan, and his dark hair curling up with sweat, and his beard scruff, and his movie star smile.
“You’ve been in a slump for the last few weeks, and then tonight you come out here with the hat trick in the last game of the regular season. How are you feeling about your performance tonight?”
“I’m feeling great, everybody is playing hard tonight, and we’re really working well together as a team. Obviously, Cam Murphy had that phenomenal assist earlier, Fosse’s had a near-perfect game, and Zayne Decker is playing like his skates are on fire. Washington’s a tough team and we’re going to need to stay focused if we’re going to punch our ticket,” says Logan.
“Thanks, Logan, and good luck tonight.”
“Thanks” he nods, and then looks directly into the camera, points, and mouths the words, “That one was for you,” as the announcer tosses back to the sportscasters in the studio.
Marissa and I both let out a squeal at the same time.
