Page 36 of Puck Shots
“Afraid you’ll lose?”
“I always lose against you, so it’s nothing new. You should be afraid your boy is about to share all your secrets and seeing as I already have a killer slap shot and am the best defensemen they have, all eyes will be on me soon enough.”
“I hope they are. It would suck getting drafted without you.”
“Are you going soft?”
“I just like having a live-in cleaner.”
“No one said we’ll be drafted into the same team, let alone be sharing a room. Fairly sure the guys in the NHL all can afford their own places.”
“You know you love rooming with me. Tell you what, assuming we get drafted into the same team, because who wouldn’t want both of us, we are clearly a powerhouse on the ice,” he nods and I go on, “If you win, you can get your own place, and if I win, we find a place together. KOKs forever.”
He reaches out a fist, and I bump it.
“KOKs forever,” he says and then gets into starting position.
“Ready when you are,” I call to Eli, who’s holding one arm up in the air like a signal flag.
“Three, two…one,” he screams, and when his arm comes down, we both take off like a shot.
I take an almost immediate lead, just like always, but as I pass Eli, I glance back and find Luka is way closer than I expected.
“Dude, you got this,” I cheer before turning back and putting in all my effort to maintain the lead.
I won, but only by about half the length I did before.
“Shit, I can’t believe that actually worked,” Luka says, and I smile over at Eli as a few of the other guys start crowding around him, asking if they can help them out, too. My chest swells at the way his cheeks flush at the attention.
***
It’s game one at our home rink in Boston, and rumor is there will be scouts there tonight, so my stomach is in knots. I sit on the bench seat, back to the room, and draw over the lightning bolt on my wrist with a Sharpie. The pressure of the firm felt tip against my skin and scent of the permanent ink is good at halfway calming my nerves.
Tonight will be my chance at a great first impression. Though they would have seen me play before, not being drafted last year means if they did, they also saw what a shitshow my life was, too. This year, I have to be better. But as I push out onto the ice, the crowd cheering, and the cool air hitting my face, what used to be like a sense of coming home, still feels off.
I’m fast as ever out there, but I can’t bring myself to try the slap shot. What if I choke? What if they get the puck and score and we lose? What if that is the only thing the scout sees and I destroy my chances at being drafted in my first game of the year?
The coach signals for a change, and I rush the side, gasping for breath as I down some water and watch my teammates out there giving their all.
“Looks like your shadow is still here,” Vinnie sneers, nudging my side and nodding up into the stands to my left. I turn and spot Eli. The second he spots me looking his way, one hand comes up in an adorable little wave, his cheeks blushing instantly before he clasps his hands in his lap again.
I turn back to Vinnie.
“Eli’s not a joke,” I say, deadpan.
Vinnie seems to be searching my expression to see if I am messing with him. I’m not. The second my eyes landed on Eli, that bundle of nerves that wouldn’t shift in my gut out on the ice disappears.
“I didn’t mean…” Vinnie starts, but I shake my head.
“Just don’t.”
I bounce my foot, waiting for the coach to signal the change up again. I need to be out there; I need to show Eli his time and effort helping me refine my moves is not for nothing.
“Flash, you’re up,” Coach says, and I’m over the rail and on the ice in a split second after Hewie leaps over. I fly up the ice, my eyes locked on the puck, and when I manage the steal and spin ready to look for a pass, I picture Eli smiling, leaning forward in his seat watching me, and a wave of confidence washes over me.
I push off, speeding my way toward the net at the other end. A player comes at me from my right, but I dig deep, and he misses his chance to slam me into the wall by what has to be an inch. I line up for the shot, give the puck a tap, then swing full force and send it down the line, it skims through the air, about a foot from the ice and slips through the gap between the goalie’s arm and leg, hitting the back of the net with a satisfying sound of the horn.
Luka slams into me a second later. His deafening cheers flooded my ears. But I can’t take my eyes off Eli standing in the crowd, his arms in the air cheering, for me.
