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“But no, I haven’t had any symptoms. I think I’m a little more tired, though. Or maybe that’s from midterms. I’m not sure.”
“A little?” Marc repeats with wide eyes. “You passed out twenty minutes into our movie last night, and I had to tell EJ you were sleeping like a log because he wouldn’t stop calling.”
“Okay, maybe I’ve been more than a little tired,” I laugh as Marc finds the right channel for Eli’s game. “Can you turn it up a bit?”
He does what I ask, the announcers’ voices spilling out from the speakers and filling the room. I’m glad we decided to watch the game at the house off-campus instead of at Double G. We wouldn’t be able to hear a thing inside that noisy bar, and I don’t do well just watching a game. I need to listen to it, too, especially when it’s as important as this one is.
The camera pans to Eli as he does some stick-handling drills for warmups, and my heart skips a beat from seeing number thirteen on the TV screen. I can only imagine how much my chest will swell when I see him on the television playing in the National Hockey League for the first time.
And the broadcasters seem to be thinking the same thing.
“That’s Eli Maddison, captain for the Golden Gophers, centering their top line,” one of the commentators begins. “I’m surprised to see him playing in these college playoffs. I thought he would’ve been called up to the National Hockey League by now.”
Okay, I like these guys. They know talent when they see it.
“I agree with you, there,” the other announcer states. “If he hasn’t gotten the call by now, it makes you wonder if he ever will.”
Never mind. These announcers suck.
Eli’s face radiates with focus and determination when the camera pans by him during the national anthem. Once again, his features are locked in concentration when they show him on screen for the puck drop.
“How did he seem this morning?” Marc asks, both of our gazes glued to the screen in front of us.
“He was okay, eventually. I’m glad your dad is there because Eli was a little panicky. But we had a good talk, and he calmed down a bit.”
“He needs to fucking get called up. This is getting ridiculous. He’s the best college player in the country,” Marc states just as Minnesota steals the puck from UMass, pushing it up the ice.
The puck lands on Eli’s stick, and he uses his speed to beat the opposing defender before going five-hole on Massachusetts’ goalie and putting Minnesota on the scoreboard only two minutes into the game.
“Fuck yes, EJ!” Marc rings out, standing from the couch as the players in Minnesota maroon slam my boyfriend into the boards in celebration.
I fold over in relief before returning my attention to the screen, my body coursing with adrenaline and pride.
Marc gives me a high-five before retaking his seat, both of us releasing a breath we were unknowingly holding in.
The camera shows Eli skating by his bench, bumping gloves with his teammates. There’s a sly smile playing on the corner of his lips, and I know that look of determination. This is his game. Minnesota is going to win, and no one is going to be able to stop Eli from making sure that happens.
Minnesota finishes the first period up 1-0. They don’t look so great in the second and give up two goals to Massachusetts, though Eli plays terrifically the whole time. He’s been on a whole other level today. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen him play so consistently strong. He’s head and shoulders better than everyone else on the ice.
Cam scores in the third period on an assist from my boyfriend, tying the game, before both teams rack up another goal each, finishing the regulation sixty minutes of hockey tied 3-3.
I stand from the couch as I wait for overtime to begin, pacing the length of the room in anticipation.
Overtime is sudden death, meaning first to score, wins. And it’s three on three instead of the standard five on five with only five minutes on the clock to play. It’s now or never.
M: What’s going on? Marc texts his dad while we wait for overtime to begin.
Jack has been keeping us informed of everything we are missing off-camera. The in-person game makes me feel at ease because I can see Eli, confident in his abilities, so I’m having a hard time not having the whole picture right now.
J: EJ is talking shit because someone hit Cam late after the buzzer sounded. He’s riled up. He’s about to go off in OT.
Eli has always looked out for Cam when they’re on the ice together, but since he and I became friends, Eli seems to be even more protective over his assistant captain.
“Logan, sit down,” Marc requests.
“I can’t. I’m too nervous.”
“This can’t be good for the baby.”
