Page 59 of Icing Hearts

Chapter 34

Victory

Friday night home games have a life of their own. Energy pours into the rink with the addition of every new body entering. It’s palpable. When people talk about a Friday home game, they talk about it like it’s a person—an entity. It kind of is. Pressure builds in time with the expectations of the fans and fuels me. Some of my teammates hate it, but not me. It’s one of my favorite parts of the game.

Clara and Clover painted their faces with the cheerleaders before the game. Tabitha wears a nameless jersey. Thomas is in his usual shirt and tie with his own jersey over it. He always looks like a little coach, walking around with his clipboard. Thomas knows the game well and sees things about our opponents that others miss. When he gives me a tip, I listen. Clara wore yoga pants and Uggs today. Her hair was down, but I saw Clover braiding it in the laundry room earlier. Now it’s in two French braids with blue ribbons woven through—our team colors.

Some players blast music and get introspective before a game. Vince is one of those players. The only time you’ll ever find him being remotely serious is in the twenty minutes before warm-ups. I’m not one of those players. I can shotgun a beer with a gun to my head and play the best hockey of my life immediately thereafter. It’s a gift. Almost nothing gets me rattled.

It also allows me to flirt with Clara while Vince bobs his head and stares at the floor of our bench box.

I twirl the end of a braid with my ungloved hand. She swats me away, leaning on the boards with her elbows. I’m on the ice doing the same from the opposite side.

“How many goals are you gonna score today?” she asks me.

“Good question. How many do you want me to score?”

Clara pretends to think hard for a moment, twisting her pursed lips to the side and tapping her chin. “Hat trick would be nice.”

“That’s too common. Give me a number. Something crazy.”

“What’s your record?”

“This season?”

She nods.

“Shouldn’t you know that? You’re a team manager. I thought stats were part of the deal.”

“I probably should. But contrary to popular belief, I’m not obsessed with you, Tory Amato.”

“Ouch. Shot to the heart. Just for that I’m not scoring you any goals.”

“Please?”

“My record this season is four.”

“So give me five.”

“Six. Double hat trick.”

Coach yells at me to get my butt in gear and warm-up. The rest of the team scooted by me onto the ice and have been running drills for a few minutes now. But…priorities.

I rise from my leaning position and slowly skate backward, relishing the slice of metal on ice. With my face cage in place, both gloves make their way to my hands.

“You think you can do that?” she calls out, still leaning on the boards.

I shrug. “Guess we’ll find out.”

After warm-ups, I toss Clara one more smile and look into the stands for the scout who said they were going to be here. It’s just a college scout, but college scouts are friends with NHL scouts, so everyone matters. Instead, my eyes land on the absolute last person I could ever hope to see.

The chief.

While I’m not sure how long he’s been here, the expression on his face tells me he’s been here long enough. Coupled with the tense cross of his arms and the fact that he’s glaring at me with pure hatred, it sends a shudder down my spine. Clara doesn’t seem to have noticed his presence.

The whistle blows, and I spring into action, forcing my focus to the puck and the players and nothing else. Six goals. Three periods. Two goals per period is the easiest way to make this happen. Otherwise, I could top load and get as many as possible in the first period, then relax the rest of the game. A good plan before the goalie figures me out. I watched some game film this week, and the opposing goalie likes to drop down to the ice early. Best bet is to fake and pop the puck up and over one of his legs. With my plan of action in place, I weave around an opposing forward to set up a play.

Sometimes music pounds in my head as I play. It’s weird. Like an internal pump-up playlist, but one song and one segment over and over. Today’s song segment comes courtesy of Stefflon Don’s “16 Shots”, the tat, tat-tat, about thirty seconds in. Vince goes down but sends the puck up the boards before he does and I sail after it. Flying is more like it. I scoop the puck six feet up from the center line and slice at a hitch toward the seam. Zero in on goal. Everything goes silent for half a heartbeat, then I pop the puck up and over into the net.. Just like I planned.

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